"I wanted the flag [on the cover of There's a Riot Goin' On] to truly represent people of all colors. I wanted the color black because it is the absence of color. I wanted the color white because it is the combination of all colors. And I wanted the color red because it represents the one thing that all people have in common: blood. I wanted suns instead of stars because stars to me imply searching ... like you search for your star. And there are already too many stars in this world. But the sun, that's something that is always there, looking right at you. Betsy Ross did the best she could with what she had. I thought I could do better." What you are about to read is the truth. The words above were spoken to me by Sly Stone, as I stood in his home studio. I had gotten in touch with Sly through an ex-girlfriend who has remained his friend through the years. She saw my web site and thought he should know about it and should try to contact me. After establishing a regular dialogue with Sly via the telephone, he and Avenue Records paid for me to fly out to his home in West Los Angeles, California so we could finally meet each other and so I could show him my web site, a tribute to his music and to the music of Sly & the Family Stone. And what I witnessed while I was there will be a sweet memory that I will cherish for the rest of my life. I have spent the past three years gathering interviews, articles, pictures and songs with the sincere hope of preserving the music of Sly & the Family Stone, arguably the most influential music group that this century has seen. When they burst onto the scene in 1967, with Sylvester Stewart, AKA Sly Stone, as captain of their musical ship, they explored an entirely new musical territory. In the late 60's and early 70's, Sly's music blended the sounds of rock & roll, psychedelia, straight-up rhythm-and-blues a la James Brown and the gospel soul of Ray Charles. It was his song, "Thank You (Falettinme be Mice Elf Agin)," that in 1970 introduced the world to the sound of a thumb striking a bass. In short, Sly Stone invented funk. And if there was no funk, there would have been no disco. And if there had been no disco, there would have been no rap and none of the music which we today consider to be "pop." Miles Davis, Jimi Hendrix, Herbie Hancock, Jaco Pastorius, George Clinton, The Artist Formerly Known as Prince, Michael Jackson ... the list of musicians who have been deeply influenced by him remains as long as ever. Yet all of the articles I could dig up had negative tones. Reporters had forgotten the genius of Sly Stone and focused instead on the dirt which they knew would sell product and therefore bring them profit. Generation X either ignores Sly & the Family Stone or considers their songs "oldies." As rap artists sample his music like nobody's business, fans of rap have no idea of where those sounds originated. And that is why I created my web site -- so that the music of Sly & the Family Stone would never be forgotten. On Friday, April 18th, 1997, I was picked up at my motel room and driven to Sly Stone's house by one of two women who presently work for him. They offered me a drink and asked me politely to wait until Sly was ready. I rolled my eyes as I recalled countless stories of friends, family, fans, and audiences who have been made to wait, and I sat down on his living room couch with no intention of rising any time soon. But to my surprise, I had only been sitting for a few minutes before I was told that Sly was ready to see me. My heart pounded in my chest as I prepared to meet the man whose music touched my father so deeply that he had wanted me to hear it when I was a child. I walked slowly to the door and held my breath. The first thing I remembered about his room was the large quantity of musical equipment which filled the area, including computers, drum modules, mixing boards and a giant MIDI-compliant keyboard. And behind that keyboard sat a grinning Sly Stone. At 53, he appeared as young as ever, if not younger. His face had not changed in 20 years. His hair was not the wild afro of yesteryear but was instead shaved on both sides, and the top was expertly braided. His buttoned-down collared shirt was open, exposing his chest, and he wore a pair of baggy pants, gangsta style. He reached out his hand to shake mine and I could do nothing but shake back. There was no teary, emotional introduction -- we got down to business almost immediately. As we started to talk I surmised that although his computers were of the highest quality, Sly had worked them to the BONE. In fact, I was genuinely surprised that they were capable of running! With my work cut out for me, I went to work on one of Sly's computers. Though he assured me it was nothing personal, he insisted on observing all that I did with his computer and asked that I explain whatever I was going to do before I did it. I understood his reasons clearly: on his computers were his songs, and he would be damned if he let anything happen to them, or let them fall into the hands of people for whom they were not meant. It had happened countless times before, why wouldn't it happen again? It became clear to me that he felt music has and will always be his purpose as long as he lives on this planet. As he said to David Letterman in 1982: "I have been blessed with the gift of writing songs, and for me not to make use of this gift would be the same as me not contributing to society." No one will come between Sly and his music. No one. Many of you are probably wondering at this point about Sly and drugs. I can tell you this: while I was in his house I did not see any drugs, nor were they ever mentioned. As far as I knew, there were no drugs being done in that house. End of that topic. I am not quite sure how it started, but at some point words began to flow between us and before long, Sly was telling me things which blew my mind. We were discussing his songs, his lyrics, the wild events which we can now only read about or see via television reruns. He told me about the time he played the Apollo Theater in 1971 and arrived 4 hours late. "The