You don’t say “no” to Stevie. Paul McCartney said “yes.” Prince said “yes.” Barbara Streisand. Pavarotti. Michael Jackson. Tony Bennett. Whitney Houston. They all said “yes” to Stevie. And why wouldn’t they? He is, by account and by evidence, a genuine musical genius. Not that this is an objective measure of anything, but he has been nominated for a Grammy seventy times and won twenty five. He has been nominated in five decades and won in four of them. He made and played every note of “Innervisions.” He made and played every note of “Songs in the Key of Life.” Between 1983 and 1987, we wrote and / or performed three of the biggest Pop singles of the era -- “Ebony and Ivory,” “I Just Called to Say I Love You” and “That’s What Friends Are For.” For roughly twenty years, Stevie Wonder was M.J. No. He was M.J.Federer. And yet somehow, nearly thirty years since his last Pop hit, we have collectively forgotten that the whole world once said “yes” to Stevie Wonder.

By the mid 90s, though, seasons had changed. It had been ten years since Stevie’s last appearance at the top of the charts. His last album, excluding the excellent soundtrack to “Jungle Fever,” had aged like an eight year old bottle of Adult Contemporary Chablis. Hip Hop and Alternative Rock dominated the airwaves and MTV. Not only was Stevie Wonder ill suited for contemporary radio formats, it seemed that his music had gotten more cloying and less topical in recent years. At only forty five, to many Stevie Wonder seemed old. After all, he had been making music for forty years and had been an adult Pop star for nearly thirty. By those standards, he was old. And his music had begun to show his vintage. 

But you still wouldn’t say “no” to Stevie. Even in 1995, following a long stay in Ghana, where he wrote forty new songs. Even though some of these songs were reportedly reggae tracks. Even though he was said to be embracing New Jack Swing, a genre he partially invented but was ill suited for. Even though he was committed to playing every note of most every instrument on the record. Even though the album took roughly four years to make. Even though it was stuffed with guest appearances, the mark of an overcooked, tasteless meal. Even though it was billed as a “return to his peak 70s form.” Even though it was a single album that clocked in at nearly seventy four minutes. Even in spite of all of those warning flares, you would never say “no” to Stevie.

And yet, at some point before “Conversation Peace” was released in March of 1995, somebody definitely should have said “no” to Stevie. More than once.

Before I suggest otherwise, I should say that “Conversation Peace” is a lovely, well made album by a supernatural talent. There are a number of great songs and few embarrassments. Stevie Wonder is almost incapable of writing a bad melody. And he is enormously capable of writing a great melody over a dozen spinning plates of Funk and Jazz. But here, he employs those superpowers towards two dubious ends -- (1) exploring new, contemporary genres such as New Jack Swing and Reggaeton or (2) perfecting a cloying, mid-tempo Adult Contemporary sound that was a perfect fit for 90s Broadway.

Wherein Stevie avoids these urges, he scores. In fact, the rumors of a “return to form” were partially true. On “My Love is With You,” Stevie sounds positively infectious, sending out his perfect Pop to the children and families living under the threat of gun violence. On “For Your Love,” he slows things down to middle age speed and aims straight for the heart. It’s Lite. It’s simple. It’s kind of cheesy. But each verse, Stevie takes us higher. Even when you think he can’t possibly reach higher for Love, he does. Because — remember — he is Stevie Wonder. And he can do anything. Even “Sorry,” a pleading, seven minute apology, in which he repeats the title fifty nine times over a very funky, very 80s synth layer cake that recalls The Pointer Sisters, sounds timeless and like essential Stevie.

Those are the exceptional highs of “Conversation Peace.” Elsewhere, though — and even when his melodies are spotless -- he can elicit cringe. On “Tomorrow Robins Will Sing,” Stevie defaces a beautiful melody by impersonating a rapper on a straight Reggaeton track. The fact that the song has not been purchased by Club Med or the Daiquiris Association of the Caribbean is an indictment of those organizations; because that is precisely where the song would thrive. “Edge of Eternity” is New Jack Stevie. He does not embarrasses himself in the guise, but he seems to be trying to. And “Sensuous Whisper” finds Stevie and Anita Baker trading vocals on what must be the most sexless of jazzy come ons. None of these songs are abysmal. Stevie is simply too talented with melody and with electronic bass and beats. And the man is capable of anything. But that’s not the same as him being great at everything. Further, it’s the very reason why you don’t want him reaching for trends. 

Some of the album’s filler comes in the form of incredibly pretty, incredibly slow ballads, filled with acoustic guitars and Stevie nursing multiple notes from each syllable. “Taboo to Love” and “Treat Myself” both fit this mold. But these tracks are relatively light and are nice counterpoints to the synth-drenched Funk. However, the tracks that really weigh down “Conversation Peace” are the gigantic, hand-holding, swaying, “Lion King on Broadway” fare. “Rain Your Love Down,” “Take the Time Out” and, most notably, the title track each scale new heights for 90s kumbaya schmaltz with refrains like:

All for one, one for all

There's no way we'll reach our greatest heights

Unless we heed the call

Me for you, you for me

There's no chance of world salvation

Less the conversation's peace

It’s hard to not feel ungenerous -- or at least cynical -- for indicting an album bursting with talent and creatively superior to the Past Prime fare of lesser artists. But, on “Conversation Peace,” Stevie Wonder made an album that everyone could say “yes” to but that virtually no one could singularly love. It’s too long. It’s too cloying. It’s too trendy. It’s too tepid. If only, along the way, somebody had told Stevie “no.” Or “maybe not, Mr. Wonder.”

by Matty Wishnow