Calls him out on alot. Showed some class by not mentioning the crack cocaine diet dude been on for the last 15 years though.
An Open Letter To D’Angelo | Insideplaya
Hey Mike,
Earlier this week, I caught your chat on NPR with Nelson George, you seemed in good spirits and health. Certainly better than, recently, when I have taken drunken late night calls, from you, asking for help finishing your record, or to co-manage you along with Kevin Liles, or to reach out for James Mtume, to convince him to assist you on recording vocals – despite having run through still further millions, and not turned anything in to your record company. Better than when you were complaining about the record company and Dominique Trenier, the manager you worked with during the Voodoo period, or when Alan Leeds – the legendary former collaborator of James Brown, Prince and Maxwell – who I first made aware of your music while at a conference in ’92, was your manager. Better than when, earlier this year, I heard you were in the hospital with Pancreatitis, and I called to assure you that I’d had it once, as a young man too, and that it was hardly incurable, but that you’d have to slow up on the oil.
I was happy to hear you speak, joke and relate to people so easily – I know that isn’t always easy for you. You seemed comfortable in your skin while you regaled your fans with insights into your process and highlights from your career. And I was happy to hear those insights too, as I am proud to have been involved in some small but important way with your origins. But, I do have to take exception with your obvious omission of my participation in the events that gave you your shot – since I heard your demo, signed you to your first record deal, supervised the writing and approved EMI’s money that was spent to get you out of your mother’s house, and into the record business – you know, when I put you on.
I know about your issues, and I won’t recount them here, but the revisionist approach to telling your tale has become more than I can tolerate. You know why? Because I can recall that no one in your family thought that you had talent, and that they felt you needed to stop pursuing a music career and continue with school. I can recall going to your house in Richmond, meeting your mother, your uncle, your cousins and what appeared to be every kid from miles around and experiencing the warmth of Southern hospitality, fellowship and fried chicken – your mom was strong with the chicken game. Of course, my people originating from North Carolina prepared me well for the occasion. I can remember leaving the house that was filled with all of that hope and aspiration, and taking you to whichever the current Van Damme movie was at the time, and discussing your dreams with you.
I remember Jocelyn Cooper coming to my office in May of ’92, and saying, “I think I heard something I like today.” Along with your demo. She brought two VHS recordings (remember them?) and played two performances, of yours, for me; one that featured you, as a teenager, with a live band, playing a Teddy Riley joint and dancing like Bobby Brown, and another one that captured you as an eight year old, at the local VFW, on an upright piano, in a talent show where you played the chords from “Thriller” and then, stopped dramatically, grabbed the mike and sang the chorus while you impersonated The King of Pop’s dance moves. I thought that I’d hit the lottery.
I remember listening to the demo, and being excited about “You Will Know” the song that you, and your brother Luther wrote – that you decided to contribute to the soundtrack of the movie “Jason’s Lyric” – and that the song “Smooth,” which was also on the demo, was the thing that made me want to get into business with you. Because you see Mike, not only was I steeped in the Jazz/Soul/Fusion era of my youth – the period that you referenced with every note on your demo – but I’d studied the then recent success of both A Tribe Called Quest, and Jodeci, and I saw your music as a synthesis of those two directions – Jazz influenced Hip Hop with secularized Gospel singing over the top. It was new and exciting. Of course my upbringing in the Black church, and singing in choirs, and my deep immersion in the business of the golden era of Hip Hop, prepared me to understand where you were coming from.
I can remember introducing you to your first girlfriend in New York, taking you to Nell’s for the first time, and introducing you to Russell Simmons and Jam Master Jay. I can remember taking you to Nile Rodgers’ home and sitting in all of that opulence while we waited for my old friend to come and join us in his living room. I was happy to be able to show you what the comfort derived from true creative success and hit making could look like – I wanted you to feel what a star’s home felt like, because I knew you had star quality.
I remember your insistence that you be allowed to record before you had all of the songs written for the “Brown Sugar” record, and how “Get On The Dance Floor” felt so much like a warm Marvin Gaye meets Curtis Mayfield track – but you’ve never recorded it. I remember approving eight of the ten tracks that finally made the “Brown Sugar” record including; the title track, “Lady”, “Smooth”, and “Higher”. And I remember refusing to open a studio budget until I was satisfied with the writing. You didn’t like it, but you never like it when solid business decisions interfere with your agenda.
