Filed Under: Funk Lives Forever
Musician Sly Stone, frontman of Sly and the Family Stone and architect of the psychedelic soul revolution, has died. The icon who fused funk, rock, gospel, and chaos into one of the most revolutionary sounds in American music passed away in Los Angeles on June 9, 2025, after a long battle with COPD and other health complications. He was 82. According to his family, he passed peacefully, surrounded by his children and closest friends.
They say the revolution won’t be televised, but it had a soundtrack, and Sly Stone wrote half of it. The preacher-kid-turned-psychedelic-funk-sorcerer who changed music without asking permission is gone. But the rhythms he left behind, the culture he cracked open, and the chaos he set to a groove will never go quiet.
Sylvester Stewart was born in Denton, Texas, in 1943 and raised in Vallejo, California, where he and his siblings sang gospel and played instruments in the Church of God in Christ. By age eleven, he was already a multi-instrumentalist. By his twenties, he was a Bay Area radio DJ and producer shaping the local sound. But in 1966, he formed the band that would bend the arc of American music: Sly and the Family Stone.
Black, white, male, female, brothers, lovers, rivals—Sly didn’t just integrate his band, he integrated the beat. The Family Stone didn’t sound like anyone else because no one had the guts or vision to sound like that yet. Psychedelia, gospel, soul, fuzz guitar, syncopated bass, anthemic hooks, all fused with a unifying message of “everyday people.” What came out of that chaos was fire. Dance to the Music. Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin). Stand!. There’s a Riot Goin’ On. Woodstock didn’t know what hit it.
But neither did Sly. Fame hit like PCP. Cocaine scrambled the message. The band splintered. Shows imploded. By the late ’70s, he was showing up late or not at all, talking to dogs, dodging lawsuits, and ducking into studios for phantom sessions. The man who defined togetherness became a ghost. The Family Stone officially disbanded in 1983.
Still, the echoes never stopped. Prince, Rick James, Beck, Public Enemy, and André 3000 lifted from Sly. And Sly lifted from no one.
In 1993, he was inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, but barely appeared on stage. A 2006 Grammys tribute reunited the band, sort of. In 2023, Sly published his memoir, Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin), pulling back the curtain just enough to prove he still remembered the melody. A screenplay adaptation was completed in 2024.
“While we mourn his absence, we take solace in knowing that his extraordinary musical legacy will continue to resonate and inspire for generations to come.” —Family statement via The Sun
He is survived by his children, including Novena Carmel, and by siblings Freddie Stone and Rose Stone, his earliest bandmates and truest believers.
Sly never gave in to nostalgia. He let the records speak. And they still do. He didn’t just leave behind a catalog; he left a set of instructions: make it loud, make it true, make it weird, and make it matter. Even now, the grooves stay hot. The politics stay urgent. And the voice? Still burns.
Rest in Power.
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