Album Anniversaries: 50 Years Later, Stevie Wonder’s 'Talking Book' Remains Both Visionary and Heart-wrenchingly Beautiful

Stevie Wonder may have always been R&B’s great innovator, but his first era-defining album transformed him into something more —  an  introspective and personal artist.

Written by Avirat Thakor

Photo courtesy of Chris Walter

Sometimes, the greatest signs of musical genius are not in grandiose ambitions but in the subtle, humble, and personal. Stevie Wonder’s Talking Book certainly isn’t an album that imposes itself on anyone. Compared to the extravagance of its ‘70s pop culture contemporaries, Talking Book sounds positively meek in its modesty. The album is almost entirely filled with unpretentious love songs, a much narrower scope than expected from such a revered genius. He expresses his goals succinctly on the original vinyl sleeve, containing a message exclusively in Braille that translated to “Here is my music. It is all I have to tell you how I feel. Know that your love keeps my love strong.” Despite its humble nature, Talking Book is unanimously considered one of the greatest albums of all time, with “Superstition” and “Sunshine of My Life” remaining radio staples and boasting millions of Spotify listeners.

To understand the secret behind the lasting power of such an unassuming record, one needs to recognize its place in Stevie Wonder’s career. For the first decade of his career, he possessed almost no artistic freedom. Signed onto a ten-year contract with the Motown label, 11-year-old Stevie quickly became a part of the label’s music mass-production system. Although he co-wrote many of his biggest hits, he was unable to create music with his independent vision, forced into a box under Motown’s rigid formulae, songwriting teams, and commercially-oriented singles. 

Soon enough, Stevie's thirst for freedom would be quenched. On his 21st birthday, he signed a new contract with Motown that gave him more financial compensation and artistic autonomy than ever before. Now, he could play, write/produce, and guide the direction of his albums. With this newly-obtained freedom, he recorded Music of My Mind, a trail-blazing R&B masterpiece. Co-produced with synthesizer pioneers Robert Margouleff and Malcolm Cecil, the album utilized the TONTO synthesizer to create unbelievably futuristic soundscapes. Songs like “Superwoman” sounded like nothing else in soul music: it was a touching soul ballad, but you can get lost in the sheer breadth and depth of its sound. With such a visionary album under his belt, his possibilities for future albums were endless.

After such a peak, most artists would continue that experimental route, attempting many more ambitious projects before collapsing under the weight of their pretensions. However, Stevie took a step back and realized he finally had the freedom to express himself. Now that he could display his personality without fear, it would be foolish not to take advantage of it.

Thus, his next album, Talking Book, became his most personal album. If his sprawling opus Songs In The Key of Life was the dictionary of human emotions, this record is a mini-encyclopedia of himself, each one being an intimate, revelatory piece. Yet, unlike most lyric-oriented singer-songwriter albums, he encoded his confessions within the album’s melodies and experimental textures. He was still pushing the boundaries of soul music but within a personal context.

Album Cover courtesy of Tamla Records

This unique approach is what makes an anthem like “I Believe” one of his greatest songs, because the song at its core is really a personal prayer. Yes, it’s a love song, but it displays love as not merely a worldly pleasure but as a life-giver itself, where in our worst times of shattered dreams and worthless years when everything seems unrepairable, only the love within and between people can provide a guiding light of purpose. The chorus functions like a mantra, calling to overcome his pain and sorrow by placing his trust in the love he feels for others. As the chorus repeats with a warm synth backdrop, it almost sounds like Stevie’s soul is rising higher and higher into the heavens, opening his heart to the whole world to heal his wounds and let the love flow through him. It’s very ambitious sonically, but it’s channeled through a tormented spirit, expressing something so simple but incredibly profound.

This troubled conscience is expressed just as effectively in “Blame It On the Sun.” The magic of his confessionals is that Stevie Wonder does not feel emotions with the same magnitude as a regular person. He is a rare individual who almost exclusively felt emotions on a macro level, where his inner happiness or despair was a manifestation of the positive and negative energies he absorbed from people around him. This is why, in this personal expression of overwhelming sadness, he had to utilize such a vast astral sound, where dense harmonies and synth overlays mix with a rich acoustic backing to produce an otherworldly sonic universe. This is Stevie Wonder transforming into a cosmic being, where each tear he sheds ripples and reverberates throughout the whole universe in total unity of feeling. No wonder he blames his sadness on the sun, wind, and trees: he’s so connected to the cosmos that his emotions may as well be governed by supernovas in some distant galaxy billions of miles away.

This universalism is the key reason for “Superstition” remaining an enduring classic. Of course, a big reason is its iconic clavinet riff, building a groove that’s not only infectious and danceable but also deep-cutting and complex. Yet, it stands alone from most dance-oriented funk classics because the song is really a warning call, foreseeing societal self-destructive behaviors from blind attachment to personal dogmas. Yet, the song is not a fiery societal condemnation: it is a sermon where Stevie desperately asks his followers to heed his advice for their own sake. Even with its regular airplay, it's difficult to shake off the feeling of looming danger that it brings every time.

Although these three songs provide the strongest emotional punches, the rest of the album still strikes an ideal balance of ambition justified by introspection. His use of electronic instruments like the TONTO synthesizer and Hohner Clavinet reached maturity in Talking Book, providing an unmatched sonic depth to each song. The glistening riff of “Tuesday Heartbreak,” the soft trickles of keyboard-generated sunbeams on “You’re the Sunshine of My Life,” and the meditative synth-lines of “You And I” are all sublime additions to their gorgeous melodies. Through these songs, you deeply feel who Stevie Wonder is, exploring each unique musical universe he creates and, with time, cherishing everything about them.

This makes Talking Book the greatest proof that meaningful, timelessly great art cannot come from cookbooks nor from sky-high ambitions alone: it must be an honest exploration of the inner workings of the soul. Almost all artists start out with starry-eyed ambitions of becoming artistic giants, but only the greatest ones find inspiration by looking deeply within themselves. Stevie Wonder had every opportunity to sell out or fracture under the weight of his immense talent, but the fact that he chose to undertake this exercise of self-discovery is ultimately what guaranteed his place in musical history. That’s why, even when the 70s have become a distant memory, this humble masterpiece holds up among the public as such a delightful experience. As long as the classic era of R&B remains relevant, Talking Book will serve as a source of inspiration for countless musicians on how to find themselves within their own creations.