Big Money and the Titanic

One time a client was bitching about having to go to the studio and work, for a day. He was getting in the very high five figures per track, close to one hundred thousand dollars a song. I was incredulous. I said, “Listen asshole, I never got close to that figure to produce an entire album back in the day, let alone one song.. Get in the car.”

We drove to get gas and it was a miserable day, really bad weather. I then said to him, “You see this guy pumping gas? He’s going to stand out here longer than you will be in the studio today. He won’t make in two years what you’re making today. Get it? Now, shut the fuck up.”

Sometimes (well most of the time), I could be very crass in making a point, but he got it.
I couldn’t believe the money the clients were generating. Now, mind you, I made a great living during round one and I was around major success stories before, but this was insane.It was also insane how it was spent and squandered. One client called me to say, “Kid, I’m gonna buy a Bentley.” I pointed out he owed serious money to the IRS and he said, “Yeah, I know, but I want that car.” So he bought it, cash.

A few weeks later he called me and said, “I want the other model.” I told him you’re going to get killed on the trade in. He said, “Nah, I’m keeping both.” Not much I could do but give my opinion and that wasn’t easy to do. He had two Bentleys. That’s the kind of cash that was floating around. I know of one producer who bought one diamond for over a million dollars and it had to be delivered by a Brinks truck and the insurance on that rock per year costs more than most people make a year. It was wild times.

I had one client who was a financial genius and every time he got a chunk of money, it was invested and used to create more money. No fancy cars, no added attractions. He’d do a record, buy a strip mall. Get a publishing check, buy more commercial property. Get royalties, buy a dry cleaner. Absolute genius, and when it was all done, he had more net worth than anyone remotely near him. Smart kid and I cheered him on.

Then during all of this, Boyz II Men come into our lives. Again by accident, or some design outside of our control. I told you, the door opens and you’d better go crashing through. My daughter and sister had met Shawn and Mike through social connections and by this time the company was in full swing. It was years later than I worked with them but they were now part of our orbit and just the nicest guys you could imagine.

We somehow were especially close with their moms. Both Mike and Nate’s brothers began working for my management company and it was especially cool when Mike came to my daughter’s birthday, as she adored them. Mike’s mom Ms. Omar was incredible. The most outspoken and honest person you will ever meet with a heart of gold and the ability to be the most dry and accidental comedian ever. Ms. Omar had many moments and quotes that go into my hall of fame.

I love to cook, hell I love to eat! Ms. Omar became a fan of my cooking, even once telling me, “Mr.Jack, you cook good for a white boy.” In no time she had me cooking for her every time she came over and even catering her events. I couldn’t say no because she is the most awesome woman you could hope to meet. I don’t think she grasped how hectic my business life was and would think nothing of giving me the word to cook something up.

I remember once being on a very important conference call and she said, “It’s not too late for you to start those pork chops.” I loved her madly, she was awesome. She didn’t give a shit that I was doing important business, she spoke what she felt. That is an amazing attribute, just being real. It didn’t matter to her that her son was in the biggest R&B group of all time or her house had Grammys all over, she was real and unchanged and that my friends is beautiful.

We’re many years past those days and Ms. Omar and Ms, Gale (Nate’s mom) are still part of our family and I am blessed to know them. I think Ms. Omar’s greatest moment was one time at dinner. She was eating lobster with the bib on and the lobster cracker thing in her hand when she fell asleep right at the dinner table. She jolted up and said, “I must be tired from my medication.” That was great!

At this point I wasn’t doing any business with Boy II Men but they were a part of our inner circle and life. I hate to go to events, ask anyone who knows me. I avoid them like the plague. When Michael got engaged, I had to go. The party was in Atlantic City so I go to see Crump for a minute. It was all nice and everything until we moved to another room. In that room the toast was given and as my eyes adjusted to the light, I realized we were in the Titanic Room which held artifacts of that doomed ship, including life preservers and kids clothes.

Spooky as all out, and not the room I would choose to have a toast in, celebrating my future marriage. Like the boat, that marriage hit an iceberg as well, years later. There was some famous boxer there and he turned to me and said, “We need to get out of here, now.” No kidding. It was a nice event beyond that.

Ramping Up (The Wheels Turn Fast)

So my new client then introduces me to Teddy Riley and the camp he had assembled. Let me tell you, Teddy is a true musical genius, an absolute innovator. At the time he was hot with Blackstreet and a host of other projects, including Michael Jackson. He had put together a crew of writers and producers down in Virginia Beach that was great and he also had a joint venture deal with Interscope.

Teddy rolled large, real large. He would travel in a convoy, a tour bus fitted with a full blown recording studio, a Ferrari sometimes, a Mercedes, a Lexus, a full blown convoy anywhere he went. It was a sight to see. I had a convoy too and part of it was the original Batmobile from the TV show (more on that later). So Teddy was amazed at the business I could pull off, the publishing deals and my connections. He basically turned over the business of most of his writers to us.

Perception is the business, right? I go from R.Kelly to Teddy Riley. I will say we had management down to a science and coupled with a fierce and never waving commitment to morals, we built a stable that I would put against anyone during that time. The amount of clients was sometimes overwhelming. It would take me hours a day just to connect with each one but we always had that daily call. Speaking of calls, they sometimes got peculiar.

One night I got a call from one client telling me another client was going to shoot him and he was in hiding. I asked him why and he explained he had stabbed him, but only in the leg. I was like, ok. Like it was no big thing, just a leg stabbing. I called the stabbed client and proceeded to explain he couldn’t shoot him over a stabbing but I guess he could stab him back, but only in the leg or arm. This was getting very interesting real fast and a far cry from Nelson calling each other “weeny” during a fight. My world was changing fast.

We continued to build the company and had a great relationship with Warner Chappell, where all of our deals went. People accused me of having an exclusivity deal with them. I didn’t, I did however have loyalty to them, especially to Rick Shoemaker, John Titta and Les Bider. I always acted in my clients best interests, and the deals from Warner Chappell were proper market value and the same or more than the competition would have paid, so it was upright and proper. WC always believed in me and backed me.

When I was a writer, they developed my writing and stood by me during droughts and in this business you always get droughts.
During my time as a writer in the 1980s they even created a joint venture for me where I could sign and develop other writers. Here’s another example of timing, but this time I needed more than that. I had a friend who I wanted to sign to the JV, I thought he was great and we were writing together. When the deal was analyzed by whomever, they thought it was too rich and wasn’t quantified.