I remember you hitting, not just mid charting, but hitting it way out of the park. Must have been ’95 or ’96. By then, bullshyt politics had gotten me fired from EMI, so I wasn’t able to take the victory lap with you – but hey, that’s how the game is played from time to time. But my brother, Brian Koppelman, had juice, and used it well. He and I had worked together in the A&R department of Irving Azoff’s Giant/Warner Brothers Records, and he’d seen how hard I’d worked to put the “New Jack City” soundtrack together – and how my efforts went unrewarded – so he introduced me to his father, Charles. Charles was an operator, he’d parlayed the success of records he’d released, on his own SBK imprint, by Wilson Phillips and Vanilla Ice into the presidency of a reconfigured EMI Recordings Group. I was installed as the senior A&R exec at EMI Records, and not long after, Jocelyn came by with your demo.
After I was fired, while I was figuring out my next move, EMI fired a few senior guys, and Brian was renamed head of A&R for the label. Earlier, before the release of “Brown Sugar” he fought to have me properly credited on the project, and then later, brought me back under a consultation agreement that made me whole, based on my contribution to your success – such a mensch. Unlike you, I am forever grateful. Because I remember when you won your first Soul Train Awards, and you didn’t thank me. I’ve read press you’ve done, and you haven’t thanked me and I heard you on NPR, and you didn’t mention me.
I find all of this to be somewhat odd given the fact that in the end of 2005, you were on the verge of signing a $3million deal to join Clive Davis’ J Records, and that unbeknownst to me, as a negotiating point, you were telling them that you’d never take any other A&R input from anyone other than me. Word made it’s way back to me, and things looked like they might go well, and then, you got in your own way. You flipped your Hummer over, and got pinched on a DUI without a current license. J took the deal off the table. Your mug shot was frightening.
So then, you did what you do when in trouble; no one was fukking with you, not Alan, not Jocelyn, not Dom, not ?uestlove – nobody. You were in a starter mansion in Richmond, drowning in the bottom of a bottle, and you called me, “I think I need to go away,” you said. I responded quickly. Eric Clapton knew your struggle, and he’d made arrangements to hold a bed for you at Crossroads – the rehab he’d founded in Antigua that serviced high net worth junkies. $40K for a month’s stay, and you didn’t have it. So I went to Irving Azoff and got him to agree to put up the money.
As has often been the case during it’s history in the United States, Virgin Records (the label you were then signed to) was a mess. Jason Flom was heading the whole shebang and Jermaine Dupree was the senior Black Music guy. It took a while to interest Virgin in meeting with you, but I got it done. And then what did you do? When asked if you needed me to move forward with recording, you said, “No.” Imagine my surprise. After reintroducing you to the record business, again, I got the cold shoulder from you.
The responsibility for sharing all of these facts, with your fan base, during your NPR stream, does not strictly fall on your shoulders. In fact, I can see why sharing them might reflect poorly on you, and how omitting them might be prudent. But Nelson George, the host and moderator for the evening is someone I’ve known for over 30 years. Our good mutual friend Russell Simmons and he share a mentor. I’ve gone to Knicks games with the guy, double dated girls who knew each other from elementary school with him, while at Giant, I attempted to sign his first screenplay, “CB4″ – that he co-wrote with Chris Rock – through Irving’s deal at WB Movies, played basketball with him and had his book on basketball dedicated to me. Since he purports to be a journalist/historian, it was really up to him to tell the truth about how you were discovered and signed. But then, Nelson may not have wanted it known that at the time of the release of “Brown Sugar” he told me that you’re songwriting sucked.
In light of the recent and deeply flawed funk documentary that he produced for VH-1 where you were claimed to be the future of the funk, I have some thoughts on that too: I grew up on funk, danced to it, bought tickets to shows and collected the records. You are not that funky, your records do not recall the hey day of James Brown, George Clinton and Sly. They are deeply soulful, but not deeply funky. You, and your collaborators are attempting to promote a hoax on the public. Nelson is so co-opted by the bullshyt, that he never even asked you, when will you put a new record out? Nor did he inquire about what you’ve been doing for the fifteen years since your last release. I guess, based on the remaining and unused footage from the doc, he needs your cooperation to do a complete doc on you. When asked, by one of his partners, if I’d produce it with them, I declined.
