by R. Kelly
I’d been going through some personal struggles, and it seemed like everywhere I turned, I was losing people. Just before we were about to leave on the big, 10-week 12-Play tour, the buses were gassed up, the equipment was loaded, and I was sitting there waiting for my boys—the guys from Public Announcement who still sang backup and danced in my shows and on the videos—to show up. But they never did.
Because of all my set routines with the guys, I had to change the show. I made the necessary adjustments and, to my surprise, none of the fans seemed to miss Public Announcement. They yelled and screamed louder than ever. The tour was a huge hit.
Michael was on my mind when, towards the end of the 12-Play tour, we were in Gary, Indiana, the Jacksons’ hometown. I was also thinking about my mother and our travels to Gary to see my grandfather, and how we’d sit out on the porch; he would play his guitar for us and my mother would sing. When the thoughts of Michael and my mother came together, out came a melody—the same melody that had continued to haunt me after my mother’s death.
After Mom died, I’d lost a person very dear to me—whom I loved with all my heart and soul. I wanted to let this person know that I would always be with her, even though we couldn’t be together. So this time, when I heard the melody, the notes were carrying words. The words were clear. They said, “You are not alone.”
I got this feeling in my gut. Goose bumps sent chills up and down my arms. I ran to the first piano I could find and started playing that melody and singing those words, “You are not alone.”
It was my mother talking to me.
It was me reaching out to an incomparable loved one and letting her know that although we were apart, I would always be there for her.
The further I developed the song, the more it sounded like Michael. I heard his inflections, felt his spirit. I knew this was the right song for Michael Jackson.
Once I got to Chicago, I went to the studio and put down a demo. By then the whole story was there:
Another day has gone
I’m still all alone
How could this be?
You’re not here with me
You never said goodbye
Someone tell me why
Did you have to go
And leave my world so cold?
Every day I sit and ask myself
How did love slip away?
Someone whispers in my ear and says
That you are not alone
I am here with you
Though you’re far away
I am here to stay
Just the other night
I thought I heard you cry
Asking me to come
And hold you in my arms
I can hear your prayers
Your burdens I will bear
But first I need your hand
Then forever can begin
When I sang on the demo, I purposely captured Michael’s style, even catching the tones of his voice. That was easy since I’d been listening to Michael my entire life. I loved how Quincy Jones had produced Michael’s Off the Wall; I loved Thriller and Bad. I knew Teddy Riley had co-produced Dangerous, and I really wanted to be in that company of those who had worked with Michael.
I had my manager send him the song.
A day passed.
My manager called.
“He wants to do it,” he said.
“Michael wants to do it,” I repeated. “You sure?”
“His people called. They love the song.”
“That’s fantastic! That’s amazing!” I was shouting out the good news.
“But there’s one thing, Rob.”
“What’s that?”
“He wants half the publishing.”
The publishing represents ownership of the song. Much as I loved Michael, and much as I understood that business is business, I believed that, given the success of 12-Play, I had earned the right to keep all my publishing and retain all the ownership.
“Tell his people,” I said, “that no disrespect, but I don’t want to do that. It would be the dream of my life to have Michael sing that song, but it’s a song that I need to own.”
“You sure, Rob? You sure you want to take that chance.”
“I’m sure,” I said. “If Michael really loves the song as much as I think he does, he’ll sing it anyway. He’ll realize he was born to sing it.”
My manager conveyed my position to Michael’s manager.
One day passed, then another, then still another.
I was nervous. I was thinking about nothing except whether Michael Jackson was going to sing my song.
Then the phone finally rang. My manager was on the line.
“Well?”
“Well, what?” he said, teasing me.
“Is he gonna sing it?”
“Hell, yes, he’s gonna sing it.”
“Thank you, Jesus!” I yelled.
“Not only is he gonna sing it, he’s coming to Chicago so you can show him how to sing it.”
“When?”
“Next week.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I’d never kid about something this important, Rob. Not when it comes to you producing Michael Jackson.”
Me producing Michael Jackson—he was going to sing “You Are Not Alone.” I kept running those words through my mind. I still couldn’t believe it. What better way to send a radio message than through the King of Pop himself!