I explained he had some little things going on including a movie. They needed more validation and he couldn’t take less money. The figure we are talking about is fifty thousand dollars, keep that in mind. I argued the point but was shot down.

The movie was “Dirty Dancing”, the songs; “Time of My Life” and “Hungry Eyes”, how’s that for letting one get away? Franke made a fortune from that and I was glad for him as he was a great guy and a big talent. I never lie and let me tell you I would have been even gladder if I had a piece of that publishing! Besides that glitch, my relationship with Warner Chappell continued on.

The last deal I did with them when I was managing should be the template for all writer publishing deals. It is the closest document I have seen in this business that truly protected and benefited both sides. It was created in tandem by me, the producers’ lawyer and business affairs at Warner Chappell. It was revolutionary and remains so to this day. My guess is it was never used again because it took both sides to understand it and that my friends, is a rarity.

The amount of money made and generated during that boom of hip hop and R&B was staggering.

Jesse Camp Takes a Dump (Some Lawyers Suck)

Another lawyer and I got into it big time. The client comes to us and I go over where he stands with his career. Going over contracts, documents, sales to date, projections and forensics were the norm. His publishing contract was screwing both him and the publisher.

In a standard publishing deal there are terms to meet, amongst them are delivery requirements, X amount of songs recorded and released during a given time. Within that are ownership requirements or how much of song owned constitutes a “cut” (song recorded and released). In this deal, the writer was screwed because the delivery was impossible to meet. Using the fraction formula of ownership, he would have had to have in the neighborhood of forty songs a year recorded and released.

Where the publisher was screwed was the majority of his work was based on samples. Sometimes with samples the “writer” winds up with nothing as the sample clearance takes 100% of the song. However this publisher was new to the world of hip hop and was just dying to get a big name on board, and he was a big name, part of a collective run by one of the, if not the, biggest names in hip hop at the time.

He got his advance and then nothing more moving forward and the publisher could execute option periods for the next four years and not pay him a dime. The publisher was fucked too, because though there was plenty of action, the income stream was decimated by the samples. Check and checkmate.

I go crazy looking at this and my insanity is further fueled by the client explaining to me that the lawyer got 10% of all monies advanced (somewhat standard) but also 10% of everything moving forward and a monthly retainer (also the norm). However, you don’t get a percentage and a retainer, slime ball. I explain in detail the picture to the client; he of course now gets it and is pissed as well.

The lawyer calls me and says, “You are taking food off my table, do you understand me? Do you know what happens if you take food off of a man’s table?’ I then ask, “Are you threatening me? Because if you are threatening me, motherfucker, you’d better be ready to back that up.”

This threat from a lawyer, you know someone who is supposed to play by the rules. I went ballistic on the phone and me ballistic is not a pretty thing. I have no fear at all and I will engage in battle in the corridors of law and play fair and square and I believe in law and the system. I also have no fear of a street fight and if you are low life enough to threaten that, then you hit a button in me that unleashes years of anger.

The lawyer backed off and the client got a new, moral and adept, lawyer. Ultimately he had to declare bankruptcy which the publisher thought was a stunt to get him out of the deal. It was no stunt; he was broke, after being on some of the biggest records of that era. He was very successful after that and became a close friend, not just a client.

This story repeated itself time after time, bad contracts, misunderstanding of business, managers, accountants and lawyers all on their own agenda. If you’re in a bar and a woman is drunk, you have the option of flagging her and making sure she gets home safely or getting her more drunk and taking advantage of the situation. That right there will show how your morals are set up, same thing as an artist, writer, or producer. You either take care of them or fuck them.

In both instances, to take advantage of someone in that state is rape. Call it whatever you want, but its rape and I became just as crazy over business rape as I would the rape of a woman.

I was garnering a reputation as someone who cared and someone who would fight and not be intimidated and most of all no one had me in their pocket. The clients kept coming. Back when I was writing I got to know and write with Pic Conley, a super talented guy and a member of a group called Surface. He actually got me a cut with Rebbie Jackson back then, which was real odd for a rocker to get.

He caught wind of my new career as manager and called me about a girl he was working with. She flew in to meet me and stayed at the house that week end. A really sad thing happened. I was showing her her room and how to use the intercom, because you couldn’t just roam the halls in my house at night with the dogs. I said good night and saw she was teary eyed. I asked what was wrong and she said, “You’re not going to try to get with me, that’s the first time that has happened.” I was in shock. “I said what are talking about? You’re my client; I would never try to have sex with you.” That was insane. I was appalled. It made me sick to my stomach.

I have to go on a tangent now about walking the halls of my house late at night, and the dogs.

At the time we had three Fila Brasileiros and two Rottweilers. You more than likely know nothing about Filas, but to give some clarity; you would rather meet an angry Rottie than a happy Fila, any day of the week. My beloved male, Tony, tipped the scales at 225 pounds of lean muscle. We had about 800 pounds of dogs in the house.

MTV was filming their beach house show near my old house. Now MTV had this kid who won the VJ contest, one Jesse Camp. You might remember him and his story. So anyway, MTV wants to film a segment at my house for Jesse’s show, you know Jessie hanging out with Mr. Rock Guy, etc. We film and we call members of Skid Row, blah, blah, blah, fun, laughs, and the norm. Then Jesse keeps coming over and then one day Jesse moves in.

Around this time there was a furor over him really being a street urchin and wacky little find. Truth be told, he scammed MTV, MTV did not scam the public. Jesse and his sister cooked up this scam and played the part, won the contest and convinced everyone that the character he was playing was really him. The kid was well educated and brilliant and much to my surprise, fluent in foreign languages when I overheard him on the phone and then sat him down and made him tell me the truth.

Should have won the Oscar but created a big mess for MTV. OK, so Jess lived in one of the upstairs bedrooms and his didn’t have a bathroom. He was petrified of the dogs and knew the ground rules; no roaming the house at night alone. Instead of using the intercom, Jesse decided to take a shit in an empty fishbowl in his room, which, when we found it, we went insane and threw his ass out of the house.

