336. Little Stevie Wonder: “Workout Stevie, Workout”
A strange miscalculation – the first of a great many such miscalculations for Little Stevie over the next two years – it’s difficult to know who would be satisfied by this. (4)
A strange miscalculation – the first of a great many such miscalculations for Little Stevie over the next two years – it’s difficult to know who would be satisfied by this. (4)
The song itself is pretty thin, but it at least gives Mable an opportunity to be herself. (6)
This is a complete embarrassment, and were it not for the existence of the truly wretched (He’s) Seventeen, this would be the worst record the Supremes ever made. Listen to it once out of morbid curiosity, and then wipe it from your mind as best you can. (1)
Several years too late to be a plausible hit single, it’s undeniably a quality piece of work. (6)
Hardly a classic or anything, but it does at least have a sound all of its own, and while completely ineffectual, it’s all still rather pretty. (4)
It really is remarkable, just a huge amount of fun. Simple and straightforward, sure, but sometimes that’s the best approach, especially if you’ve got Stevie Wonder in your corner; wind him up and watch him go. You might conceivably get tired of listening to Part 1; you’ll never get tired of listening to this. (9)
This is the weaker of the two sides, and when the single was reissued it found itself relegated to the B-side, but it’s unfair to judge it too harshly when it’s really just being taken out of context. The real fun, though, is to be had on Part 2. (7)
A highly interesting diversion, and a bold attempt at trying something new; the result is a pretty, if not earth-shattering record, and should be applauded for its pluck if not its greatness. (5)
An interesting little curio, fun enough while it’s playing even if it’s not something you’d necessarily go back to very often. (4)
It’s long, boring, goes nowhere, nobody sounds like they’re having any fun (not even Dave himself); it’s dull dull dull and I hate it. (1)
Listening to this is like being trapped in a supermarket bathroom, your cries for help drowned out by their piped in-store muzak. Sorry, jazz aficionados – I find this tedious in the extreme. (2)