I just called to say I blog you

But the world will not see the like of Stevland Morris's again and I owe it to the children to see him as part of their essential soul-u-cation. Clearly this stuff ought to be on the national curriculum, along with studies of Al Green's falsetto. However, it ain't, so I'm payin'.
It's more than 20 years since I last saw Wonder in concert, and between you, me and the gatepost, there's been releases since then that wouldn't make my own personal Top Ten of the great man's hits. And that's the infuriating thing about Stevie Wonder because in the British popular consciousness he means one thing: that bloke on the end of the phone singing: "I just called to say I love you ..."

I mentioned to a work colleague, a man with a questionable musical pedigree, that I was going to see Wonder. I explained he was my musical idol. He looked nonplussed. I said, like you do: "Hey, baby, baby, those 70s albums. Classics. Just classics. You know, 'New York, just like I pictured it, skyscrapers, everything ...'"
He hadn't a clue what I was going on about. Dumb-ass. He said: "Well, I know the hits, but that's about it."
As Tony Soprano would say: "Whatcha-gonna-do?"
I only know the hits! I only know the bloody hits!! Get yourself an education, man. From Music of My Mind through Songs in the Key of Life there's not a duff album. It's the essence of soul, of life. Love's in need of love today.
And so to the T-shirt. Do you think it's a bit much to wear it, a retro equivalent of wearing a Slipknot hoodie?
On this occasion, I think not - and if you are lucky enough to be going on Monday night, I think you'll agree why. Because you too will have seen the light. Say it loud, say it proud.
PS My review of the NIA show should be hitting the Post's website sometime Tuesday morning.
PPS The review is now online. Read it here