No more fun with Jesse. During his celebrity he would get mobbed, but I felt the family hygiene was more important than some fleeting fun. So you see, the dogs played a big role in some of these stories. I love my dogs more than I can explain. Back to the story.

Baby Boy and Lawyers

My phone started ringing off the hook. Word got out that I wasn’t ripping people off and actually getting them paid, protecting their interests, We began managing writers and producers. Hey, I knew all about that having been one for so long. As soon as we took one on and fixed their financial issues or got them a publishing deal, bang, more came behind them. Word of mouth is a powerful thing. We had most of urban music’s top writers and producers in the company.

There were so many clients out there and far too many had no or bad representation. Then Crump finds Baby Boy. This kid was unreal, a true idiot savant. He could listen to a complex classical piece, that he never heard before, just once and go to the piano and replicate it, down to nuance. I would play him the most complex classical things and he would just laugh and play it after one listen.

Another Baby Boy stunt was someone would play the piano and he would be on the other side of the room with his back turned and he’d call out every note and every finger. Like, index finger is E, ring finger is C, as it was being played. Baby Boy couldn’t function at all outside of his talent. Every day he ate a cheeseburger, fries and milkshake, all mashed together in one disgusting pile of slop, that he would stir with his fingers and eat. He would call us Baby Boy as well; I guess everyone was Baby Boy to him.

He had to be watched all day and night. It was remarkable and sad. Around that time I became close with the Teddy Riley camp down in Virginia (details coming) and we sent Baby Boy down to work with Teddy. Teddy was blown away with him (as everyone was) however Baby Boy disappeared from the studio and was found days later at, you guessed it, a McDonalds, mixing his food into a swill.

If Baby Boy could have focused for one second, he would have been the biggest talent this business had ever seen. People were shocked by his talent then put off by his inability to function.

On his birthday, he called me and said, “Baby Boy, Baby Boy, it’s my birthday. Baby Boy is 21 and wants lezbins.” I was like huh? What is a lezbins?” He then said, “Mr. Jack why you goin’ out on me? Baby Boy likes lezbins.” It took me a while to figure out Baby Boy was requesting a three way, something which we didn’t think would be proper to gift him with. Baby Boy never got his lezbins and after he didn’t recoup his publishing development deal, he never got a career either.

Years later I heard he jumped into a street fight, got stabbed but is OK, still cruising around Atlantic City on his ten speed, looking for lezbins.

The clients kept coming and I heard horror story after horror story of how they were paid, or not. Most of the clients came in with a giant mess on their hands, some of them not even realizing it. I can clearly remember sitting down with one famous person and discussing their finance. I said, “Do you know how much money you have made?” he said no. I said, “Rough estimate is you have made well over five million dollars.” He cried. I think his net was about a hundred thousand and he lived in a condo, a victim of unscrupulous managers and accountants.

I then began a speech which I far too often had to repeat; “You’re not stupid, you’re not dumb. I consider myself pretty smart but if I flew to Korea right now, I wouldn’t understand the language and I’d appear stupid and dumb. You just have a language problem here. The world of business speaks in a foreign language.”

That began a ritual some clients loved and some clients hated. I’d demand a day a week to just explain the business and business in general to them. I demanded they learn. Some learned more than others but all were forced to.

We also never had management contracts. I identified that early as a real problem in the business. Sign on the dotted line, all too eager and one day you realize you are fucked. It was a gamble, but we never got burned, except once by a scumbag lawyer, but we’ll get to that.

I figured if we set a precedent of no contracts, then they would learn that they didn’t have to just sign anything because they were told to. So it kept building and building fast. We were under staffed and had to triple up on jobs but it was very hard to say no.

I’ll give some examples of how treacherous and slimy it was out there. I had one client come to us with some major hit songs written. Millions of units sold and no royalties, not even performance royalties, let alone mechanicals. I asked, “Did you sign a publishing deal?” the answer was no. I asked, “Did you sign anything at all?” the answer was; my lawyer had me sign some things. I called the lawyer and asked the same questions. He was adamant that no publishing deal was signed and he was going to fax me whatever was signed.

Low and behold, not only did the client sign a publishing deal, but a deal that actually gave another writer (who brought her in to co write) 100% complete ownership of the songs for a paltry advance. Dear Lord! I called the lawyer livid and my temper is pretty well known. I was like, “Are you insane? Are you a lawyer? What the fuck did you do?” He then explained he was in fact a lawyer, but a sports attorney and this was his first foray into entertainment law.

This idiot kept referring to the document as a “songwriting deal” and thought that after the advance was recouped, money would flow, not realizing he had the client sign away all rights and ownership. Great! I told my client the only option was to sue the lawyer for malpractice as there was legal representation and a deal was a deal in the eyes of the court if you had legal representation and signed it.

They chose not to sue and walked away from a lot of money.

They Pull Me Back In

I started to wind down my career and concentrate on my other passions like martial arts. I built a hard core training school and we also built typical gyms. I really thought I was done and I was content counting my blessings. My daughter and sister used to go down to Atlantic City to see shows and hang a bit. On one journey they met a guy named Kevin Crump.

Now, Crump, as we called him, was a player, a mover and hustler, always looking for a way in the music business. He was very instrumental in getting Rodney Jerkins over to Teddy Riley and a lot of other things came his way. He just didn’t get that big break, that foot in the door. This chance meeting became connect the dots round two and thrust me out of retirement deep back into the pool, both feet in, head and body drenched. This gets really odd, really fast, so keep up with me.

My sister tells me about Crump and asks if I would talk to him, share some knowledge. I’m good with that because I was really trying to do some karma correction. You see first time around, I wasn’t the nicest person you could ever meet, not by a long shot and I knew I had to change that.

Crump had connections all over, friends with everyone and could make a serious run at public office. Crump had this boy band (this was that time in music) and they could sing their asses off. Now R.Kelly at that time was playing semi-pro basketball with the team in Atlantic City (why he did that, I have no idea). Crump arranged it for his group to sing at the game and boom! R. Kelly signs him to his label which was a joint venture with Interscope.

Crump even managed a true idiot savant, an actual Rain Man (more on that later). Now Crump knew he was way in over his head. I was advising him daily and via that, we became partners in the band. Suddenly I turn up back in Tom Whalley’s life, but this time as a manager, a manager of an urban act, signed to R.Kelly no less. Let’s recap this for a minute so you can understand how absurd it all became. I was the rock guy, all tight pants, and real long hair, posturing and such. I retire; become the martial arts guy and then reappear in the business as the urban manager. Everyone who knew me let out a collective “what the fuck?” I did too.