I signed you in November of 1992, since then, you have released two full length albums of new music in twenty-two years. You are not an eccentric genius, a son of funk waiting to lead the revolution, or a bluesman trying to overthrow the system, you are a charlatan and a pimp – disguised as a soul man – who has gamed the system out of millions. You are a butt naked emperor. Tell the truth about something. I hope you’re well.
insideplaya
An Open Letter To D’Angelo | Insideplaya
Hey Mike,
Earlier this week, I caught your chat on NPR with Nelson George, you seemed in good spirits and health. Certainly better than, recently, when I have taken drunken late night calls, from you, asking for help finishing your record, or to co-manage you along with Kevin Liles, or to reach out for James Mtume, to convince him to assist you on recording vocals – despite having run through still further millions, and not turned anything in to your record company. Better than when you were complaining about the record company and Dominique Trenier, the manager you worked with during the Voodoo period, or when Alan Leeds – the legendary former collaborator of James Brown, Prince and Maxwell – who I first made aware of your music while at a conference in ’92, was your manager. Better than when, earlier this year, I heard you were in the hospital with Pancreatitis, and I called to assure you that I’d had it once, as a young man too, and that it was hardly incurable, but that you’d have to slow up on the oil.
I was happy to hear you speak, joke and relate to people so easily – I know that isn’t always easy for you. You seemed comfortable in your skin while you regaled your fans with insights into your process and highlights from your career. And I was happy to hear those insights too, as I am proud to have been involved in some small but important way with your origins. But, I do have to take exception with your obvious omission of my participation in the events that gave you your shot – since I heard your demo, signed you to your first record deal, supervised the writing and approved EMI’s money that was spent to get you out of your mother’s house, and into the record business – you know, when I put you on.
I know about your issues, and I won’t recount them here, but the revisionist approach to telling your tale has become more than I can tolerate. You know why? Because I can recall that no one in your family thought that you had talent, and that they felt you needed to stop pursuing a music career and continue with school. I can recall going to your house in Richmond, meeting your mother, your uncle, your cousins and what appeared to be every kid from miles around and experiencing the warmth of Southern hospitality, fellowship and fried chicken – your mom was strong with the chicken game. Of course, my people originating from North Carolina prepared me well for the occasion. I can remember leaving the house that was filled with all of that hope and aspiration, and taking you to whichever the current Van Damme movie was at the time, and discussing your dreams with you.
I remember Jocelyn Cooper coming to my office in May of ’92, and saying, “I think I heard something I like today.” Along with your demo. She brought two VHS recordings (remember them?) and played two performances, of yours, for me; one that featured you, as a teenager, with a live band, playing a Teddy Riley joint and dancing like Bobby Brown, and another one that captured you as an eight year old, at the local VFW, on an upright piano, in a talent show where you played the chords from “Thriller” and then, stopped dramatically, grabbed the mike and sang the chorus while you impersonated The King of Pop’s dance moves. I thought that I’d hit the lottery.
I remember listening to the demo, and being excited about “You Will Know” the song that you, and your brother Luther wrote – that you decided to contribute to the soundtrack of the movie “Jason’s Lyric” – and that the song “Smooth,” which was also on the demo, was the thing that made me want to get into business with you. Because you see Mike, not only was I steeped in the Jazz/Soul/Fusion era of my youth – the period that you referenced with every note on your demo – but I’d studied the then recent success of both A Tribe Called Quest, and Jodeci, and I saw your music as a synthesis of those two directions – Jazz influenced Hip Hop with secularized Gospel singing over the top. It was new and exciting. Of course my upbringing in the Black church, and singing in choirs, and my deep immersion in the business of the golden era of Hip Hop, prepared me to understand where you were coming from.
I can remember introducing you to your first girlfriend in New York, taking you to Nell’s for the first time, and introducing you to Russell Simmons and Jam Master Jay. I can remember taking you to Nile Rodgers’ home and sitting in all of that opulence while we waited for my old friend to come and join us in his living room. I was happy to be able to show you what the comfort derived from true creative success and hit making could look like – I wanted you to feel what a star’s home felt like, because I knew you had star quality.
I remember your insistence that you be allowed to record before you had all of the songs written for the “Brown Sugar” record, and how “Get On The Dance Floor” felt so much like a warm Marvin Gaye meets Curtis Mayfield track – but you’ve never recorded it. I remember approving eight of the ten tracks that finally made the “Brown Sugar” record including; the title track, “Lady”, “Smooth”, and “Higher”. And I remember refusing to open a studio budget until I was satisfied with the writing. You didn’t like it, but you never like it when solid business decisions interfere with your agenda.
