SLY STONE: BLACK MUSIC'S ULTIMATE ALPHA MALE BY SHELDON TAYLOR

                                                                       

                                                                             

There's a long list list of artists who epitomize traditional attributes typifying Black music's ultimate Alpha Male. That top-tier list includes A-types like James Brown. Otis Redding. Isaac Hayes. Teddy Pendergrass. Tupac. DMX.  But there's one individual who transcends Brown's confrontational and relentless spirit, Redding, Hayes and Pendergrass' virile sex appeal and Pac and X's bare chested rap swagger. That man is Sly Stone. That Sly Stone? Yes, that one.

So what makes Stone Black music's ultimate alpha male? It's because the past fifty years of Black (and pop) music flows from his seminal genius. Let's do the knowledge.

Arriving on the scene in 1967 as the leader of Sly and the Family Stone, a musically self-contained, multi-racial and multi-gender lineup that blurred musical lines between pop and protest while merging funk and gospel musical elements---a reflection of their aptly title debut album,  A Whole New Thing. On their heels came The Friends of Distinction and The Hues Corporation flaunting male and female funky lineups. The gender-blending Fifth Dimension arrived a year earlier with their brand of confectionery pop but Sly was a whole other thing.   

 1968's Dance To The Music shattered Black music's longstanding lead/background vocal template. Boasting shared lead vocals from Family Stone member, the Temptations and the Jackson Five quickly incorporated Sly's style in their work. From the ashes of the Tempts dismantled "classic five line-up" sprang Cloud Nine, Papa Was A Rolling Stone, Psychedelic Shack and Ball of Confusion extending their run as R&B's preeminent vocal group. 

The Jackson Five's run of #1 hit singles ("I Want You Back,  "ABC" and "The Love You Save") cribbed Dance To The Music vocal approach. The J-5 remade Stand! and dropped in the band's funky breakdowns and vocal riffs on album cuts.  The Family Stone's carousel vocals and Sly's quirky baritone would turn up on selected compositions  in the Prince catalog ("1999" and "New Position"). Prince's Revolution and New Power Generation gender/racial  line ups resurrected Sly's diverse musical makeup.

Sly's reach also extended into hip-hop. Just as music spawned imitators doing his version of social commentary, the Duke Bootee/Melle Melle penned The Message would hit rap's reset button and spark a trend of similar records that would set the tone for 80s /90s reality rap. Round-robin routines of first generation rap groups like the Cold Crush Four, Treacherous Three and others were birthed from Dance To The Music's and Everybody Is A Star's circular vocals. Grandmaster Flash boasts introducing the Vox 829 Percussion King proto-drum machine ('' the beat box") to rap---it was actually Sly who blessed Black music with the Maestro Rhythm King's electronic sounds nearly a decade before Flash.

Sly's compositional burst of creativity would have been right at home on today's singles driven streaming formats. Hits Hot Fun In The Summer Time, Ffun, Family Affair, You Can Make It If Your Try, Sing A Simple Song and Everyday People were custom-fit for late 60s and early 70s radio. Message driven but never preachy---instead of Norman Whitfield's heavy handed content or Gamble and Huff's bold indictment---Sly's lyrical wink gently admonished ("you've been sitting much too long/ there's a permanent crease in your right and wrong'").

Sly's gift for simplistic genius is probably only matched by Curtis Mayfield ("Choice of Colors")and Philly Soul lyricist Linda Creed (" People Make The World Go Around"). On Stand!  he executes poetic contrast and comparison ("there's a midget standing tall/ and a giant beside him that's about to fall") and uplifts ("don't you know you are free/well at least in your mind if you want to be").  

No one balanced complex and simplicity better. In 2012, LL Cool J's stumble Accidental Racist  fell short of  matching the masterful racial push-and-pull of 1969's Don't Call Me Nigger, Whitey. In 1987, Rakim's  twin-pillared magnum opuses I Know You Got Soul and I Ain't No Joke were anchored by similar sloganeering couplets  and catch phrases introduced by Sly nearly two-decades earlier.

