IF 

In 1976 Stevie Wonder dropped arguably the greatest album of all time, Songs In The Key of Life. At an hour and 45 minutes, Songs In The Key of Life has plenty of space for its hefty offerings of iconic songs, tender lyrics, angelic melodies, and emotional expressions of the human experience. Listening to the album is a truly human and exuberant experience. Stevie Wonder wails, screams, sings, shouts, hums, grunts, and croons and we feel what he feels… sees what he sees. The 16th of 21 tracks is “As,” perhaps the most human song of them all. If I could live my life as one song, it would be “As” by Stevie Wonder. 

Over 7 minutes and 8 seconds, Stevie Wonder follows the path of love across the known universe and through all time. I have lived this song over and over again yet whenever it plays, I feel like it has swallowed me whole, not to consume me but to embrace me in the way that I need to be embraced. I feel like “As” is the most human sound we can muster, the pinnacle of auditory creation. At least in the sense of what it means to be alive. If a song could give a hug, “As” is a human sound giving me an inhuman hug. 

It is hard to comprehend that a breathing human made “As,” it seems to be a feat outside a human realm of ability. I have found that human music makes me feel anything but. The ability to understand and translate pure emotion into digestible sound is superhuman. I think we should all be trying to do that, breathe love into life and life into humanity. I’d feel remiss if I did not mention some other songs I love and could find myself living inside of: “Adore” by Prince, “Good Days” by SZA, “Rocket Man” by Elton John, “Can’t Leave Without It” by 21 Savage, “Self Control” by Frank Ocean, “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You” by Lauryn Hill, “Spending Addiction” by Gunna, and “Illest Mother Fucker Alive” by The Throne.   

Aside from the poetic lyrics and mystifying song structure, “As” certainly holds a sentimental meaning for me. The first time I heard the song was in The Best Man (1999). Harper, played by Taye Diggs, and Jordan, played by Nia Long, are trying to find energy amidst an all-night collegiate cram session. Harper plays the song and it instantly provides Jordan with a bolt of energy. They get up and lip sync and dance and hold each other before their dancing evolves (or devolves) into a sexual excursion that inexplicably stalls when the CD gets stuck and the music stops. They hold their relationship on the staggered note, clarity washes over them and it never really picked up again. My wish for life is perhaps to always feel like “As.” If I could leave clarity behind for the human experience, I would, in a heartbeat.   

PROBABLY

Last May, a close friend of mine had a nearly fatal motorcycle accident in Costa Rica. He was in critical condition and unable to leave the country for three weeks. I was worried about him, I prayed for him, and as the people around him fed me updates; I became more confident in his ability to pull through. He had always been a strong person, even back in middle school. I wasn’t used to much vulnerability and when he eventually gained access to his phone a few days later, it seemed as though that wasn’t going to change much. He was a bit somber, but most of his responses to me seemed to be rooted in excitement. He had the most interesting thing to tell me: when he was in his comatose state he heard music. The music was akin to elevator music or waiting room music. He was in some type of limbo, his metaphysical state stranded between this world and the next. However, the most startling revelation were the two songs that repeatedly played in his head. “Devil In A New Dress” by Kanye West and “III. Urn” by Childish Gambino. “Devil In A New Dress” is probably my favorite song of all time, I anointed it with the title about a decade ago and have refused to budge. But due to the fact that it is also a favorite of my friend, the primary discussion point was the inclusion of “III. Urn.” He asserted that the inclusion of the song had elevated it in personal meaning for him. 

I wasn’t surprised. The melancholy melody, eerie lyrics, and the siren-like beat all scream metaphysical waiting room music. I was astonished at the revelation that music follows us to our death and waits with us at the door. Thankfully, he did not cross that threshold. But when I am to die, “III. Urn” by Childish Gambino is probably the song I would like to die to.

I can’t help but wonder what music he’d have waited to if he had not been blessed with the gift of music or if music had simply never entered his life. My most lugubrious idea is that he’d have waited and possibly died in silence. But probably not. Life is not silent, so I can’t imagine that death would be. If his ears had closed to the physical world, maybe his mind would wander and he could hum in his mind. If his mind had been lost with the body, he’d have his heartbeat at the very least. Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum. If he didn’t have his heartbeat, he probably wouldn’t be here. Thank God for music. 

MAYBE

In music theory, a key is the system of functionally related chords deriving from the major and minor scales and from the basis of musical composition. Of course Stevie Wonder was referring to the music contained on the album when he titled his project, Songs In The Key of Life, but I am left wondering what music life would make. And of course, A living breathing Stevie Wonder did make the music but I mean non-human living music. Life has a natural rhythm or at least it feels natural through my human filter. There is a lot of non-human living music where I live in Harlem, NY. Real “Inner CIty Blues” by Marvin Gaye type shit. As I sit and type, the window on the west side of my bedroom is cracked open about 8 inches. There is a metal screen on the window and beyond that the whole world. The wind is blowing in an almost indiscernible way, if not for the rustling leaves on the trees lining the streets, I doubt anyone would notice. It’s raining, the soft pitter-patter accents the noise of living. The cracking bottles, the laughter, descending and ascending airplanes, the smattering of feet always moving to and fro. The hum and buzz of vehicles moving up and down the hill adjacent to my building. And if they fuck up, an erroneous honk of the horn. I can close my eyes and search for the void but I can’t get the living music, the buzz from the streets, out of my head. Maybe true silence does not exist for the listening human.   

My window sill holds 7 cassette tapes, 1 CD of Mos Def’s Black On Both Sides, a coffee mug filled with coins, a portrait of my mother on her first wedding day, 2 cacti, 8 Nintendo Switch game boxes, a stack of polaroid pictures, a homemade candle, an empty spray painted bottle of 40 oz malt liquor, a cantkillmysol plushie, and a copy of The Holy Qur’an. None of these things are making a sound and they lightly clutter my line of sight from my bedroom to the outside world. I’m the only living thing here and I am responsible for the living music. I used to be scared of what my mind had to say and I used music as a way to distract myself, but now I tend to use music to emphasize and elucidate my thoughts. I’m not scared of myself anymore and maybe that’s what is making the music more human. As much as I love “As” or “III. Urn,” maybe I could be left here with just my heartbeat and that would be enough. Hopefully I never have to find out.

🦋

published April 8, 2022