At the height of my management career, we had forty seven clients and not one of them in the rock genre’. Are you following this? My first career was built on a chance meeting with a great and talented kid who went on to become an international superstar. My second career was built on a chance meeting with some guy in Atlantic City because my sister likes to gamble.

One more time, it’s all about luck, timing and throwing your entire body through the door once your foot gets in.
So in the words of Michael Corleone, “They pulled me back in”. Starting with an R.Kelly act signed to Interscope, it wasn’t hard to suddenly build on that and it was fast and furious.

I began dealing with both Interscope and R.Kelly’s right hand gal. The record was and is extraordinary, but never saw the light of day. It was pretty funny as anything I said or suggested would be answered with, “You can’t tell R.Kelly that.” His gal Friday was pretty convinced he was God or at least a god and I guess if he were providing my paycheck, I would react the same.

Now these guys could sing circles around ever group out there, except Boyz II Men (more on them later), however they weren’t blessed in the physical department, at least not on the same level of the other boy bands. I saw this as a real issue. Once again we had, “Robert loves the photos.” The photos to me, looked like a reunion of the Munsters, at best. I was begging for a reshoot but to no avail, I called Tom and stated my position. The problem here is that this was Jimmy’s project (the R.Kelly JV), not Toms, but he and I were old friends.

My only guess is the Interscope office went into both shock and roars of laughter when they saw those photos. One executive said, “I asked my daughters opinion and she said dad, I want to throw up.” I think that began the decline. Next up was the video, which I kept screaming, “This is not the single.” same response, “You can’t tell Robert he is wrong.” OK Girl Friday, but he is wrong, dead wrong and the video looked like a film version of the Munster reunion. Everyone agreed.

This project kept going on and on, with no end in sight. At this point Crump had another artist that, you guessed it, R. Kelly signed. Shit, here we go again!

This kid was incredible, amazing falsetto, great writer, character of big size. He went out to Chicago, wrote and demoed and wrote and demoed, and more writing and demoing. Nothing ever happened. I almost think the plan was to keep him there writing and demoing and never allow him to come out and be competition. Hell if I know, but Crump had a good time and to him it was the brass ring, because he had acts signed to R.Kelly and got to go to Chicago and hang out.

Crump was always on to someone happening or about to happen and should have really been inside a major label as head of A&R. He would have made things happen. He was just one of those guys who had a knack for finding talent, a knack for being in the right place at the right time and a gregarious personality that people gravitated to. He just never caught a real break and was not particularly business savvy.

There is not one question in my mind that R.Kelly is a musical genius and the work he did on both of these records substantiates that for me, in a true class by himself. Just the business ends of things were not good. It was pretty amazing to hear the demos and how the songs were coming together. It went on forever and finally the JV was no more, the records were no more and the artists went on to oblivion.

Sad, but it happens all of the time. Artists get signed, records get made even, and then for one reason or another, everything is shelved and sent to the memory file. Sad aside, is the four members of the group all got matching tattoos with R.Kelly’s labels logo. They have the logo for life but not fond memories. Lessons here; never get your labels logo tattooed on your body.

This process was years, the making of these records and during that time our management company exploded. Crump continued to find talent, I continued to do the business end and we continued to have more opportunities. Around this time, Boyz II Men entered my life, as did Teddy Riley and a host of other giant talents that lead validity to my new career and had all my old industry friends scratching their heads in amusement and confusion. Me? I just went with it, as usual.

I think you may be seeing a pattern here and it’s important that you do. It’s not the talent; it’s the seizing on opportunity and turning that into forward motion. Far too often people get discouraged and start to doubt their talents. In the big picture talent takes a back seat to luck and timing.

I could spot a door from twenty miles away and hurtle myself through it like a running back seeing the end zone. Maybe that was my talent.

The End of Round One (Off To See the Wizard)

This era was very dangerous, with executives now rock stars, and getting big contracts that were iron clad and allowed them to fail and not get fired. It also allowed them to throw people under the bus who could threaten their scam. There were idiots who rose to positions of power because they had attached their wagon to a meteor and were able to take some of the credit. Success has many parents, and failure is an orphan.

During this time, I’d say executives were even more cherished and in demand than the artists themselves, and this lead to the demise of the business. When someone gets a fat paycheck to fail, they will continue to fail and not give a shit. Sure, some do, but it becomes a weird twitch of human nature to not give a shit anymore, just get paid. There were some terrific and talented executives as well, absolutely.

A&R greats, like John Kalodoner, Don Grierson, Tom Zutaut (though we hated each other), etc. Some real greats, but also a lot of complete losers who should have been working at McDonalds, but somehow, snuck into the machine. It’s amazing what running game can actually do, and we wonder why the industry today is a shrinking skeleton of what it once was.

Just for shits and giggles, at the height of our influence and run, we decided to create a buzz, and ultimately bid war, on an artist that didn’t even exist. Just to see if we could do it. We did, and our lawyers talked us out of continuing, as not to piss anyone off.

We actually got people making offers and even had them come down to NJ. That little game was stupid of us to pull, but it did prove a point, and the point was hype is one scary monster. When coupled with being “hot”, or perceived as being hot, it can drive things right into the loony zone.

I produced a few more records after that amazing Alice Cooper situation, but I knew it was sands in the hour glass time, and so are the days of our lives.

Working with Doro Pesch was both fun and eye opening about how history is interpreted in other countries. The studio was a few miles away from where the Hindenburg crashed. I piled Doro and some friends and took them to the site. We get out of the car, and I go, “Here we are, this is the Hindenburg crash site.” They look at each other, look at me, and look dazed. I was like, oh shit, I’ve insulted them.

They then explained they had no idea what the Hindenburg was. Apparently in school, they go, “There was a world war, ok, next chapter.” They had no idea that the blimp ever existed, let alone blew up. Oh, the humanity.

Doro was a great person but could be funny without trying to be. One day after she heard a rough mix, she said, “I am standing outside my shoes.” We were like what the fuck? She said it again with excitement. It took us a few days to translate that to “I am beside myself with happiness.” It then became the catch phrase of the project.

