. . . of broken hearts, and games of play . . .
Tony heard that Big Momma song that John was working on, and he laughed his ass off.
He said, “John, what are you trying to be, funny now? This shit sounds crazy. You better read another fan letter and get some new ideas.”
I laughed and told Tony, “That's what I was sayin', man. This song needs to be rethought or something. ” It was a rarity for me to be in agreement with Tony. I figured that had to mean something. John was losing it.
Tony said, “But I like the bass line. That bass line is the shit.”
John said, “Look, can you hook up a beat to this song, or what?” He was determined to record that thing.
Tony listened to the bass line again and nodded his head in sync with the groove. He said, “The bass line is doing all of the work. You don't need much of a beat for this one. But I see why you wanted that heavy-ass snare in there. That bass is thick as gravy.”
So Tony came up with something simple, using a shaker instead of a high hat:
Tony's beat was one of the simplest that he had done in a while, but when he added it to John's bass line—
—the symmetry between the two was automatic. I grinned and shook my head. I thought, Here we go again. It was beginning to seem as if Tony's beats could cover up any of John's faults, and I was already so tired of hearing that Nobody's Perfect song that I changed the radio station every time that it came on. However, the public couldn't get enough of it.
Tony even covered up the ridiculous chorus to Big Momma using a multiple beat that was sure to be sampled by hip-hop acts. And John went ahead and forced us to record that song in the studio anyway. I told him to at least call it Tonight Is Yours instead of Big Momma. He reluctantly agreed to the title change, and once we got band players to add all of the pieces together, it didn't sound that bad anymore. I was still hesitant to put the thing out, though. I just didn't like the direction that John was going in. I still considered him to be more of a soul artist, and although a little bit of pop was good to keep the public's attention, I felt that too much of that pop shit would destroy John's musical validity.
I had a talk with Matt, the marketing director, and he said that he would push the song on the underground DJ circuit to see what the clubs thought about it, because it definitely had a street appeal to it. I didn't want the song out there at all, to be honest about it. But it took just a few weeks for the DJs to start rocking Tonight Is Yours in the clubs, and the next thing we knew, we had major requests for the song in the record stores and on the radio. So Old School Records was forced to rush into mass production with push from BMG to fill the orders.
Tony laughed in my face and said, “It's the beats, man. I told y'all that a long time ago. As long as John don't fuck up the song with his singin', which is hard for that nigga to do, my beats can carry us to the charts every time. And John got momentum now with everything he puts out.”
Hell, I had to believe it. Women actually liked the damn song, and I'm talking about the words. Even skinny women were talking about it, because they felt left out. The guys were mostly rocking to John's bass line and Tony's drum programming.
Tangela didn't like the song, though. She tried to play it off with a laugh, but I could tell from how she talked about it that she didn't like it. It was just a right-in-your-face kind of song.
“So, I need to gain some weight for you, sweetie?” Tangela joked to John. I was over at the house when it happened.
John laughed it off and said, “It's just a song.”
Since I was right there when she brought it up, I instigated my point and said, “Wait a minute. I thought you told me that everything you record on this second album is going to be about honesty, no matter who it offends.” I quoted him word for word.
John said, “It is honest. Plenty of guys out here like fat asses. You know that, man. Don't even front like that, D.”
I said, “But you're singing the words.”
“Man, I'm singing the words for everybody. It's not just about me,” he told me.
Tangela said, “Oh, so you do like big women then?”
John was in hot-ass water. Tangela was extra easy on the eyes, but she wasn't no body woman. She just had the face and the hair.
John gave up his argument and said, “Aw, fuck that, y'all not gon' sweat me over some damn song. It's just one damn song.”
I got in the last word and said, “It was one damn song that you were just dying to record for some reason.”
Tangela was pissed. She walked away and didn't say anything else about it, or at least while I was still there.
When she walked off, John was pretty mad about it too. He looked at me and said, “What were you trying to do, man?”
I chuckled at it and said, “My bad, man.” John didn't think it was funny.
He said, “That shit wasn't cool, man. She already been sweatin' me about who I'm wit' all the time. Every time I gotta do something, she giving me the third fuckin' degree. I don't need this extra shit, man. What's wrong with you?”
