Chicapah While most of us fledgling musicians were still in the process of being intrigued and captivated by what Stevie Wonder had done all by himself on “Music of My Mind” he’d been busy. Real busy. Seven months and twenty five days later he blows us away by releasing yet another astonishing piece of work called “Talking Book.” In the time it takes most artists to get a few basic demos recorded Stevie had completed 10 brand new songs that made everyone stand back in slack-jawed awe. And it wasn’t just as good as its predecessor, it was better. It was starting to dawn on the world at large that Mr. Wonder wasn’t going to stay “Little” any longer and that the planet had a major talent in their midst who was going to have a huge impact on the direction music was to take for the rest of the decade. To paraphrase former NFL coach Bum Phillips, Stevie put a big dent in the door with “Music of My Mind” but he knocked the damned thing down with “Talking Book.”

It certainly didn’t hurt to start the album with one of his greatest compositions ever, “You Are the Sunshine of My Life.” This is one of those songs that will endure forever and it instantly became “our song” for thousands of couples who fell in love in that era (including me and my leading lady at the time). It portrayed Wonder as a constantly growing, self-assured artist and that confidence shines through brightly, thoroughly convincing us that any tentativeness we might’ve heard on the LP that came before this one was only temporary. Stevie was able to recreate the sound of an intimate quartet with only the help of Scott Edwards on bass and some congas to accompany him. “Maybe Your Baby” is next. Its slow, growling funk feel crawls beneath this delightful, engaging track relentlessly and Wonder seems to be reveling in his unfettered freedom to do as he pleases. Nothing complicated about it, just seven minutes of good, clean fun. “You and I” follows and it’s a romantic love song wherein his voice and acoustic piano are constantly surrounded by swirling, intertwining synthesizers, further proving that this still-new instrument in the hands of a professional wasn’t just a novelty. Dave Sanborn tosses in some tasteful alto sax but the highlight of this tune is the incredible purity of Stevie’s voice. It defies description.

“Tuesday Heartbreak” is jazzy R&B bejeweled with wah-wah clavinet that not only gives it charisma but clearly distinguishes it from the other songs. No one, and I mean no one, sounded anything like this in the early 70s. “You’ve Got it Bad Girl” has a smooth Motown groove bathed in an aura of relaxing jazz inflections that allows it to glide like a sailboat on a sea of glass. Wonder’s underrated drumming coyly plays around the beat at times yet he never loses the essential focus. And then there’s “Superstition.” This song indiscriminately perked up everyone’s ears when it came oozing out of both the AM and FM radio bands. It was not to be denied. For the uninitiated this was a wake up call to the fact that this R&B virtuoso could ROCK with the best of ‘em. His arresting, incessantly rhythmic clavinet never lets up for a moment and the punchy horns add hot punctuation marks and energy. Talk about kicking down doors!

Borrowing from Monty Python, “and now for something completely different” is in order for the next number, “Big Brother.” A subtle blend of guitar, percussion, synthesizer and harmonica make for a great change of pace at this juncture as he firmly clarifies once again that he knows no boundaries in his creativity and no genre is off limits to him. The tune’s biting political observations are as relevant today as they were then. “Your name is big brother/you say that you got me all in your notebook/writing it down everyday/your name is I'll see ya/I'll change if you vote me in as the prez/the President of your soul/I live in the ghetto/you just come to visit me 'round election time,” he sings. “Blame it on the Sun” follows and it’s a gorgeous heartbreak ballad that serves as a demonstration of Stevie’s ever-maturing composing skills. The arrangement of the background chorale is superb and the words are fluently poetic. “Where is my spirit?/I'm nowhere near it/oh yes, my love has gone astray/but I'll blame it on the sun/the sun that didn't shine/I'll blame it on the wind and the trees/I'll blame it on the time that never was enough/I'll blame it on the tide and the sea/but my heart blames it on me,” he cries.

“Looking for Another Pure Love” is next, a silky jazz-coated tune that’s slightly hypnotic. Jeff Beck provides a cool guitar solo that fits the mood perfectly but, again, it’s Wonder’s one-of-a-kind voice that elevates and transforms the track, drawing it out of the realm of the ordinary. He closes the disc with the impressive “I Believe.” After a dreamy intro Stevie leads the listener to a strong, catchy hook line but don’t let that discourage you into thinking this is blatantly commercial pop material. It’s way too eclectic to be burdened with that dubious label. What it is is just one fine song from any angle you choose to hear it from and the funky detour at the end is a nice surprise. One line in particular really captures how so many of us felt about Mr. Wonder at that point, “I'm so glad that I found someone to believe in again.” After losing Hendrix, Joplin and Morrison (along with the sad breakup of the Beatles), Stevie restored our faith that music would not only recover but continue to expand and challenge us for years to come.

If this gifted artist had stopped right here this would be his unquestioned shining gem of an album that any musician would die to have in his or her catalogue of work but, in retrospect, Stevie Wonder was just getting warmed up. His next three projects were relatively immaculate epiphanies of modern music that were so spectacular as to be able to overshadow the importance of what he did for us all with “Talking Book” and that’s nothing short of amazing. It just goes to show how a genius can alter the course of musical history just by being stubbornly true to himself and his art. And what this LP did as far as further melding jazz influences into popular culture is beyond measure. John Q. Public, humming merrily to “You Are the Sunshine of My Life,” never knew what hit him.