During these Doro recordings, I had the honor of calling on some great guitar talent, like Eliot Easton, Earl Slick and the incredible Eric Gales (who should have been huge). One day in the control room, I picked up the guitar, as I usually would do, and noodled around, waiting for the session to start. At that point, I realized I was playing in front of some real serious players, who could smoke me with one hand up their collective ass. Never pick up a guitar in front of guys like that, unless you want to feel like a turtle.

It was pretty cool, producing guitarists that I used to try to learn their licks with the record player (remember them?) on 16 instead of 33 1/3. More amazing was me, now producing more heroes of mine. It was such an incredible ride. They all found it stranger than I did, because they could remember when I was a ball-busting, pain-in-the-ass fan.

Doro had this funny manager, who was there constantly, and when he would leave the building, she would chain smoke, drink, and let loose. It was a peculiar situation. It was also the only project I ever worked on where management asked me to spend more money. Literally said, “The label needs to know this a serious project; you are not spending enough.” I can’t tell you how many times I have heard this in the exact opposite sentiment.

So spend we did, as I kept reminding Doro this was her money and would all be recoupable. This was a real weird Svengali/artist dynamic, and I wasn’t real comfortable with it. I had to just go with it because it wasn’t my business to interfere.

I had heard the Baby Animals record and had to find out who recorded it and mixed it. Enter into our world, one Kevin “The Caveman” Shirley, producer, engineer, mixer, general lunatic, but the absolute greatest. One night was awesome, as Doro was demanding more fuzz bass (we used it one song, and now she wanted it on everything! We vetoed that!) Doro screaming at Kevin, “Fuck you Kevin, more fuzz bass!” Kevin screaming at Doro, “You’re out of your fucking mind bitch!” and my good buddy Greg Smith and I in hysterics.

Doro turns to Greg and asks, “Greg what do you think?” Greg says, “Doro, I’m just happy to be alive.” No more fuzz bass. After the last record I produced for Doro (Machine to Machine), it was time to walk away. I did it just like that; I was done. Or so I thought.

I didn’t think it could get any bigger, I didn’t think I could get any luckier, I didn’t think it could get more weird, but it did, trust me it did.

Your Friends Are Your Friends (When You Choke on the Bone)

It was real tough those first few days. I would constantly be thinking; what the Hell is my idol doing in my writing room? That night we had a legendary dinner at my house. It was my mom, sister, wife, daughter, Vic, Ray, my good friend Dave, and two Catholic priests. Father Fran and Father Al were a comedy act unto themselves.

Now, I had to invite Dave over; Dave was like my brother since I was a kid, and he knew what Alice meant to me. I didn’t tell him Alice was over or even that I was working with him. Dave walked in, saw Alice, calmly walked over and introduced himself, then pulled me outside and said, “What the fuck is Alice Cooper doing in your house?” He knew what it meant and was in the same state of shock I was.

Of course Alice was in a state of shock when he saw the two priests get into a screaming match, “Fuck you Al. No fuck you Fran.” We were too used to the screaming, cursing priests. Alice was appalled. That was a sight to see, two Catholic priests and Alice Cooper stunned by them cursing. I told you, my life is a Fellini movie.

On the way to the studio, I told this to Alice, “You are the reason I got in the music business, you were the reason I first picked up a guitar. When my life got me down, I ran home and played your records for hours. This is really hard working because I’m in shock.” Alice replied with, “Hey don’t blame me you got into this business! I know what you’re saying and appreciate it. I need you to focus so you and I can write more songs that will touch other kids like it did you. I’m here because you know Alice better than most people do, and you are a great writer.”

Wow! Not only did that calm me down, but I can’t tell you how that made me feel. Adulation and praise is a wonderful thing, but to hear it from your idol, I had arrived! Off we went to work. In an interview, Alice once described me as a “mad, little genius.” That just blew me away. Mad, yes, little, yes, genius, debatable. I was on cloud nine and never touched ground.

We wrote some great songs and recorded some very extensive demos. Word got out in my little town that Alice was around, and it was pretty easy to spot us. At a restaurant, mall, video store, Alice was always stopped for autographs. He had a very interesting thought process on all of this. We would spend hours sometimes with fans, and he would always note, “These people made my career, it’s the very least I can do for them.” Now that’s not only a rock star but a real human being. That can’t be said for everyone in this business.

If you have the chance to meet Alice, I warn you to never challenge him to trivial pursuit, especially about film. We used to go to video stores and randomly grab a video off the shelf, tell him the title, and he would recite the actors, director, producer, screenwriter, and sometimes key grip. It was uncanny. He’d play golf almost every day, something I never joined him or any of my friends with. Anyone who knows me and my problem with patience knows it’s not good to put a golf club in my hands, anywhere or any time.

We get done and sadly, Alice leaves. Word comes back quickly that management and label love the songs, and I have the first and second singles! In total, I think I wrote seven songs for that record and in my mind, that ended my writing career perfectly. Alice Cooper is an icon, and the influence he had on so many bands is immeasurable. The man is truly a king.

We kept up with our life and ritual, though it kept nagging me in my mind, “How do you top working with Alice?” Well, you don’t. The next Baton Rouge record was way out of control, in so many ways. Atlantic had revived the East/West label, given to the late Vince Farraci and Sylvia Rhone to run. Sylvia asked me if she could take the band from Atlantic to E/W, I was cool with that. I happen to think Sylvia is wonderful, brilliant, charming, street, and unique. I can also see why people are intimidated by her and talk shit about her. Sylvia doesn’t suffer fools very well and shouldn’t have to. I don’t either.

Sylvia came down for a spaghetti dinner (which is a NJ tradition) and brought Jonny Podell with her. Now Jonny is awesome and was one of the architects of the booking agent realm, but Jonny was deathly afraid of dogs, and I do happen to have a lot of dogs, big, scary, aggressive dogs, and Jonny couldn’t wait to run out of the house, poor guy. So we make this dark, dark record. Really dark, an exploration into the psychological places most never visit, and rightly so. The record tanked and should have.

During this time, I also introduced Sylvia to an A&R person, and she was cool enough to give her a job. This executive built a massive career on essentially bullshitting labels that she was urban savvy and urban hip, but didn’t know shit about urban except she worked for Sylvia.