I just started laughing harder. I said, “She's been pouring the heat on you lately, hunh?” What woman wouldn't? John was in a zone, and the musical award shows were coming up, with John being invited to perform. We also expected to collect awards there. John had best new male vocalist all on his mind.
I went back home that night and didn't think much about the brief argument that I had with John. And I had to get used to Tangela being around, because she was holding her ground with him. She was starting to become what they call a common-law wife and shit.
In the middle of the night, I woke up to a continuous buzzing of my apartment intercom system. Whoever it was, they were obviously determined to wake me up, so I finally climbed out of bed to shout into my intercom.
“Who is this?” I was pissed the hell off when I said it too. I had enough damn disturbances during the daytime with people calling me about John's music career.
“Yeah, it ain't funny no more now, is it?”
I said, “John? What the hell is up, man? You just did this shit to get back at me?”
He said, “Let me up, man.”
I buzzed him in and waited. John walked in looking as dog mad as I was.
I asked him, “What's up, man? What's up?” I didn't feel like having any conversation at three in the morning.
John took off his black leather coat and sat down, smelling like weed.
I said, “You were smoking in the car on the way over here?”
He nodded his head. He said, “Yeah, man, that stereo system is a beast, too.”
John had recently bought himself a black 500 Series Mercedes-Benz. Tangela, of course, had taken the Lexus off his hands, and I was looking to update the Maxima with a Ford Explorer. I just hadn't bothered to buy it yet. With all of John's record points, music publishing rights, and new pop hits to boot, the money would roll in like water under a bridge. I hadn't even gotten a chance to spend much of mine. John was always treating me to shit.
I asked him again, “So, what's up, man?”
“I ain't feel like stayin' in the house tonight,” he told me.
“So, you just jump up and come over to my fuckin' place in the middle of the night?” I asked him. Trust me, you need all of the sleep you can get when you manage a hot talent in the music industry.
John smiled and said, “This used to be my place.”
“Well, it ain't your place now.”
“Is my name still on the lease?”
Technically it was, because I hadn't bothered to take it off.
I said, “What are you trying to tell me? It's time for me to buy a new house somewhere like you got?”
He started laughing. He said, “Yeah, spend some money, man. Stop acting like a country boy.”
I smiled and said, “Nigga, please. Don't start talking that Tony shit to me, man.”
John said, “Well anyway, Tangela wouldn't let me sleep tonight because of your ass talking about that new song. She was saying, ‘So, what girl inspired you to write this song, since obviously my ass ain't that big?’” He was emphasizing his words just like Tangela would do.
I couldn't help but laugh. I said, “That's what you get for having her around so much, man. She's all up in your head now on everything that you do.”
He said, “Yeah, well, I'm up in your head then, because you started that shit tonight.”
I said, “Aw'ight, well, you can go to sleep on the sofa.” I wasn't planning to stay up with him over that boyfriend-girlfriend drama shit. I was going back to bed.
John said, “Where you going?”
“Where it look like I'm goin'? I'm goin' back to bed, man.”
He stood up and started following me. He said, “No you're not, man. If I can't sleep, then you're not sleepin' either.”
I said, “You can sleep. Take your ass back to the sofa.” I meant that shit too!
Then the telephone rang. I stopped and asked myself, What the hell is going on tonight?
I went to answer the phone with John still breathing down my neck. I pushed him away, and he tried to act as if he wanted to resist me. I just looked at him as if he was crazy. I mean, John had picked up a good ten pounds or so, but I still had him by at least twenty, and he was nowhere near ready to handle me in something physical.
I said, “Man, you better cut it out and stick to that singing shit before you get body slammed in here.”
He just laughed it off.
“Hello,” I answered the phone.
“Darin, is John over there?” It was Tangela.
I smiled, thinking about lying to her to make her jealous. But I didn't. I had caused enough trouble as it was.
I said, “Yeah, he's here,” and handed John the telephone.
He answered, “Hello.”
I started walking toward my bedroom again when I heard John say, “I'm not acting like a kid.”
I smiled, walked into my room, and shut my bedroom door. I climbed back in bed and could still hear John loud and clear out in the other room.
“Look, I don't ask you who you fuckin'. I got faith in you enough to give you that respect . . . Because I don't feel like discussing this shit at the house . . . I do care about it, I just don't sweat you like that. If you ask me, you the one up here acting childish. ”
I rolled over and stared up at the ceiling. They were ruining my sleep.
