You didn’t listen to Sly Stone. You survived him.

Before Prince threw on heels and eyeliner. Before George Clinton landed the mothership. Before hip-hop dug through crates of the past to build the future, there was Sylvester Stewart, Sly Stone, turning soul, rock and R&B into something kinetic, kaleidoscopic and irreversibly Black. And in the process, he changed music — full stop.

Now, with his passing today, we’re left to honor a man whose name belongs not just in the pantheon of funk pioneers alongside James Brown and George Clinton, but at the summit of American musical revolutionaries, period.

Before the revolution was televised, it was amplified

Born in Denton, Texas and raised in the Bay Area, Sly Stone’s musical genius was evident from a young age. A prodigy who could master piano, guitar, bass and drums with equal fluency, Stewart cut his teeth as a DJ at KSOL in San Francisco, blasting gospel, jazz, soul and psychedelic rock across the airwaves like a mad scientist of sound. He did more than play records; he deconstructed them. And then he rebuilt something new.

That vision took full form in 1966 with the creation of Sly and the Family Stone, a band that shattered every mold in the industry. Integrated by race and gender, Black and white, men and women, it was a radical concept in a time still boiling with civil unrest. The Family Stone transcended being a band. They were a living manifesto of civil rights fulfilled.

With hits like “Dance to the Music,” “Everyday People,” “Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin),” and the eternal “If You Want Me to Stay,” Sly Stone made the world think while it danced.

The Family Stone’s sound was fusion before fusion was a genre. A seamless marriage of gospel’s urgency, soul’s tenderness, rock’s power and funk’s irrepressible groove. This was music that punched you in the chest and then hugged you before you hit the floor.

And don’t get it twisted: there is no Earth, Wind & Fire without Sly. No Prince. No D’Angelo. No Kendrick. He made it okay to be vulnerable, angry, spiritual, political and funky, all at once. As Questlove once said, “Sly Stone is the DNA of modern Black music.”

Brilliance meets the breakdown

But genius often walks hand-in-hand with agony. By the mid-1970s, Sly was unraveling. The man who once led an interracial, utopian funk army became a recluse, shackled by drug addiction and paranoia. His live shows became erratic. Bandmates left. Rumors mounted. Albums suffered. And eventually, Sly Stone disappeared from the spotlight like a ghost escaping his own legend.

Still, even in retreat, his influence never waned.

Artists sampled him religiously. Hip-hop producers flipped “Sing a Simple Song” and “You Can Make It If You Try” into sonic gold. D’Angelo’s entire Voodoo era is steeped in Sly’s textured minimalism. Bruno Mars owes a whole lane of his stagecraft to the man. The sonic, spiritual and social blueprint Sly drafted in the ’60s and ’70s still breathes through modern soundwaves.

Legacy in technicolor

Sly’s genius wasn’t just in the notes, the grooves, or even the attitude. It was in the refusal to conform. Sly tore through all of the stereotypical racial, musical and political boxes, and danced in the debris. He was bold. He was beautiful. He was broken. But above all, he was real.

And in that realness, he gave Black America, and the world, a new language for freedom.

The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame recognized him. The Grammys finally honored him. And even though the industry did its best to forget him at times, the people never did. Because you can’t erase a prophet. You can only misunderstand him in his time and rediscover him in your own.

So here’s the truth: Sly Stone didn’t lose his way. He just chose a path too dense with stars and shadows for most to follow. He spoke in frequencies, translated pain into rhythm and turned joy into rebellion.

And now, he is an ancestor. We don’t mourn him. We ride the groove he gave us.

So as we honor Sly’s transition, let’s remember the full spectrum. The brilliance and the brokenness. The harmony and the dissonance. Because that’s the truth of Black genius, it lives in tension, it dances in contradiction, and when it speaks, it sounds like Sly.

Forever funky. Forever revolutionary. Forever Sly.

This is Chris Campbell from The Progressive Underground with your Pick of the Week.

This week, we dive into the sonic brilliance of Headnodic & Jazz Mafia, a West Coast collective of musicians and vocalists who craft rich, layered textures around the forward-thinking productions of Headnodic. Known for his seamless fusion of hip-hop and jazz, Headnodic leads this outfit through a self-titled debut that redefines the genre’s possibilities.

Up next is their bold and beautiful reimagining of Herbie Hancock’s “Maiden Voyage”— a modern tribute that honors the classic while sailing new creative waters.

That was Headnodic & The Jazz Mafia with “Maiden Voyage,” from their brand-new self-titled release.

If this brand of hip-hop jazz fusion hits your soul, join us every Saturday night at 6 p.m. on The Progressive Underground — where we explore future soul, nu-jazz, jazz-rap, rare grooves, and b-sides from across the spectrum.

For The Progressive Underground, I’m Chris Campbell. See you next time. Peace.