                                                                           

 Tossing aside the James Brown's rigidly enforced uniformity, Sly and the Family Stone opted for  technicolor ensembles instead of cocktail dresses and sleek silk-and-mohair continental  suits and tuxedos previously associated with aspirational Black performers.

Rock bands were already sporting psychedelic looks and denim-clad common-man attire by the time of Sly's arrival. Black entertainers eased into Nehru suits and close cropped naturals. . In 1967, The Bar Kays played behind Otis Redding in matching mod outfits. By the time they  hit the stage for '72's Wattstax concert the band were in full Family Stone mode, rocking white Afro wigs, matching jumpsuits and fringed capes.                                         

  

George Clinton and Maurice White also followed Sly's free-form flamboyance, shedding the suit-and-booted look of their past and crafted signature looks for Parliament-Funkadelic and Earth Wind and Fire. 70s funk band attire would also be rooted in Sly and the Family Stone's imagery. On the jazz side, forty-two year old Miles Davis was also paying attention. Sensing the winds of change, he studied Sly's albums for inspiration. 

Already a style chameleon, he abandoned his buttoned-up Ivy League style for sleek Italian suits.  Revamping his look once again, Miles draped himself in suede and snake skin pants, dashikis, ethnic frocks and caftans. After leaping from smoky clubs to playing to Sly's younger audiences on the arena and festival tour circuit, Miles now commanded large sums for a single night's performance. His gleeful reply when receiving 100k for one night: "I feel like a thief."

Sly was less an originator than a facilitator of a new fashion sensibility reflective of a younger audience detached from typical R&B spit-and-polish. He and his group were at the forefront of a movement that saw the Marvin Gaye and others abandon old styles and adopt more earthy and "hip" attire. Gaye would perform in glittery denim and sky-high silver platform boots. 

In the early 70s, aspirational looks were out and accessibility was in. This movement would predate the transitional fashion shift destined to take place in hip-hop a decade later. Todd Mayfield's Traveling Soul: The Life of Curtis Mayfield describes this fashion shift as "a statement of Black Power told through clothing---Black performers didn't have to dress up for the man ("street clothes, no suits or ties. And nobody shows up in a tuxedo") anymore."   

Oftimes when we speak in absolutes, we poison historical roots. When we use terms like first and best and greatest---we reject creative stones of selected ancient builders critical to erecting Black music's foundational legacy. Sly's the exception. Worthy of singular praise, his  influence looms large. 

Public Enemy's conceptual model is built from Sly and the Family Stone's chassis. Chuck D's  thematic songwriting leans on Sly's lyricism. His folksy indictment hovers over College Dropout-era Kanye West. Sly's reclusive genius resides in Prince, Michael Jackson and D'Angelo. His laser-like observation and utopian optimism exists in Stevie---Sly's carousel vocal approach even turns up on You Are The Sunshine of My Life. His fingerprints are all over hip hop and jazz fusion. R&B king Charlie Wilson attributes the "roughness and hardness" in his voice to copying Sly's gritty baritone.  

Rick James inherited Sly's flair for onstage pageantry (see Sly's wedding at Madison Square Garden)  coupled with the Stone City Band's musical genius and communal makeup. KC and the Sunshine Band pick up where Sly left off. KC copped Sly's feel-good clipped-and-shorn lyricism, parlaying a string of hits built on the Family Stone's funky outro break on Stand!

Of course  Sly had flaws. He had a penchant for self-sabotage. A wavering focus. Notorious unpredictability.  A numbing drug addiction that derailed his career.  Selfishness. Lapses into gangsterisms. Alleged abuse. His life is also a lesson in irony. He was the swaggering leader who loved to fade into the background. 

Like Marvin Gaye, he was ordained Black  America's savior but was uncomfortable with wearing the messianic crown of public expectation. Like Public Enemy, his group teetered on immortality but internal implosions short-circuited their future possibilities. As drugs claimed the lives of Michael and Prince in their fifties---at age 78, Sly's still here. 

In 2021, everyday people are still taking stands. Riots/uprisings are still going on. Nearly a half-century after  Sly's peak, many have assembled the pieces but none have perfected the entire package.