John said, “Aw'ight, well, look, you want me to write a fucking song about you? Would that make you happy? Damn! . . . I know you care about me. I care about you too. But you can't keep sweatin' me about this shit. You know how the business is. You a manager now, ain't you?”
I started shaking my head and mumbled, “I can't believe this shit.”
When their phone call was finally over, John strolled up into my room and said, “I'm going back home, man. That girl love me, man. I gotta write a song about her now. She just a little bit pushy, that's all. She used to having her way, D.”
I said, “That's nice to hear, now go on back home, man.”
“I'm sayin', man, I'm trying to talk to you. I'm expressing myself right now.”
I said, “Nah, that's the weed expressing itself. ”
John paused for a minute. He said, “You want me to go get you some so we can talk then? I got some more in the car.”
I said, “John, no, man. I want you to go home to your wife.”
He stopped and said, “Wife? I ain't married, man. I ain't even trying to think about that. It seem like, if I got married, I could probably only write about family stuff or something in my music. You know what I mean? I would have to, like, protect my family image.”
God dammit! I thought to myself. I had just sparked a new conversation.
John went on and said, “I think that artists should stay single until they don't have it in them no more, man. And then when you finally get married and stuff, you'll be, like, tired of the single life anyway. You know what I mean, D?”
He took a seat on the edge of my bed like my mother would do.
I took a deep breath and said, “John, you determined to torture me tonight, aren't you?”
He said, “Nah. I'm not torturing you. I'm your boy. I love you, man. We from back North Cacalacki together. We went to church together, man. We know each other's families. I mean, you don't feel like I'm torturing you, do you? I mean, I'm just trying to express myself, man. That's what the music is all about anyway.”
He said, “I think, like, if I had had a chance to express myself more when I was growing up instead of my mom sweating me all the time and shit, maybe I wouldn't have that need to express myself so much now. So, like, in a way, I owe my mom for making me as creative as I am about my music, man. Does that make any sense to you, D?”
I said, “Yeah, man, that makes sense. I thought about that a long time ago.” He had me wide awake. What were best friends and managers for if I couldn't hear him out?
He said, “I wonder if my father was a musician or something, man. And like, my mom fucked him on his tour in Atlanta or something, 'cause she's from Atlanta. And then she got pregnant, and instead of her having an abortion, she moved to Charlotte to keep me, and got all religious and shit. Because I talked to my other family members, and they all tell me that my mom wasn't always religious like that.”
After a while, I just listened to him as he went on.
He said, “Ain't that some wild shit, man.”
“Yeah,” I told him, “that is wild.”
He said, “I just hear music in my mind, man. It's like, it just comes to me. And these reporters and interview people just don't get that shit. It's like, they don't understand the process of it. You know what I mean, D? I think more of these reporters need to visit recording studios so that they can understand how we put this music together, man. 'Cause some of their questions are stupid as shit. I mean, do they set out to ask you that dumb shit on purpose?”
“Dumb shit like what, John?”
He paused and thought of a question. He had been asked plenty of questions after the release of that Tonight Is Yours song.
He said, “Does your music intend to make a human statement?” in a reporter's voice, all crisp, clear, and direct.
I started laughing. He was making this up and overdramatizing the questions.
He responded in his own drawn voice, real calm. He said, “Well, I am human, and every time we open our mouths we make statements, don't we? So why wouldn't it be the same with my music?”
I started laughing again, but John had never been that sarcastic in his real responses in interviews. He was always respectful and courteous just like he was raised to be.
In the middle of my laugh, my phone rang again.
John said, “I'll get it, man.”
He leaned over to my bedroom phone on the nightstand and answered it.
“Darin Harmon's residence.” He said, “Oh, I'm on my way. I was just having a conversation with my manager. My boy. You understand that, don't you? I mean, we sleep together, so we got all day to talk.”
I couldn't stop laughing. That boy was tripping that night.
He said, “Aw'ight, aw'ight, I'm coming right now. Damn.”
He hung up the phone and smiled at me. He said, “My dick startin' to get hard already, D. I know she ain't got no clothes on waiting for me. That's how she makes up, with the pussy. She like to fuck, man, ever since that first night when she called me back at the hotel. And you was trying not to let her up. You could have fucked up the best pussy I ever had in my life, man. I mean, I was a phone call away from missing her that night.”