I remember you hitting, not just mid charting, but hitting it way out of the park. Must have been ’95 or ’96. By then, bullshyt politics had gotten me fired from EMI, so I wasn’t able to take the victory lap with you – but hey, that’s how the game is played from time to time. But my brother, Brian Koppelman, had juice, and used it well. He and I had worked together in the A&R department of Irving Azoff’s Giant/Warner Brothers Records, and he’d seen how hard I’d worked to put the “New Jack City” soundtrack together – and how my efforts went unrewarded – so he introduced me to his father, Charles. Charles was an operator, he’d parlayed the success of records he’d released, on his own SBK imprint, by Wilson Phillips and Vanilla Ice into the presidency of a reconfigured EMI Recordings Group. I was installed as the senior A&R exec at EMI Records, and not long after, Jocelyn came by with your demo.
After I was fired, while I was figuring out my next move, EMI fired a few senior guys, and Brian was renamed head of A&R for the label. Earlier, before the release of “Brown Sugar” he fought to have me properly credited on the project, and then later, brought me back under a consultation agreement that made me whole, based on my contribution to your success – such a mensch. Unlike you, I am forever grateful. Because I remember when you won your first Soul Train Awards, and you didn’t thank me. I’ve read press you’ve done, and you haven’t thanked me and I heard you on NPR, and you didn’t mention me.
I find all of this to be somewhat odd given the fact that in the end of 2005, you were on the verge of signing a $3million deal to join Clive Davis’ J Records, and that unbeknownst to me, as a negotiating point, you were telling them that you’d never take any other A&R input from anyone other than me. Word made it’s way back to me, and things looked like they might go well, and then, you got in your own way. You flipped your Hummer over, and got pinched on a DUI without a current license. J took the deal off the table. Your mug shot was frightening.
So then, you did what you do when in trouble; no one was fukking with you, not Alan, not Jocelyn, not Dom, not ?uestlove – nobody. You were in a starter mansion in Richmond, drowning in the bottom of a bottle, and you called me, “I think I need to go away,” you said. I responded quickly. Eric Clapton knew your struggle, and he’d made arrangements to hold a bed for you at Crossroads – the rehab he’d founded in Antigua that serviced high net worth junkies. $40K for a month’s stay, and you didn’t have it. So I went to Irving Azoff and got him to agree to put up the money.
As has often been the case during it’s history in the United States, Virgin Records (the label you were then signed to) was a mess. Jason Flom was heading the whole shebang and Jermaine Dupree was the senior Black Music guy. It took a while to interest Virgin in meeting with you, but I got it done. And then what did you do? When asked if you needed me to move forward with recording, you said, “No.” Imagine my surprise. After reintroducing you to the record business, again, I got the cold shoulder from you.
The responsibility for sharing all of these facts, with your fan base, during your NPR stream, does not strictly fall on your shoulders. In fact, I can see why sharing them might reflect poorly on you, and how omitting them might be prudent. But Nelson George, the host and moderator for the evening is someone I’ve known for over 30 years. Our good mutual friend Russell Simmons and he share a mentor. I’ve gone to Knicks games with the guy, double dated girls who knew each other from elementary school with him, while at Giant, I attempted to sign his first screenplay, “CB4″ – that he co-wrote with Chris Rock – through Irving’s deal at WB Movies, played basketball with him and had his book on basketball dedicated to me. Since he purports to be a journalist/historian, it was really up to him to tell the truth about how you were discovered and signed. But then, Nelson may not have wanted it known that at the time of the release of “Brown Sugar” he told me that you’re songwriting sucked.
In light of the recent and deeply flawed funk documentary that he produced for VH-1 where you were claimed to be the future of the funk, I have some thoughts on that too: I grew up on funk, danced to it, bought tickets to shows and collected the records. You are not that funky, your records do not recall the hey day of James Brown, George Clinton and Sly. They are deeply soulful, but not deeply funky. You, and your collaborators are attempting to promote a hoax on the public. Nelson is so co-opted by the bullshyt, that he never even asked you, when will you put a new record out? Nor did he inquire about what you’ve been doing for the fifteen years since your last release. I guess, based on the remaining and unused footage from the doc, he needs your cooperation to do a complete doc on you. When asked, by one of his partners, if I’d produce it with them, I declined.
I signed you in November of 1992, since then, you have released two full length albums of new music in twenty-two years. You are not an eccentric genius, a son of funk waiting to lead the revolution, or a bluesman trying to overthrow the system, you are a charlatan and a pimp – disguised as a soul man – who has gamed the system out of millions. You are a butt naked emperor. Tell the truth about something. I hope you’re well.
insideplaya
