It says something about the power of dreams and the nature of L.A. that the arrival of Stevie Wonder, sporting his long, spangled black dreadlocks and sunglasses, is met with a twinge of disappointment by your gullible narrator. Okay, more than a twinge. Stevie Wonder, he of “Master Blaster,” of “Superstition,” of so many brilliant musical moments, is playing “Sunshine of My Life” to 200 people and all I can think is, “That certainly ain’t ‘Immigrant Song.’”
Life’s rough in a recession, even in Hollywood. Sometimes we have to settle for Stevie Wonder when Led Zeppelin so blithely lets us down. The horror. The horror.