I shook my head and said, “Go 'head home, man. Go 'head. You had her address and phone number anyway.”
He said, “Yeah, but I didn't know that she could fuck like that, though. I had to find that out when I met her. And you almost messed it up.”
I said, “Okay, John, but you got her now. So go on home and get her. Good night, man.”
The drama with John and Tangela was far from over. He hadn't started working on a song for her fast enough, I guess, and he heard it through the grapevine that a television show wanted him on to talk about his new single, Tonight Is Yours, with a bunch of oversized women. I didn't take the show seriously myself, so I hadn't bothered to call the producer back.
Anyway, John accepted their invitation to a taping in New York, despite the fact that Tangela didn't want him to do it.
He said, “Look, man, I can't let her start to get in the way of my music. She just gon' have to learn to understand that.” He looked at me and added, “You too.” He seemed determined to spite us all for that song. I had another thought about it in mind. With John being bullied by his mother for so long before he finally broke away from her, he was going to make sure that Tangela and I wouldn't sink our teeth in him the same way, even if he had to spite us on purpose. And he continued to soldier his music as a scapegoat. I didn't believe he liked that one song all that much. He just wanted to be plain old hardheaded, if you asked me.
So Tony and I ended up sitting front and center in the audience in New York. We were both trying our hardest not to break up laughing at these extra large women expressing how Tonight Is Yours made them feel, versus the smaller women in the audience. It was all for the ratings game too, embarrassingly. Not that I was making fun of oversized women, because the women in my own family were not exactly skinny, but these people on the show were all putting shame to themselves just to get on TV for an hour. I couldn't even believe that John wanted to do that to himself, but I couldn't stop him. And Tony was enjoying the spectacle.
This one sister had an ass so fat that three guys could dance with her from the back and all get an equal serving.
She stood up in front of the host, who was holding the microphone and her name card, and said, “I like the song myself. And I'm proud of what I got. And I make sure that everybody know it, too.”
With the giant caboose that she had on her, there was no way in the world that anyone could miss it. Tony couldn't stop laughing. It was all funny to him.
A second girl, who was only half the first girl's size, stood in front of the microphone and said, “The beat was nice, but I felt that the lyrics were average. I mean, the song sounded honest and all, but the lyrics weren't all that creative. I think the music made the song.”
Tony was just dying to hear that. He smiled and started nodding his head. He said, “Yeah, the beat was bangin'.”
The host responded, “But isn't Loverboy's song doing the same thing that so many other popular songs do in objectifying a woman's physical appearance? I mean, what happened to getting to know the person inside regardless of how big or how small they are?”
Of course, her audience started clapping on cue to every point the host made, right. I mean, that shit was all so damn phony. And John was sitting up on stage putting himself through that foolishness.
He said, “Everybody's objectified. You think that women's songs don't objectify the men? I used to get teased for being thin. And there weren't any women writing songs about guys like me. Nor were they writing about guys who were short, light, and ugly. ”
The host had to laugh at that one herself.
She said, “So, John, are you trying to somehow make up for your own lack of size by now singing to full-figured women?”
Tony started laughing again.
I was thinking that Tangela would be somewhere watching the show when it aired. John had to be real careful how he answered that question. I felt nervous for him, and as if I was being asked the question myself.
John said, “I have all kinds of songs that deal with all kinds of situations and all kinds of women. I just felt that this song would include the sisters who we don't often see in the videos.”
The host jumped right on him and said, “Ah, including your videos.”
Her audience laughed, mocking him.
John took it all in stride and said, “Exactly.”
Then she asked him, “So, is there going to be a video for this song too?” She had a big smile on her face, preparing for the drama.
John answered, “This song was released underground as a test to see how people would respond to it because my label didn't want it to offend people. But it ended up doing a lot better than we thought it would do. And at this point, it's too late to do a video.”
Good answer, I thought to myself. John had handled himself on the show well, by telling the simple truth like he always did. Then they played different parts of the song during the television breaks as the conversations continued.
Tony said to me, “If people didn't know about the song before, it's sure gon' get enough exposure now. Or at least to the people who watch this show. And that's more money for us.”