This executive never thanked me, never did anything for me, not even a dinner. This executive made millions of dollars in contractual remuneration and really never had an urban clue. See how perception really matters? To this now (after decades working) unemployed executive, enjoy your time off!

See, not only do artists get screwed; executives do as well. I could name a ton of kids who have way more urban A&R savvy than this clown did, but because this executive spent some time with Sylvia, every other label though this executive inherited knowledge and the magic potion. Just like me and Bon Jovi; we shared a pizza, and I might just have the touch. Yeah, OK! This was infuriating to me because I build my life on reciprocation; I will do anything for anyone, but if there is failure to reciprocate, then fuck you.

I saw labels, which had difficulties with urban, sign contract after contract with this genius, and this genius always fell short, but it was during an era of multimillion-dollar contracts for executives. They could fail at will and keep their jobs because the payout was so steep. I truly regret helping this Gumby ever getting a foot in the door with Sylvia. This was a long charade that finally came to an end recently.

One thing I hate about this business is the ability to be discarded so easily and how no one ever has your back. Your friends are your friends when you choke on the bone, not when you eat the steak. I’d rather be homeless than ever betray a friend.

Billion Dollar Baby

Bob Pfeifer was a VP of A&R over at Epic. We had met earlier, when my publisher set it up. We almost got into a fist fight at our first introduction. I was going on about paying dues, poverty, etc., and Bob jumped across the desk saying, “Motherfucker I was in a band. I lived on the street, fuck you. I get it.” Cool! I appreciated the attitude, so we became fast friends. A very weird, but constant pattern here.

So one day I pick up the phone, and it’s Shep Gordon; that wasn’t odd because he was my friend and mentor for a million years, and I had just gotten finished working with one of his clients. Bob was on the call as well, and that wasn’t odd either, since he and Shep were tight, and Bob just resurrected Shep’s lifelong client’s career. What was odd was the following conversation.

“I need you to block out a few weeks for me. I have something I need you to do.” I’m like, “Of course Shep, anything for you. Tell me when.” He says, “Don’t you want to know what for?” I said, “I don’t care; I’ll do anything for you.” Then he said the magical words, “I want you to work with Alice.” What? What the fuck are you talking about? I almost fell to the floor. You see, Alice Cooper was my boyhood idol.

The first concert I saw was Alice, the first song I learned to play on the guitar was “I’m Eighteen”, Alice was everything to me. Shep and Bob just laughed because they both knew what Alice meant to me.
Me writing with Alice Cooper; I can’t even describe all of the emotions, staring with, I wish my dad was here to see this. My oldest friends knew what it meant; my family knew. It was the top of the ladder for me, and though I had sold millions of records before working with Alice, it was Alice that made me feel I finally grabbed the brass ring.

I had made myself a promise years ago to leave while on top, and I knew I was about to leave. In my mind, it couldn’t get bigger than Alice. This was my own very personal, crowning achievement. You could take all the record sales, the platinum records, the money, the ego, the thrill, and exchange it all for a chance to work with your boyhood idol. Given that option, it was no question what I’d do.

To go from loser kid who listened to Alice to find some happiness to working with him twenty years later, well words can’t begin to explain. I was ready, ready for Alice, and ready to leave the music business. I managed to make myself work a few years more after that, but internally I was done.

The music business was ready to spit most of us out anyway, so the timing was perfect. Everything goes in cycles, and most of us who worked during the hair band cycle in the eighties were now no longer in demand, With the explosion of Nirvana and the entire movement, being in a rock band and using a co-writer was over, history. This time, my timing was spot on. Fortunately for me, I got to live the biggest dream ever (for me) before my time to hit the dusty trail came upon me.

I was blessed and was somewhat prudent and smart (after my first run at a lifestyle of pure excess). Unlike a lot of my contemporaries, I was OK. So here I am in angst and internal churning, ready to meet my boyhood idol face to face, again; this time not as a twelve-year-old fan.

The plan was for us to pick up Alice at the airport. My partner Vic and I were driving up the parkway when it suddenly hit me; I was going to pick up Alice Cooper. I was insane and flooded with so many emotions, my head was spinning. I asked Vic to pull into the rest stop so I could go to the bathroom. At that point, I realized I couldn’t go to the airport from sheer nerves. Me, Mr. Arrogance, Mr. Millions of Records Sold, Mr. Attitude, reduced to a bowl of oatmeal, shaking like a child on his first day of school.

I told Vic to leave me there and go get Alice. He shook his head but understood, Vic always understood, and away he went leaving me at a rest stop by myself and insane. I called our production assistant Ray to come fetch me. Ray was, and is, fascinating in so many ways. Ray was stricken with rheumatoid arthritis at the age of eight and his joints were fused together, He walked with crutches and couldn’t even move his head to look at you. We met him when he used to sit outside Skid Row rehearsals. Ray was brilliant and is one of the most inspiring people you will ever meet.

Our process was just make him one of the guys including making him play basketball (which essentially meant bouncing the ball off his head), throwing him in the pool (with inner tube), and in time, making him learn martial arts (Escrima), which he became amazingly adept at.

Ray was amazing and soon took to introducing himself as the “cripple”, even used that as his line with the ladies: “Hey honey, ever been with a cripple?” Ray turned into a rock star in his own right. We used to set his crutches on fire for fun. He was one of the boys, big time. What Ray didn’t realize is he was such a major source of inspiration for us, and he was an essential part of my emotional balance. Without both Vic and Ray to keep me together, I would have never had the success I had.

Everyone one of us who claims “self made man” forgets to tally the people who are our direct support system, be it family, friends, or both. Every self made man or woman is actually a self made component of a team they are lucky enough to belong to.

So, (I am the king of tangents) Ray picks me up, laughing at me and making fun of me as he usually did, and we drive to the hotel to await the arrival. Vic’s car pulls up, and there he is: Alice Motherfucking Cooper!

Dear God, I just can’t deal with it. Now, I had met Alice before when I was twelve years old, and we had been speaking on the phone the past few weeks going over song ideas (I even had the chorus to Hey Stoopid written before he came in, after a phone call in which Alice said he wanted to write a song with that title), but to see him standing there. Wow!

We go up to his room and map out our schedule to work. Rachel from Skid Row was with us, and Rachel and I would go out on the balcony together every few minutes, hug each other like Paris and Nicole and squeal, “Dude, Alice Cooper is in the next room.”

