LOS ANGELES, CA- There are concerts you walk into with expectations already set. Charlie Wilson is one of those artists. The man is a known commodity. I’ve seen him at the Hollywood Bowl before. I’ve even had the opportunity to shoot him, so I knew walking into this year’s “Uncle Charlie’s Cookout” that I’d be in for a good time. If you’re at a Charlie Wilson show, you know you’re going to get the hits. You know the grooves will be airtight. You know “Outstanding” will get rolled out like the national anthem. What made this night different, and particularly exciting for me, were the openers: K-Ci Hailey and Babyface.
For someone of my generation… I’m a late Gen Xer… R&B in the late ’80s and early ’90s was foundational. It was the soundtrack to middle school gym dances, high school crushes, cassette tapes passed between friends, and radio countdowns where you prayed your song landed at number one. Sure, Nirvana and Pearl Jam rewired my teenage angst. But if I wanted to slow-dance, if I wanted to impress a girl, if I wanted to feel some real tenderness, it was Jodeci or After 7 that I turned to. Those groups, and their lead singers (K-Ci on one side, Babyface on the other) basically built the scaffolding of my musical adolescence.
So no, I wasn’t shooting this show. And honestly, thank God for that. For once, I could sink into the music without worrying about ISO settings or fighting with a spotlight operator. I could just feel it. And right from the jump, with K-Ci on stage, I was transported.
K-Ci opened the night, and the Hollywood Bowl became a time machine. From the first strains of “You Bring Me Up,” I was back in my middle school years, awkwardly mouthing words I had memorized down to the syllable. By the time he moved into “Forever My Lady,” I was basically screaming lyrics I hadn’t consciously thought about in years. That’s the power of R&B: it burrows in deep, like muscle memory for the soul.
His setlist was wall-to-wall classics: “Last Night’s Letter,” “All My Life,” “Come & Talk to Me,” “Love U 4 Life,” “Feenin’,” and “Get on Up.” The only way to describe it is pure nostalgia rush. I don’t know how my brain struggles to memorize lyrics from songs I hear today, but when I was a teenager trying to woo someone on the gymnasium floor? Believe me, I knew every damn word. That kind of imprint doesn’t fade.
What made it even more remarkable was K-Ci himself. He’s not untouched by struggle. I know he had a stroke a few years back, and he’s been grinding to get back on stage. Seeing him deliver these songs — with rawness, with soul, with the lived-in grit of someone who’s seen some things — felt like a privilege. He wasn’t just singing to the crowd; he was singing through his history. And then, mid-set, he jumped into the audience. Not a little “step off stage and wave” moment. No. He was deep in the Bowl’s crowd, weaving through aisles, hugging people, belting into faces. I actually pitied the poor spotlight operator who had to chase him for 15 straight minutes. But as a fan? That was magic. R&B has always been about closeness, about collapsing the distance between performer and listener. K-Ci embodied that.
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If K-Ci was the emotional trigger of the evening, Babyface was the masterclass.
I’ve loved Babyface since his After 7 days, but nothing prepares you for seeing him live when he digs into just how much he’s written. His solo work is enough to headline. I mean, “Every Time I Close My Eyes,” “Whip Appeal,” “Soon as I Get Home”, etc could have been enough, but when he started into the medley of hits he penned for other artists, the Bowl turned into an encyclopedia of modern R&B.
He slid through songs like “Superwoman” (Karyn White), “Two Occasions” (The Deele), “Dial My Heart” (The Boys), “Can’t Stop” (After 7), and “Fairweather Friend” (Johnny Gill). Then came “We’re Not Making Love No More” (Dru Hill), “These Are the Times” (Dru Hill), “Slow Jam” (Midnight Star), “Don’t Be Cruel” (Bobby Brown). I’m not even getting into the Boyz II Men, Whitney Houston, Toni Braxton, Mary J Blige, TLC…. the list goes on and on and on… and each track was like opening a memory box from a different year of the ’90s.
And here’s the thing: I knew most of them. But then he dropped “Rock Steady” (The Whispers) I had no idea he co-wrote that. My jaw hit the floor. Same with “Slow Jam” (“Midnight Star”) That’s the kind of deep-cut revelation that makes you appreciate how far his reach extends. His fingerprints are everywhere.
Watching him on stage, I kept thinking: the LA Phil should do an entire Babyface tribute evening, with guest stars running through his catalog. Toni Braxton, Boyz II Men, Bobby Brown, Pebbles, Mary J. Blige, Paula Abdul — all backed by an orchestra. It would be one of those nights that cements his place not just as a performer, but as a composer of the American songbook.
Of course, with a catalog that deep, there were going to be omissions. I bet my friend two songs would make the cut: Boyz II Men’s “Water Runs Dry” and Eric Clapton’s “Change the World.” Neither showed up. But honestly, how could they? The man would need three nights just to scratch the surface. That’s the kind of abundance we’re talking about.
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By the time Charlie Wilson took the stage, the Bowl had already been fed on nostalgia and craftsmanship. Charlie’s role was to deliver the feast. And he did.
The setlist was packed. “Party Train,” “Early in the Morning,” “Beautiful” (with a Snoop Dogg nod), “Wednesday Lover,” “Computer Love,” “Burn Rubber,” “Funk Medley,” “Charlie, Last Name Wilson,” “There Goes My Baby,” “Yearning for Your Love,” “You Are,” “Outstanding,” “You Dropped a Bomb on Me.” Funk, soul, love ballads, gospel tinges — it was all there. He even worked in James Brown (“Funky Good Time”), Roger Troutman (“I Want to Be Your Man”), and a gospel interlude with “For Every Mountain.”
Yes, he’s older now. He doesn’t quite move like he once did. But his voice? Still golden. Still carrying that mix of grit and silk that has always set him apart. And more than that, his stage presence is undiminished. Charlie Wilson is a survivor. He’s battled addiction, he’s endured industry setbacks, he’s seen the highs and lows of fame. Every time he walks on stage and delivers “Outstanding,” it’s not just a performance. It’s testimony.
There was a moment before “I’m Blessed” when audio played of Charlie talking about his struggles. The Bowl hushed, and then he sang it like a declaration: yes, he’s still here, yes, he’s still grateful, yes, he’s still blessed. That’s bigger than entertainment. That’s life being sung into the air.
As the encore wound down with “You Dropped a Bomb on Me,” I couldn’t help but reflect on why concerts like this feel so essential. It’s not just nostalgia, though that’s part of it. It’s not just the pleasure of hearing songs you love, though that’s huge. It’s about presence. About witnessing artists who shaped your life continue to shape your evening, even decades later.
Seeing K-Ci rise from his struggles to belt out “Forever My Lady.” Seeing Babyface remind everyone just how much of their lives he’s already written. Seeing Charlie Wilson reaffirm that legends don’t fade. They evolve.
I don’t know how many more times I’ll get to see Charlie Wilson perform “Outstanding.” Maybe one more, maybe five, maybe none. But I know I’ve seen him do it twice, and for that I’m grateful. Music is fleeting like that. You don’t know which performance will be the last, for them or for you. So when it’s offered… when Uncle Charlie throws a cookout at the Hollywood Bowl… you show up.
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LIVE CLIPS
Uncle Charlie Wilson’s Cookout at the Hollywood Bowl: A Celebration of R&B Memory and Legacy
