That Girl

The guitar enters first — a clean, bright tone with a slight rhythmic chop — and immediately signals that this is funk-adjacent but not quite funk, something more soulful and deliberate underneath the groove. The bass line is the spine of the track, rolling and melodic in a way that gives the song its particular walk, unhurried but certain. Percussion sits high in the mix, crisp and present without ever overwhelming, holding everything together with a light hand. Wonder's vocal performance is joyful without being exuberant — there's a warmth and specificity to it, like describing someone in particular rather than a generalized beloved. He embellishes the melody throughout, adding small melismatic turns that feel natural rather than showcasing, the voice as conversation rather than performance. Lyrically, it's an act of extended praise — cataloging the particular qualities of one person — and the specificity is what elevates it from generic devotion to something that feels genuinely felt. From Hotter Than July (1981), it arrived in an album full of political and personal weight but served here as a moment of uncomplicated affection, a counterweight. The production feels live in a way that Wonder's more synthesizer-heavy 80s work sometimes didn't, and that organic warmth is a large part of the appeal. This is the song that plays in the background when everything is going well — a Sunday afternoon, someone you love nearby, no demands on the immediate future.