Pretty funny stuff, as Rachel had just sold seven million records and was a genuine rock star, I had sold millions of records as a writer and producer, and here we are reduced to squeamish teenagers, giggling like we just saw a girls “pee pee” for the first time; I think you could say we were fans.

It was a total mind fuck. We drive home with me in shock. I get home, my mom is crying, my sister is crying, I’m crying. It was that much of a big deal. It was something I could have never imagined in my wildest dreams. Forget the platinum records, the car collection, the plane rides with Bon Jovi, the access to the highest echelons of the business, forget everything, this was beyond comprehension. It took all night to get over the shock.

The shock was reintroduced the very next day when Alice came to my house to write.

The Most Amount of Noise, The Least Amount of Information

Matt and Gunnar lived with me and my family off and on for years. It was especially weird during their time in the sun with the record at number one (both single and album), and Nelsonmania was at its height. Girls would be crying at my door, passing out in the driveway, screaming their names out under our windows. We couldn’t go anywhere without getting mobbed. Remember, this was a very small town, and this was like the Beatles arrived there.

Sometimes for fun, I’d force Matt and Gunnar to go the local mall, just to watch the pandemonium. It was especially psycho to do that during Christmas shopping season. It was just fucking nuts, but we’d force them because it was funny, dangerous as well, but funny. I was way deep into martial arts at this time and one day, we were trying to explain to the Grandmaster of Hapkido, Chinil Chang, just exactly what we did for a living. He didn’t quite get it, so we all hopped in the cars and took Nelson and Chang to the mall.

About five minutes into the visit, massive mob scene. That was funny shit because Chang got it immediately and then started showing the local cops weapon disarm tactics and instead of dealing with the mob scene, they were enthralled by Chang. A giant Fellini movie my life was becoming.

Nelson caught a lot of heat for being pretty, but that’s just genetics. These guys could really play, really sing, and really write. You’d think their pedigree would have provided a life that was all wine and roses growing up. It didn’t, and it wasn’t, and they struggled through a lot of issues, especially with their mom. I remember when they were going to play L.A., a homecoming show, after the record exploded, and they were so psyched because their office got a call requesting four tickets for their mom. Problem was, she never showed; they were for her housekeeper.

Matt found out about his dad dying in this fashion; he was driving in the car, heard a bunch or Ricky songs, thought, “Oh cool, they are playing a lot of Pop’s songs on here.” The announcer comes back and says, “Ricky Nelson died in a plane crash.” Great stuff, huh? They were really good kids. One time, my daughter’s school was having a weekend fund raiser, you know the kind where they sell cupcakes and stuff? She took Matt and Gunnar and did a booth with them signing autographs. Needless to say, her class won the fundraiser, and lots of kids were just crying with unsold baked goods.

I saw firsthand how much Matt and Gunnar had heart. They would go to a home for troubled kids almost weekly, donate time and money, and demand no press was involved. Or how they had daily calls with a fan that had cancer and would send her things and how devastated they were when she died. Good kids in a weird fishbowl from birth and now trapped in their own.

When the record was at about three million units, after two smash singles, Geffen pulled the plug and rightly so, as touring and more videos wouldn’t have moved the needle more than it was moved. I thought Geffen was right. The band’s management disagreed and hammered the guys with, “You need to keep touring; you need to prove you can rock, you need more videos, etc.” The guys had a lot of money and subsidized their touring and videos themselves. They lost a bundle. I’m not saying, but the manager always benefits from being able to commission touring and merchandise, so this may not have been a great move for the band, but a decent move for management. You know what I mean?

I used to read random Nelson fan mail from the bags of it cluttering my house. A few were just amazing. One stuck out for decades, it read, “Matthew I love you. I am a mermaid, half woman, half fish. I want to cook dinner for you at Michael Landon’s house in California.” The part that threw me was the Michael Landon bit; I was OK with the mermaid and dinner part. I called her. We would do that often, call a fan and then give the phone to Matt or Gunnar. It was high comedy, and it was all real, best of all it was “ours”.

Nelson made an amazing second record, but the label hated it, and it lead to much fighting and bickering, and by the time the smoke cleared, trend was over, time was over, parking meter on red.

Things were exploding, Bon Jovi, Nelson, Trixter, etc. Even bands on the marginal end of sales, like Shark Island, Babylon A.D., Every Mothers Nightmare; it was a very exciting time and the true stuff that you dream of. Some great music came out of our little demo studio, some great quotes, but most importantly, some great fun. The lead singer from Every Mother’s Nightmare had this quote, “All I need in a girl is a warm mouth and a credit card.” EMN were responsible for having me made a colonel in the state of Tennessee, anointed by the governor, Ned McWherter (says so on my plaque). How and why, I don’t know, but it is a fun thing to pull out.

We had the typical partying and strippers and booze, etc. We also had the untypical, like Nick Bowcott throwing all of the furniture from the band’s rental house into the lagoon while screaming, “Ahoy matey!” You really need to envision that; it was monumental. We invented really cool games to alleviate boredom, like Vic Morrow. In that game, we sat at the dining room table, a giant whirling fan rotating above us and we’d throw things into the fan, starting with paper, then onto Styrofoam, ending up with cutlery. You haven’t lived until you are ducking forks and knives being spit out of a fan.

We had another game called Manson Ball, where we would take one of those Nerf balls, drench it in denatured alcohol, then set in on fire and throw it at each other. The alcohol would splatter on your shirt and you’d be in flames that burned out very quickly. We had to stop playing that after a while.

We used to have great fun with the phone, setting up conference calls by dialing a number, hitting hold, dialing another number, then connecting them and just listening. Of course it worked best if you connected people who hated each other, which we did. We became friendly with Quentin Crisp, the legendary writer (The Naked Civil Servant) and one of the first openly gay men in Britain. We’d call him all the time; we loved him. One day he told us, “Music is the most amount of noise with the least amount of information.” You don’t get quotes like that every day!

We had our share of good times; locking record company presidents in the bathroom and pretending for hours we couldn’t open it, duct taping our assistant to a chair and carrying him out to a major highway and just leaving him by the side of the road. Really super silly, immature fun. Man, I miss those days. One time the late Frankie LaRocca set up Ray (The Cripple) on a date. Ray came back fuming because she was in a wheelchair. He said they had to move tables at the restaurant and people were staring. He also said, “I don’t date people with handicaps, I have to be the only cripple.”

