There are concerts that leave you exhilarated, others that leave you emotionally uplifted, and occasionally one comes along that makes you feel as though you’ve been temporarily transported into a rather better version of the world than the crappy one we currently find ourselves mired in. At London’s O2 Arena last night, ’s celebration of the 50th anniversary of ‘Songs In The Key Of Life’ managed to be all three.
In an incredible and stirring three-hour set that belied his age, the 76-year-old did more than just bring to glorious life one of the greatest albums ever made. By offering a heartfelt reminder of everything it stands for, Stevie managed to fill the vast room with such radiant warmth that it felt impossible to leave and not feel just a little more hopeful about humanity.
The night begins, appropriately, in darkness. Before he appears, the arena is plunged into black and his unmistakable voice drifts out of it, imploring us all to close our eyes and enter his world, a place where there are “sounds to see”, where the natural harmonies of life we so often take for granted can be appreciated anew, together. Then the lights snap on, and there he is, front and centre at his keyboard, under the spotlight. The roar that greets him is pure love.
Here, as on the album itself, opening track ‘Love’s In Need Of Love Today’ feels like a statement of intent. Released in 1976, as America marked the 200th anniversary of its independence, ‘Songs In The Key Of Life’ arrived in a country still reeling from the Vietnam War, the Watergate scandal, and a period of economic uncertainty. Beneath the patriotic pageantry of the bicentennial lay a nation struggling with disillusionment and a crisis of faith in its institutions. Against that backdrop, Stevie’s album – an expansive and deeply human exploration of love, equality, spirituality, and hope – offered something that felt desperately needed, and its echoes still ring true.
That becomes particularly apparent when Stevie – an artist who has devoted his life to those ideas – pauses after the song to ask the audience whether they’ve heard what’s just happened in America. He’s referring to the Democrats’ stunning midterm victory, a potentially significant first step towards healing the divisions deepened by Trump’s corrosive presidency. The arena erupts in approval. “All people are saying,” he declares, “is be about love, be about equality, be about fairness, coming together as a united people of the world.”
After this, the songs are hushed and reverential. Stevie’s son, Mandla Morris, joins him for ‘Have A Talk With God’, before ‘Village Ghetto Land’ – a song about poverty and social neglect – receives a particularly beautiful treatment. Stevie’s voice is accompanied only by the sumptuous sweep of the string section, the elegance of the music set against the bleakness of the words. The crowd is still, transfixed, bewitched.
The stillness is broken by the instrumental powerhouse that is ‘Contusion’, which gives the band a chance to show just how formidable an ensemble Stevie has assembled. I counted six backing singers, a six-piece horn section, eight in the strings, two percussionists, a drummer, bassist, two guitarists, two more on keyboards, and a conductor. Suddenly, ‘Sir Duke’ brings the audience to its feet, and the irresistible rush of brass and rhythm in ‘I Wish’ is euphoric.
‘Knocks Me Off My Feet’, a personal favourite, is exquisitely tender. A harmonica jam follows, with his musical director and two of the horn players, and drifts through a James Bond theme into ‘Billie Jean’, Stevie playing the vocal melody on harmonica, a nod to a close friend. ‘Pastime Paradise’ retains its haunting spiritual weight, while ‘Saturn’ imagines a society free from the prejudices of Earth. Then, with a welcome change of mood, the first half is rounded off by a playful romp through ‘Ebony Eyes’.
As we reconvene after the interval, Stevie returns to his message. “We want peace, not war. We want love, not hate,” he says. “The universe is in alignment. The only ones that are not are we.” He tells us to pass the word to family, friends and leaders of nations, then adds, bluntly: “Cut the bullshit.”
His words never feel heavy-handed. This is his church, and these are his convictions, but they are delivered with such infectious warmth and good humour that there’s never any sense of being preached to. He laughs frequently, plays around in an English accent, and even jokes about his blindness. There are a few slipped lines and stops along the way, unsurprising with no autocue, but they only make him feel more like a man among friends. There is just something utterly endearing about him.
Family is also a theme that runs throughout. Mandla has already joined his father onstage, while his daughter Aisha, for whom ‘Isn’t She Lovely’ was written, is one of the backing singers and guides his walking when needed. Before the song, Stevie honours each of his children and step-children in turn, putting their pictures on the big screen and clicking through them himself with a control pad.
‘Black Man’ is a brilliant, knotty funk workout, and ‘All Day Sucker’ provides another opportunity for the band to stretch out. Stevie introduces ‘Ngiculela – Es Una Historia – I Am Singing’, explaining how he worked with South African and Spanish friends to translate its message into languages that would allow it to reach a wider audience. It doesn’t fail in touching us.
‘If It’s Magic’ perfectly lives up to its name. A meditation on the mystery of love, the song here features just Stevie’s voice and harpist Brandee Younger, together conjuring a delicate beauty that is breathtaking. As emotions soar, he prefaces ‘As’ by informing us it was his mother’s favourite song, and that he sang it at her funeral. “If you know the words, sing,” he says. “If you don’t, shut up!” The ensuing collective laugh from the audience is a cleansing release.
Time is running out. ‘Another Star’ transforms into a triumphant jam, and the curfew looms. Stevie is counting down the minutes, presumably prompted through an earpiece. His daughter Zaiah Morris joins him for a quick take on John Lennon’s ‘Imagine’, a fitting choice for a night about hope and a shared world. With six minutes left, the medley of hits he has been playing on this tour (including ‘I Just Called To Say I Love You’) is dropped, and he goes straight into ‘Superstition’. It’s a spectacular finale.
I truly wish I’d had someone beside me to share it. This was a night for dancing, for holding hands, for wiping away tears, for appreciating the beauty of the moment. The journalists around me seemed happier with their bums on seats, and rose only when it felt like they had to. At times I felt trapped in my chair. I have rarely wanted to throw myself quite so completely into a concert. But that itself is the point of the album, and of this show: the wonder of being alive is not something to experience alone. It is something to embrace together.
Still, I walked out into the night glowing. It was one of the best gigs I have ever been to.