Sly Stone The Vanishing Act of Funk's Greatest Star

Sly Stone Believed Everybody Is a Star: The Massive Legacy of an Avant-Funk Revolutionary

Thank you for the party, but Sly could never stay. Sly Stone, the ultimate mystery man of American music, a visionary genius who transformed the world with some of the most innovative sounds of the Sixties and Seventies, has passed away. With Sly and the Family Stone, he fused funk, soul, and acid rock into his own utopian sound, creating timeless hits like “Family Affair” and “Everyday People.”

Yet, despite his immense impact, he remained an elusive figure, virtually disappearing in the 1970s. His death at 82 feels both premature and somehow overdue, as if he'd already outlived himself by decades. However, his music remains boldly futuristic and influential, a testament to his enduring genius and the reason why the world is still reeling from this immense loss.

Nobody ever sounded like Sly Stone. He possessed an unparalleled ability to craft:

• Inspirational anthems of unity: Songs like “I Want to Take You Higher” transformed crowds into euphoric tribes.
• Uplifting hits: Tracks such as “Stand!” and “Everybody Is a Star” had the power to inspire hope in even the loneliest moments.

But this optimism was always juxtaposed with a streetwise sense of betrayal and rage.

“Everybody Is a Star,” seemingly a radiant love song to human potential, also carries a darker undercurrent. The line, “Ever catch a falling star? Ain’t no stopping till it’s in the ground,” serves as a stark reminder that even stars can crash and burn. Sly Stone wanted to remind you that you were the star of hope in the sky — but you could also be the star that comes crashing down into a crater.

All his contradictions converge in his masterpiece, the 1970 funk explosion “Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin),” featuring a relentlessly hard bass-versus-guitar attack. The seemingly cheerful chorus, “Thank you for letting me be myself again!” hides a deeper layer of dread and anger. For Sly, despite all his fame and fortune, it boils down to:
Lookin’ at the devil.
Grinnin’ at his gun.
Fingers start a-shakin’.
I begin to run.

It’s a chilling premonition delivered as a party chant, made all the more unsettling because there's no true victory in Sly's battle with the devil – only the temporary reprieve of survival.

The Family Stone was his ideal of a band as a self-contained community, uniting musicians of different races, different genders, some friends, some relatives — but with everyone lending a voice. His Family Stone built the template for countless music collectives, whether it was the Native Tongues, Prince’s Revolution, Afrika Bambaata’s Zulu Nation, the Wu-Tang Clan, OutKast and the Dungeon Family, or beyond.

“The concept behind Sly and the Stone,” he told Rolling Stone in 1970, “I wanted to be able for everyone to get a chance to sweat. By that I mean … if there was anything to be happy about, then everybody’d be happy about it. If there was a lot of money to be made, for anyone to make a lot of money. If there were a lot of songs to sing, then everybody got to sing. That’s the way it is now. Then, if we have something to suffer or a cross to bear — we bear it together.”

His band was a visionary blend of James Brown/Stax/Muscle Shoals funk teamwork, but with the anarchic jamming of the hippie bands from the San Francisco acid-rock scene where he made his first converts. As Sly put it in the title of their debut album, it was A Whole New Thing — a radically democratic sound where everybody was a star.

Sly’s tough charisma made him a unique presence in Seventies pop culture — remote, cool, unknowable, hiding behind a smile that gleamed like bulletproof glass.

Those contradictions were always built into his music. “If It Were Left Up to Me” is one of his funniest, nastiest gems ever, a Fresh funk quickie from 1973, where the singers chant sardonic promises full of sleight-of-hand wordplay, until it ends with a sarcastic, “Cha-cha-cha!” There’s “Que Sera Sera,” also from 1973, refurbishing an old Doris Day chestnut about how everything always works out for the best, except that Sly turns it into a slow-motion dirge full of dread, a warning that fate is out to get you.

Sly Stone was born in Texas, but raised in the blue-collar Bay Area town of Vallejo. He was a musical prodigy, mastering multiple instruments and becoming a radio DJ who defied genre conventions. He produced Bobby Freeman’s hit “C’Mon and Swim” and worked with the Beau Brummels, showcasing the melancholy he would later bring to his band. He was determined to control his artistic vision after witnessing exploitation in the music industry.

Once the world heard “Dance to the Music,” nobody could resist, as the hits kept coming: “Everyday People,” “M’Lady,” “Stand!,” “Hot Fun in the Summertime.” The Family stole the show at Woodstock, turning “I Want to Take You Higher” into a massive hippie chant. People always wanted more-more-more from Sly, based on the utopian promises of his songs.

After the wait, he stunned everyone with There’s a Riot Goin’ On, his radically negative refusal to play the commercial game, with its low-fi beatbox avant-funk. It was the prototype for independent swerves like Radiohead’s Kid A or Nirvana’s In Utero — yet like those albums, it was a sales blockbuster, hitting home with an audience that idolized him for going his own way.

He switched gears with Fresh in 1973 — his most exuberantly upbeat funk, jumping right out with “In Time.” It’s as flamboyantly cheerful as Riot was hostile, which isn’t to say it’s any less brash in its confrontational spirit.

After Fresh, his music suddenly fell off a cliff, with depressing comeback efforts like Small Talk, High on You, or Heard Ya Missed Me, Well I’m Back, with its faux anthem “Family Again.” The tabloids kept reporting the bad news: He was wasted on drugs, broke, living out of a car.

When Stone died on June 9, it was just a few days after the 51st anniversary of his most famous celebrity stunt: getting married onstage at Madison Square Garden, in a sold-out 1974 show. In so many ways, that wedding event was his farewell to his public life, as he became a reclusive figure for his final decades.

Yet the world never came close to forgetting about Sly Stone. The excellent Questlove documentary Sly Lives! (The Burden of Black Genius) was a reminder of why he still loomed so large, years after he’d seemingly said his goodbyes. You can hear that legacy everywhere, even in young punk rockers like Turnstile, who turned “Thank You” into their own “T.L.C. (Turnstile Love Connection).” “Everyday People” has to be the only song that’s ever gotten covered by both Tom Jones and Joan Jett. “We gotta live together,” the song goes, even though its author made a point of living apart.

Sly Stone leaves behind a legacy of musical innovation, social commentary, and unapologetic individuality. He was a true original who defied expectations and challenged the status quo. His music continues to resonate with generations of listeners, reminding us that everybody is a star, capable of shining brightly, even amidst struggle and adversity. Thank you, Sly, for the music, the message, and the enduring inspiration.

Tags: Sly Stone, music legend, funk soul, 60s music, 70s music, American music, Sly and the Family Stone, musical genius, death, music icon

Source: https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-features/sly-stone-sly-and-the-family-stone-tribute-1235361170/