audience had decided that they didn't want any white people in Harlem that night. At that time I had white and black people in my band, and they came looking for us after the show. I told them that these were my boys. Anything they did to them would be an offense to me, and I would treat it as though they had done it to me." I wanted to talk about There's A Riot Goin' On, the album which brought the world funk as we now know it and is without a doubt my favorite record of all time. About the song "Africa Talks To You (The Asphalt Jungle)" which is a part of that record: "I visited the jungle and felt more comfortable there than here. The animals were all playin' cool with each other. Everything happened for a reason. Here, people kill deer for sport." I reminded him of words he had spoken long ago to Rolling Stone magazine (Dec. 1971): "In Africa the animals are animals. Here in New York, the asphalt jungle, a tiger or a snake may come up looking like, uhhh, you." I then told his two workers about how ingeniously Sly had used a primitive drum machine called the "Rhythm Ace" on that album. "Most people set that thing up by hitting one button and leaving it like that for the whole song," I remarked. "The sounds it made did not even resemble drums." Sly remembered and added: "I would record a bar by pressing down five buttons all at once. Then I would rewind the tape and hold down a different set of buttons." I then told Sly about my love for that record and asked him how he felt about it. "I love that record. I love all those records. But I love what I'm doing now more. I love today. I love today more than yesterday and I love today more than tomorrow." Sly was lucid, insightful and profound, as I had always envisioned him to be. He also possessed the same sense of humor as the Sly who made the TITLE track of that famous 1971 record last 0 minutes and 0 seconds. While I had thought he had done it to mock the individuals who blamed him for a riot in Chicago for which he was not responsible, he replied: "No. I did it because I felt there should be no riots." When I told Sly that I have been in close contact with the former A&R man for Sly & the Family Stone and the man who planned Sly's 1974 wedding at Madison Square Garden, Stephen Paley, Sly told me that Steve was a good friend of his and that he hoped he would come by the house during my stay. "He was the best man at my wedding," he informed his two workers. "Jon, tell Steve I'm getting married again. Tell him I'm getting married, and if I don't find anyone to marry by tomorrow, I'll marry him!" The next day at Steve's house, I called Sly and handed the phone to Steve. "Hey Syl." "Hey Steve. I'm getting divorced, can you help me out?" "Sorry, I only do weddings." It was the first time they had spoken together in twenty years. After a quick break for some take-out pizza and soda, I returned to the studio to witness something I will never forget. As I worked to nurse an ailing computer back to health, I was allowed to observe something which very few people have ever seen. I watched Sly Stone write music. And according to Steve Paley, the way he did it with me in the room is the way he did it way back when and the way he has always done it. He began by taking a piece of music which was strictly rhythm -- bass, keyboards, drums (all generated via synthesizer) -- looped it, and just listened to it while his body moved to his own ear-tickling grooves. He sat in his chair, hunched over the keyboard and bobbed his head and stomped his foot with the beat, lowering his head slightly on every fourth beat. I could not believe that he was allowing me to see this! One of these songs spoke to me in a way that words could not describe. While most of his songs were ideas, rhythm tracks that were too dense to move to (the process of removing the excess would come later; I knew that much from speaking to the Family Stone), one song in particular grabbed me from the start. The rhythms of this song were sparse and the groove was DEEP. Sly assumed his position, listening to his previous work ... re-entering the vibe he felt when he originally dropped those rhythms ... feeling in his heart where the notes should fall. After about 3 or 4 minutes of silence on his part, he took hold of the keyboard and began to work his magic. Yes, this man could not have been an imposter. IT REALLY WAS SLY STONE. The intensity and depth that he conjured up in those moments were on the same level as his legendary performance at Woodstock. The same as his performances on Stand!, Fresh and in Central Park in 1969. As I felt in my soul the meaning of his notes ... the words he was expressing to me through his music, I was completely overcome with emotion. My mouth dropped open. Tears filled my eyes. When his keyboard solo ended, I looked at Sly and could only stammer: "Sly ... I .... can't believe it. After all of these years, after all that's happened ... nothing has changed. Your music is the same as it always was." He thanked me, and smiled bashfully. I then realized that I had been honored in those moments for believing in Sly and erecting an electronic monument to his music. He was expressing his gratitude through song. I will never forget that song. I will be honest: before I spent time with Sly I felt pity for him. I felt that his genius had catapulted him into a world in which he had no control -- record companies, drug dealers, reporters ... nobody could accept his genius without trying to selfishly profit from him. After having spent eight hours with the man in his home, I realized the profound truth in the words Cynthia Robinson, trumpet player for Sly & the Family Stone, spoke to a New Yorker reporter in 1974: "Sly's a master planner. He's even got a master plan for when the master plan doesn't work." Sly is living in a nice home, with wonderful people and doing what he loves to do best -- write songs. It is all part of his master plan. And I thank God that Sly has allowed me to be a part of that plan. Jonathan Dakss, 4/23/97 Thank you for your kindness: R9, Steve, Rose, Twins, and of course, Sylvester Stewart.