I had to agree with him on that. So John getting on that talk show wasn't a bad idea after all. Until it aired and Tangela confronted him about it. She wanted to know once and for all if he was satisfied with her. Instead of making it easy on himself and just telling the girl what she wanted to hear to keep the peace, John took the hard route.
I asked him, “So what did you tell her?”
He said, “I just told her that we're satisfying each other right now.”
I said, “But she didn't ask you that. She asked you if you were satisfied.”
He looked at me as if he didn't understand the question. “Satisfied with what?”
I said, “With her.”
“How you mean? Sexually?”
“Yeah, something. ” He was making me feel frustrated, so I could just imagine how Tangela felt. John refused to be boxed in.
I broke down and asked him, “Do you think this girl loves you, man?” I didn't think she did at first, but her act was even fooling me if she didn't love that boy by then. I mean, they had only known each other for half a year, but she was taking herself through an awful lot of turmoil for someone who didn't love John. She had to feel something.
John said, “If she does, then she has to just hang in there for me then. Because I'm not thinking about gettin' all that deep right now, man, you know . . .”
I cut him off before he could even say it. I said, “Yeah, you're all about your music right now, right?” I was tired of hearing that shit from John myself, to be frank. And I wasn't even one of his girls.
Sure enough, Tangela called me up about it and wanted to get all up inside John's head from what I knew as his lifelong friend.
I said, “Tangela, to be honest with you, John never really had a girlfriend like that.”
She didn't believe me. She said, “He didn't have not one girlfriend ever in his life?”
I said, “Nah. He was always chasing girls that he couldn't get. And then when he started gettin' them, he had already discovered a new girlfriend.”
Tangela caught on and said, “His music.” She knew his game. She said, “Well, why he ask me to move in with him then?”
I didn't want to answer that. She had just caught John at a time of low, and she had put the whip appeal on him. She became a pleasant security blanket for him, but she just couldn't try to wrap him too tightly or he would wrestle off the sheets. I stared at the phone, not wanting to hurt her feelings with that truth. And to think that I didn't trust or like the girl at first. By then I sympathized with her, I really did. She was just barking up the wrong tree.
Out of the blue, she sighed and said, “John's birthday is February eighth. He's an Aquarius. An air sign. And that's just what he's doing, moving like the wind. He can get real hectic sometimes, too. He fuckin' snaps out on you.”
I wasn't much into that astrology shit, but I said, “Yeah, he does have those mood swings. He's always been that way.”
I asked her, “Well, where is he now?” He obviously wasn't with her.
She said, “With Tony. They're supposed to be working on new tracks for the album.”
I smiled and chuckled. They were probably high, too. I just said, “Oh.”
She said, “So he doesn't tell you everything either?”
I said, “Sometimes he does, sometimes he doesn't.”
“What he tell you about me?”
I thought about all of those sexual conversations and started laughing. She didn't want to know that, and I told her so.
“You don't want to know that.”
“Yes I do. Tell me.”
I thought about it and shook my head. I knew better than that. Although John had a lot more women than I could ever hope to have with his whole Loverboy bag, I wasn't exactly an amateur with women. You just didn't tell women about male conversations. That was player rule number one.
Tangela figured that out and changed the question. She said, “Well, tell me this then, Darin, how come you're not attached to a woman?”
I was caught off guard with that. I laughed again, this time nervously. Was she coming on to me, or was I just reading things wrong?
I said, “Well . . . I think I've been a little caught up in this music thing, too. I mean, I'm not saying that as an excuse, I'm just saying that I guess I've been thinking more about John than about me lately. I mean, that's my job, and . . . you know, John's my boy.”
My shit sounded weak, as weak as John's explanation. There had been plenty of women who I could have become serious about. I was a big-ass hypocrite, and Tangela was calling me out on it.
She laughed at me and said, “Mmm hmm, tell me about it. It's all the damn same.” Then she leveled with me. She said, “Darin, I have a little confession to make.”
My heart started beating fast. Oh shit! I thought to myself. What is she about to tell me?
I opened my mouth real slowly and said, “Yeah.”
She said, “I've been thinking lately that . . . you know, John is younger than me, and maybe I need to be involved with someone who's older. I mean, he's just not ready for anything serious right now.”
I breathed easy again. Because if Tangela was to tell me that she had been thinking about me . . .
