I endured political windbagging on TV to catch Stevie Wonder perform. At first I thought his harmonic sensibility had been stuck in Baggage Claim at the Denver Airport, but then realized he was simply struggling with pulling off a complicated barbershop quartet-style vocal performance in an 80,000-seat stadium. Once he settled in behind his keyboard and thumped out ‘Signed, Sealed, Delivered,’ his supremacy was duly restored. I saw him only once in person, at Radio City Music Hall. It was an unfortunate waste of his genius — twas the finale of a VH-1 ‘Divas’ taping; he was helped to the stage by one of the Backstreet Boys so that they could join a chorus of a dozen or so others in chanting a never-ending refrain of Aretha’s “Freeway of Love.”

(Sent from my Palm phone).