take it back
to soul music
because we've got a curriculum
of love's anatomy
to learn
through old school.
--ruby veridiano-ching

we hopped out of catzie's car and sprinted towards the wachovia center, shivering from the cold and anticipation. from the auditorium we could hear a muffled voice crooning a familiar tune.

"is that stevie??" i shrieked, "oh shit, it's stevie! we're late!"

ruby and i both had to pee but it didn't matter so much now. this might be a once in a lifetime experience. stevie wonder was on my list of people i have to see live before i die. ironic, maybe, but that hardly matters either. luckily, by the time we got into our seats, he was just on "higher ground," the second song of the set. the first was "i just called to say i love you," and it's a sweet song and all, but i'm glad he played one of the ones i don't really care about as the opener.


reflection one.

imagine having such an extensive catalog of classic songs that you can't fit all of them in a 2 hour set. fortunately for me, he played my top three: do i do, golden lady, and visions. of course he played my cherie amour, livin' for the city, superstitious. but once again--imagine having such an extensive catalog of classics that you can't fit them all in your show. it wasn't until long after the show, bubbling in the philly underground did i realize how many had been left out. songs that you can't really have a stevie wonder show without, but he did regardless. part time lover. lately. for your love.

as much as i love love love music, i've never cried because of a song. really wish i could. crouched in the nosebleed section in the far right of the auditorium, in my view was a sea of people. some scraping the tears from their cheeks as stevie wailed that line that hit that place it needed to hit.

at a stevie wonder show, no matter where you're sitting, you can't really guiltlessly complain about "not being able to see." i have dreams of rocking shows of thousands like the one i was in. when i picture it, only the half of it is really the thrill of performing my work. i live for all that feed the senses--the roar of the audience, the warmth of the stagelights, the scent of my own nervousness. but above all that, the sight of countless individuals, with their lips mouthing words, eyes locked. sometimes i wonder if i would even perform if that interaction didn't exist. it's the reason television and radio don't appeal to me the way live shows do. is it the need for instant validation? maybe. more so, it's the few moments i can stand on stage, take in the people around me, and trip out on where i am in this universe.

i can't imagine not being able to see my audience. to be encapsulated in a blanket of black while performing, with just the sound from my throat and fingertips, and the sound of the audience's throats and palms whooping and clapping, but unable to see their lips mouthing words, eyes locked, feet stomping, spirits lifting to the music.

so more than any and all of the different inspirations i plucked from the night, i'm searching for that out-of-wordly connection. audience reaction is nice. but stevie had a connection with the audience that would've persevered, even in pitch blackness or dead silence. i'm looking for that.


reflection two.

not to sound like an old gramp, but they sure don't make love songs like they used to. some people argue that it's the misogyny. mmmmmaybe. definitely, the bobby brown era sparked a movement of male bravado where love songs stopped being about you and started being about me. not to mention back in the day when they were about us. but then again, even back in the golden age of motown we had charles from the floaters, who explained that he liked a woman "that's quiet...that carries herself like...miss universe." i'm pretty sure even in today's "superman that ho" world, a song like that would've raised a couple of eyebrows.

so while shoe shopping in philly the day after the stevie concert, i finally came to an epiphany while j.valentine was blasting from the store speakers. beyond all the bubblegum beats, digitally airbrushed voices, and random awkward grunts between snares, what really separates today's love songs from those from back in the day is the loss of forever.

no one wants to sing about forever anymore. and why not? when you have right now, and tonight, and even better--while yo' man's away? as the music industry has focused on making music for this week's charts instead of this generation's classics, the love described in music has also lost its immortality. and i do put this specifically on the men. it's an era where usher has replaced stevie, omarion has replaced marvin, t-pain has replaced luther. what do we do in the bleakness of a period where "house is not a home" is replaced by "take you home tonight"?

maybe it's the cliche hopeless romantic poet talking. maybe it's him critiquing himself. there was a time when i couldn't write anything but love poems. it's been a while since i've written a good one. someone send me a slowjam.