Anyway, I took another breath and said, “Nah, just hang in there with him. I mean, y'all only known each other for a minute. Stick around for at least five and see what happens.”
She started laughing. She said, “I like that. That was cute. But I just don't know anymore. I mean, with me managing Butterscotch now, I'm getting a little bit busy too. And I just need to have a clear conscience to concentrate on them the way that I need to. I can't be stressing over my own personal problems while trying to manage them.”
Could you believe this shit?! The next thing I knew, I was trying to beg Tangela to stay after wanting her ass out so badly. I just didn't know how John would take it if she left him. She had me convinced!
I said, “Nah, just . . . you know, give him three minutes then. Aw'ight? Just give him three minutes.” I was trying to make it all humorous, but I was really getting nervous about it.
She laughed, but the situation wasn't funny anymore.
She said, “Darin, I've already given him three minutes. You don't know how much of myself I've given to him.”
I smiled and thought, Yes I do, too, but I still couldn't tell her what I knew.
I said, “Look, just take time out to think about things. All right? Can you do that? Because I can't get off of the phone with you like this. And as John's boy and manager, I have to look out for his best interests. And you're in his best interest right now.”
Tangela paused and said, “Yeah, right now. And that's just what I'm having problems with. I feel, like, I'm wasting valuable time with him. And the longer I stay . . . the harder it will get for me.”
SHIT! I had said the wrong FUCKING words! I was about to have a headache. That's why weed was smoked so much. It wouldn't make the stress disappear, but it let you put the shit on hold until you could figure out a logical solution for it. Which most of the time, you didn't. You just find a way to move along . . . And then you get high again.
When I hung up the phone with Tangela with no promises from her, I felt severely pained inside, and it wasn't even happening to me. I mean, if I could have written a song, I would have had a number one hit on my hands. But that was for John to do.
A week after I had talked to Tangela on the phone, my boy John brought me the bad news at the apartment. He said, “She's moving to New Jersey, man. Upstate.”
I tried to act surprised and asked him, “Who?”
John said, “You know who I'm talking about, man. Tangela. She said she moving to Orange County or something.”
I asked him, “Why? Does she even know anybody up there? She got family up there or something?”
He said, “Nah. Her and Butterscotch are moving up there. They're just trying to be closer to the studios in New York and stuff, you know. They feel like Philly got them on lockdown or something. So they all wanted to relocate to keep things rolling for them.”
I said, “Oh, so they coming back then.” I tried to make it seem as if it was just a quick business move for Tangela and Butterscotch that wasn't permanent.
John didn't respond to it. He said, “I gotta think about finishing my own album anyway. Me and Tony ready to lay down like three or four songs now.”
I had heard a few of the things that they had been working on. Tony was starting to get more of the production credit by telling John things to play, while coming up with hook lines of his own that fit his beats. Tony's productions had more of a street funk edge that would attract the hip-hop lovers to John's music.
They recorded two of Tony's ideas in the same day. The first song was called All Night Situation that used a funky horn sample with those hypnotic beats of Tony's.
The beat rocked: “ BaDOOMP-BaDOOMP, TAT / BaDOOMPBaDOOMP, TAT . . .”
The horns blew: “WE GOT ALL NIGHT! . . . WE GOT ALL NIGHT! WE GOT ALL NIGHT!”
The bass line crooned: “All night sit-u-a-a-a-tionnn.”
And John laced the lyrics: “So I hope you got your rest last night / 'cause good love ain't got no stoplight.”
The second song was called Keep It Cool, where Tony had a funky drum solo off the hook.
John sang, “When shit gets wa-a-ay too hot / I just keep it cool.”
Then Tony would go off on a tangent with the drums:
It sounded like a throwback to the seventies funk when the drummers just went OFF ! And Tony was not sampling anything. He was using drum machines based off his drum set. He had, like, five different drum machines by then, collecting all of the different drum sounds that he could get. The boy was getting complicated! And PAID!
Then John just up and went AWOL on us. He lost his passion for the music and didn't feel like recording anything. I knew that Tangela leaving him like she did would have an effect on him. It was only a matter of time.
I went over to the house to talk to John about it, and he looked ragged again, uncleaned and unshaved.
He said, “What fuckin' difference does it make? I'm not taking a photo shoot. We not doing any concerts right now. I ain't got no steady woman. And my momma don't even love me. So what the fuck I need to look good for, man?”
