However, I've always interpreted the song as an address to the music press and his various critics. Stone had gotten a reputation in the early 70s for missing concerts, being perpetually late for interviews, as well as not being "all there" when he did bother to show up. Likewise, in an era when pop artists typically released new albums every few months, Stone was spending years between discs, infamously recording, erasing, and then re-recording tracks—not so much because he was a perfectionist but because of impaired judgment. And, naturally, the music press openly griped about these things.
Then, there were the threats from the Black Panther party, demanding that he ditch the white members of The Family Stone and make his music more militant. Stone/the band even got death threats—a big reason why original band members, pioneering bassist Larry Graham and drummer Greg Errico, left the band before Fresh was released.
Putting the lyrics in that context, it was Stone telling the world to leave him alone and let him do his thing, or else he was going away for good.
Even with that sort of heavy subject matter underlying it, the song's tossed off charm never ceases to amaze me. It kind of sounds like Stone rolled over from a nap, yawned, pressed "record," and did a take. That's not to say his performance is bad; he sounds exceptionally confident and in control, slipping from his distinctive tenor into high falsetto and/or a deep baritone growl with ease. Just goes to show how brilliant and talented he could be when he made even minimal effort.
It's Rustee Allen's bassline, though, that makes the track a perennial favorite of mine. It's not ostentatious or showy, but it makes its presence felt, thumping like the proverbial heart of the song. It's what made me a steadfast fan of Sly & The Family Stone.
No comments:
Post a Comment