We were now operating at the mental and emotional age of about twelve, but we made hit records, honestly!

So it went on and on. Songwriting, record producing, concerts, parties, food, drink, fast cars, faster women, laughter and even more laughter. I can’t be vocal enough at how truly blessed my life was and how fortunate I was and am. I am very, very lucky. It sometimes really bothers me to meet someone I knew years ago, someone who I know has much more talent than I did. It bothers me to have lived my dream and they never had a chance to. I’d feel fucked up about it. I spent the second half of my career driven to help people realize dreams. Some crazy form of thanks or obligation or maybe just trying to correct my karma.

So back to the story; writing, producing, socializing, all the trimmings, it just continues on. Then the icing of the cake comes in the door, at least for me. What could be more fitting than something unimaginable, something not even capable of dreaming up? I get the biggest call of my career.

Let the Good Times Roll!

During this time, my writing and producing career was really picking up steam. I had the very bored Snake even play on the first early Nelson demos, as I was trying to get the brothers a deal.

I even brought over the legendary Richard Black to audition for them, but Richard wanted to do his own thing, and the Skidsters (as well called them) felt he was a bit too old and not right for them. Richard Black was the king of Hollywood, and there is not one question in anyone’s mind that Axl Rose studied at the altar of Richard and swiped every move from him. I hear Axl has admitted that recently, but all of us knew it. If not for Richard, there would have not been a Guns N’Roses, at least not with the stage show Axl formulated.

Richard is another casualty of almost made, but I guess he did when Axl became him. Now Jon is building the Skid Row hype even bigger, and tape after tape comes up empty. Enter one Sebastian Bach. Oddly enough (in my odd world), I now have a label with the EMI family, and now twenty years later, Sebastian is signed to my label. His record was brought to me by Jason Flom, and it was me who turned Jason onto Skid Row, twenty years before. Strange little portion of the story there.

Love him, hate him, Sebastian Bach was and is a larger than life rock star with a big R. He can sing his ass off and was one of the biggest sex symbols rock has ever known. He was found by Dave Feld, if I remember correctly, at a mutual friend’s wedding. Feld later became an A&R guy at Atlantic. Anyhow, the Skidsters got the tape and photos from Feld and immediately called Sebastian.

Arrangements were made, and Sebastian flew in from Canada. He got off the plane, looking to be about six foot, five, all done up with his hair poofed and made up, but damn he had “it” times ten. Skid Row found their singer and this went immediately on fast track mode. Word was out that Bon Jovi would be giving the opening slot on their tour to Skid Row. Alarmingly, labels were slightly interested, not a feeding frenzy.

This was amazing because if I played bongos in a duo and the other dude recited poetry and we opened the Bon Jovi tour, we were sure to sell some records. The industry must have missed the point; the fucking band is going to open the Bon Jovi tour. Duh, and duh, and duh. Slowly, the A&R pundits started circling the wagon.

Months prior, I began telling Flom about the band and the situation. Jason wanted the band way before the hype really went into overdrive. Now the labels started coming and coming fast. The real call was in the hands of Jon, as Skid Row was signed to his production and publishing company. I began lobbying the band and Jon about Jason and Atlantic. It was a maddening round of phone calls daily. It boiled down to Geffen and Atlantic. They bring out Ahmet, and the closer closes!

Over the years, Jason has never failed to give me credit for bringing him the band, and that is a rarity in this business: giving credit, to anyone else.

This was a manic time with so much going on every day and success flying around, so close; it could not only be felt but touched. Bon Jovi mania was insane; it was a time of magic. Going to those shows and seeing the crowd; it was pure inspiration. Jon phoned me one day and asked me come to the local airport and fly with the band to Massachusetts, as they had just gotten their own plane to travel in. Man, that was incredible because I could remember Jon and I not having enough money to buy dinner, not that long ago.

Funny story about that flight: we land in Rhode Island, and I am psyched. I go in the plane’s bathroom, poof up my hair, adjust my sunglasses and walk out of the plane looking for the limo. I don’t see a limo. I ask Jon, “How are we getting to the show? Where are the limos?” He says, “We tour to make money, not waste money, get in the van.” The van? Fuck, a van. So there I was with real rock stars that were fine with a van and me pouting all the way to the gig because once again, limos and me were not meant to be.

Jon was very gracious and humble with his success, and he always made sure my family was treated like royalty at shows and for that, I am grateful. He made my dad feel important, and one of the last things we did as family before he died was go to a Bon Jovi show.

Me, Snake, Vic, all of us, got carte blanche, and I’m really surprised Jon never asked us to stop coming to the shows because we were way out of hand and stepped way over the line, constantly. Which ties into a story I have told many times about the night in Philadelphia; my good buddy Joe Lynn Turner got way out of control and almost got all of us arrested at the hotel Bon Jovi were staying at.

Funny thought here: during the Slippery When Wet tour, good old Snake couldn’t get laid in a women’s prison with a handful of pardons. When Skid Row opened for Bon Jovi, he had the most amazing looking women chasing him. Didn’t I say the music business brings you chicks and that’s why we get into it? It was yin and yang to the nth degree. My life became a haze of concerts, studios, adventures, insanity. It was lightening striking all around, touching everyone in our sphere.

Skid Row went down to Wisconsin to record their record, and I went back into the studio, working with everyone and anyone, all day and all night. They were amazing times. We couldn’t beg for a record deal and now everyone we worked with or knew was getting signed, and many were going platinum, absolute insanity.

Around this time in the story, I meet Matt and Gunnar Nelson. You can love them, hate them, tolerate them, whatever, but they were and are two talented guys with a pedigree that many would die for. Ozzie and Harriet were their grandparents on one side, their grandfather Tom Harmon, on the other side, won the Heisman Trophy, Uncle Mark was a famous actor (and once named sexiest man alive, but that should have been me!), and of course their dad was the original teen idol, better looking than Elvis and some say the originator of the California country rock trends in the 60s and 70s, the legendary Ricky Nelson.

They are also part of a historical feat, as they, the Nelsons, are the only family in history who has charted number one records in three generations (Ozzie, Ricky and Nelson). Pretty heavy shit.