Many things is on my mind/words in the way…
S. Stewart

Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin) is a new autobiography chronicling the ascension, descent, and reascension of one of the music world’s most misunderstood personalities. It’s a tale of a boy utilizing his unique gifts to become a star. In record time, we witness that same star become a supernova. The star burned, rather brightly, for a spell, before its light dissipated into the annals of pop music history.

The fact that we even have a Sly memoir is a miracle unto itself. For those that know, Sylvester Stewart, aka Sly, has intentionally shunned the limelight for the past few decades. Little to no interviews. No new music. Hell, he even declined to do press for this book. For someone as private and withdrawn as Sly, the choice to shed that veil of secrecy by writing what is essentially a tell-all book, is cause for great celebration for fans of the man and his merry band of funk rockers, The Family Stone.

The book kicks off with Sly trying to “kick” his decades long battle with addiction. It’s a dragon that rears its head quite often in the narrative. Hospital stays interspersed with jail stints. Wash, rinse, repeat. From there, we’re transported back to the beginning, to a young Texas transplant whose family has resettled in the San Francisco Bay Area (Vallejo, to be exact). He and his siblings, raised in the Church of God in Christ, form a singing group, the Stewart Four. Their first single release, “On the Battlefield,” featured a nine-year old Sly on lead. As he matures, he develops an ear for the secular, and starts to perform (and write) R&B and rock and roll around the Bay.

Once his band The Family Stone gets signed, the narrative moves into overdrive. Since Sly is in the middle of this maelstrom, his memory is (admittedly) fuzzy on some details. He was in the moment, and wasn’t necessarily in the driver’s seat at times, especially when illicit substances came into play. He is, however, very lucid when recalling the many achievements from those halcyon days (Woodstock, landmark television performances, hit singles). We even get to ride shotgun as Sly does his darndest to fulfill his concert obligations. Was it Sly’s fault that he was extremely late or a no-show at many events? Depends on who you ask. What is evident from this memoir is that the expectations the music industry and fans alike place on artists can easily “break” them and send them into retreat mode. A byproduct of this unhealthy lifestyle is self-medicating to maintain schedules that are decidedly inhuman.

There are many planets that come into Sly’s celestial orbit along the way. Anecdotes involving Jimi Hendrix, Bobby Womack, Ike Turner, Bill Cosby, Rick James, George Clinton, Pam Grier, and Michael Jackson will leave readers with their jaws unhinged. Hyperbole you say? Well, only one way to find out *insert wink emoticon*

Aside from the salacious tales of sex, drugs, and violence, is the music. It’s the reason we’re here. Sly Stone is one of the most innovative, creative entities to ever enter a recording studio. A multi-instrumentalist, he absorbed the gospel and blues of his childhood, R&B and rock of his teen years, and coalesced them into a whole new thing (which was also the title of the Family Stone’s 1967 debut album). On his landmark 1971 LP, There’s A Riot Goin’ On, he addressed what some perceived to be an imperfect work (“I sometimes sacrificed technique for feeling.”) This adherence to feeling is what made Sly one of the forefathers and architects of the funk music genre.

No matter what critics and writers have said about Sly through the years, one fact that can’t be denied is that Sly is a survivor. This memoir is a testament to that. It’s about the perseverance of a man who, at his core, was still the little boy who cried whenever his music performances didn’t garner the amount of praise and adulation he deemed sufficient.

In sharing his life, Sly employs the same wit and humor that infused some of his greatest song lyrics. Though he has experienced some serious health challenges in recent years, they have not affected the adroitness and deftness by which he communicates his thoughts.

Ultimately, the release of this book puts Sly back in the national consciousness. It allows for a reassessment of his musical legacy. It raises the pertinent question of why Sly’s name isn’t brought up when discussing the legends who shaped our musical landscape. With the publication of this memoir, hopefully that oversight can now be corrected.