He wasn't even high when he was saying this.
I shook my head and tried to take it lightly. I said, “Your momma love you, man. You crazy ! You wanna call her up right now and ask her?”
He said, “For what? So she can tell me to go back to church and pray? Nah, I don't feel like that shit right now, man. Leave me alone about that.”
I was really over there on business, to tell you the truth. We were all on the move to finish that damn album, and the heat was all coming down on me.
John caught me before I could even bring that up, though. He said, “And I don't feel like making no music right now either. So don't even talk to me about it.”
Since I was his boy before I was his manager, I was stuck. What was more important, our friendship or the music business? . . . I chose our friendship and left John alone about it. But it wasn't an easy decision to make.
Tony called me up at the apartment and asked me, “What's up with John, man? You better talk to that boy! We got money on the line here. We gotta finish this fuckin' album!”
Kenny and Matt even called me up from Old School Records. “Is everything all right with John? We haven't seen him in the studio lately. What's going on?”
FUCK! John was driving me crazy! I started thinking that I should have forced his ass to finish that damn album the first time the issue came up, and before he recorded that damn Big Momma song and sent Tangela packing with Butterscotch.
You talk about having stress ! That shit was unbearable as a manager because it wasn't anything that I could control. I couldn't make John sing even if I wanted to. I felt helpless, and as if I needed some outsider to help run the show, and that would mean that I wasn't a capable manager for John.
To make things worse, instead of holding it down, I fucked around and got high, invited a girl over, and took it all out on her in the bedroom.
When I finished with her, she sat up in the bed buck naked and asked me, “Is everything okay? You fucked me like you were mad at me or something.”
And I was mad, but I wasn't mad at her. I was just mad at my situation. I was mad at John.
I said, “That motherfucker left me out to dry, man. He left me out to dry.”
I was still high, so she had no idea what I was talking about. I didn't even realize what I was saying.
She said, “ Who left you out to dry? What are you talking about? And why take that out on me ?”
The girl was a prisoner of war that night. I looked at her, while still under the influence of the weed, and I got real cold on her. I said, “If you motherfuckin' girls knew how to act and understood shit, this shit never would have happened.”
She looked at me and got real quiet. She stood up from the bed and nodded her head. She said, “I think it's time for me to leave now. Because somebody in here just lost their damn mind. ”
I was on a roll that night, man, talking plenty of shit. I said, “Yeah, that's what y'all do best. You know how to leave a motherfucker, you just don't know how to stay. ”
She started putting her clothes on in a hurry and said, “Because we're not dogs!”
I really went overboard that night, man, and I couldn't even stop myself. I said, “You could have fooled me. I just fucked you like one, didn't I? I called you over here, and you came right over and took your clothes off and got in the position.”
That girl made it to the front door and yelled, “FUCK YOU, AND YOUR MOTHER! BITCH!” and slammed my door when she left.
I went numb after that. I sat there naked and thought to myself, Damn! What the fuck am I doin'? This shit is crazy! Why did I just do that? WHY? Because I could?
I was drunk with power, man. Drunk with it! And all I was was a manager.
I took that whole incident that night and blamed it on the weed. That was it. I wasn't going to smoke anymore. I also had some apologizing to do. But that girl didn't want to hear shit from me. And I couldn't blame her.
Out of the blue, John came out of his slump with a fresh haircut, a shave, and some new ideas from his production room at home. He didn't tell anyone what he had been working on either, including me. He just told us all to meet him down at the studio. We had a bass player, an electric guitar with one of those distortion machines, a second keyboard player, and John told Tony to bring his live drum set instead of using the drum machines.
Tony said, “John wants that live band effect, hunh?”
They were all excited to try it with him. They just knew that he was good. A genius. And I didn't have anything to say about it. I just wanted that whole album process to be over with before I did something else crazy. I had found out that I wasn't perfect either. How you respond to stress tells you a lot about yourself. And I didn't like what I had found out.
So John got ready at the studio with his Korg keyboard and stand and explained what he wanted from everyone. He played a string chord that I translated once I heard his lyrics:
He told the other keyboard player to mimic his string chord.
He said, “You can play with it and change it up a little bit, but just don't get too far away from it.” John told everyone else to follow the keyboard player's lead with plenty of space as he set up at the microphone to sing his lyrics.
So the keyboard played the string chord: “Thaaat's whaaat sheee wannnnnnteddd . . .”
Tony came in with slow drums: Tic-Doomp-Tic-TAT / Tic-Doomp-Tic-TAT . . .
The electric guitar whined like a crybaby: “That's what she wants to hear.”
The bass player dropped in a deep “She wants . . . She wants . . .”
Then John brought it all together with dramatic, rising and falling lyrics:
DAMN! I felt him! Everybody in the room did. That song was bad! I mean BAD!
They ran through a couple of practice runs, and then John said, “Okay, we sound good now.” He looked to the engineer's soundproof glass with his microphone still on and said, “Okay, let's get this one and just keep going with it.”
I was inside the booth with the engineer. He said, “We gotcha. All of the sound levels are right on.” Then he got those million levers and buttons ready to record the first take.
John jumped into his song with full emotion while the band followed right after him. When he reached the breakdown of the song, after he had sung about all of the things that he had to offer the woman in his last verse, John went into overdrive and had a tantrum with the microphone. He actually backed up from the microphone stand and started screaming and shit:
SHIT! I was thinking. He's gonna blow motherfuckers away with this song! And I'm sorry for all of the profanity about it, but there was just no way to explain what John was doing without having some raw expression. I couldn't say that it was just GREAT! Because it was more than just GREAT. It was THE MOTHERFUCKIN' SURE-SHOT SHIT! That's what it was. Seriously!
The engineer started checking the microphone levels to see if something had gone wrong. You couldn't just scream into the microphones like that without distorting something.
But the engineer checked the sound levels and said, “ Fuck! That was some heavy shit! ” He was a middle-aged white guy with long hair like an old-school rock band member.
He looked at me and stood up. He said, “I gotta go take a smoke.”
I started laughing. I didn't know what had just happened, but I know it felt good.
When they finished that first take, the engineer told them, “I need you guys to stop and come in here to hear this.”
They all walked in. We listened to the song three straight times from the engineer's booth. There was no distortion at all with John's microphone when he had his tantrum, and he had gone right to the top on the sound scale. Another eighth of an inch would have ruined it.
The engineer kept checking all of the levels to make sure. Then he shook his head and told all of us, “Guys, I'm not touching this. If you want to record it again, then you get another engineer in here. That was just a perfect damn take, with real emotions to it. I was not prepared for that. This is . . . this is . . .” He just stopped himself and walked out, saying, “I gotta go take another smoke.”
Everybody laughed but John, happy as hell in there. We all knew that we had just recorded something special. But John was still pretty wired about taking care of business.
He said, “Well, if that's it, then that's it. But I got another song that I want to do. So nobody leave. And if you got other things you planned to do, then cancel your plans, and I'll pay you extra. And y'all know I got the money.”
Tony said, “Shit, you da boss in here, man.”
John nodded and said, “All right then. I'm gon' take me a walk outside, and then we're gonna do the second song.”
When John left, Tony smiled and said, “I can't wait till we go on tour with this shit. I mean, they not gon' just throw panties up on stage, motherfuckers gon' get naked like in that movie Caligula! ”
Everybody started laughing while Tony continued. He said, “John was home practicing that shit, man. He knew exactly how far he had to stand away from the mike for that shit to work. And he made it happen. On the first damn take! ”
Tony started shaking his head with a big grin. He said, “Man, I gotta hurry up and have me some kids so I can tell them that I played with this motherfucker.”
He told his own story and said, “‘ Who, Loverboy? Shit, we made music together. I broke that motherfucker in at the Zanzibar Blue, back in nineteen ninety-four. God dammit, I'm telling you the truth, boy! Your father ain't drunk! I ain't drunk at all! I knew that motherfucker! John Loverboy Williams, from Charlotte, North Carolina.’”
Tony was so excited that he didn't stop talking until John got back from his walk. By then, the engineer and the rest of the band were all ready to start the second song. Honesty, the title song of Loverboy's sophomore album, was a wrap.
As soon as John walked back into the studio, Tony looked at him and screamed, “BUT SHE DIDN'T WANT THOSE THINNNGS!”
We all laughed again before we got back to business. Even John chuckled at it. And me? I was pretty much speechless. I just wanted to hear more music, like everyone else in the room. John had blown us away!