I immediately got nervous and started to freak a little. It was all coming true. Michael Jackson was really getting on a plane and flying to Chicago for the express purpose of being produced by me in the studio of my choice.
My choice was CRC Studios just off Michigan Avenue in downtown Chicago. I knew it like the back of my hand. My engineers were the best. The atmosphere was cool. I knew Michael would be comfortable, and we could ensure his private space.
Wherever Michael Jackson went, though, the world knew about it. It was like there were secret agents putting out the word. So, days before he landed in Chicago, the city knew he was coming. There were mentions in the newspapers and on TV. The whole town was wired for his arrival. I was wired. I couldn’t wait.
The day finally came. I got to the studio two hours early. I ordered my favorite Chinese food. I was sure to include some vegetarian dishes for Michael. I was so nervous that I started practicing in front of the food just how I would introduce Michael. Would I say, “Mike, would you like some Chinese food?” Or, “Mike, want some of this, man?” Or maybe it’d be better to say, “If you’re in the mood for some Chinese food, Michael, you’re welcome to it.”
I was in the middle of all this when the studio phone rang. The engineer answered. All I heard him say was, “Okay?”
“Whassup?” I asked.
“They said the talent has landed and is 30 minutes away.”
Michael’s people had specified that they wanted only me and my engineers present during the session. My manager, though, had showed up. Like everyone else, he wanted to meet Michael.
The phone rang again.
Talent was 20 minutes away.
I went back to rehearsing how to offer Mike Chinese food.
Then another call.
Ten minutes away.
I went to the bathroom to wash my hands super-clean. I knew Michael didn’t like dirt. He was a clean freak. He didn’t eat meat. That’s why I had those vegetarian meals ready.
“The talent has arrived,” my engineer announced.
Three minutes later, his security guys appeared. They made sure they knew who was who. They made sure that the route from the car to the studio was clear.
Next we heard that the talent was in the building.
And the next thing I knew, Michael Jackson was walking through the door. Michael Jackson was real.
He looked at least eight feet tall. He looked like an avatar. He was wearing a black mask over his face. Only his eyes were showing. My manager was the first to make a move. He went over to hug him. Michael st
opped the hug and offered his hand instead. Then my manager introduced him to my engineers. Michael shook their hands. Finally, Mike walked over to me. He looked in my eyes, opened his arms, and gave me the hug of my life, whispering to me in his lighter-than-air, soft, high voice, “The world’s gonna be singing this song.”
I blurted out something silly like, “Congratulations on everything you’ve done, Mike. Congratulations on being Michael Jackson.”
Just about then, Bubbles the chimp pranced into the room. In my mind, I called Bubbles “Trouble.” The chimp made me nervous.
“He’s friendly, isn’t he, Mike?”
“Oh, yes, he’s not going to hurt you.”
“Anyway,” I said, “I’m just glad you like the song.”
“I don’t like it, Rob. I love it. I don’t want to change one thing. I want to sing it just the way you wrote it. You captured me beautifully. That’s the reason I came here. We can get started as soon as I do my vocal warm-ups.”
“If you excuse me for a minute,” I said, “I’ll be right back.”
I walked to the bathroom and just fell out on the floor. I broke down and cried. It wasn’t that Michael Jackson was singing my song; it was that Michael had felt how I’d caught his spirit. Michael Jackson had come to Chicago to work with me!
When I got back to the studio, I heard screeching. I thought it was Bubbles throwing a fit. But it was Michael doing his vocal warm-ups. He was screeching like a wounded animal. Man, I thought, this is a strange way to warm up, but he’s Michael Jackson—the biggest star in the world—and if that’s how he wants to warm up, it’s cool with me.
“Before we start working, Rob,” said Mike, “would you mind talking to my vocal coach in L.A.? He has something he wants to ask you.”
“No problem, Mike.”
When we reached him, the coach said, “Mr. Kelly, Michael just wanted to ask me if it’d be okay if you only did the first verse today. You can start on the chorus tomorrow. That will help Michael conserve his voice.”
“Sure thing,” I said, amazed at Michael’s humility. He had asked his coach to ask me if it was okay to work on Mike’s timetable.
“Thanks for understanding, Rob,” said Michael. “I hope this won’t mess up your flow.”
“I flow with you, Mike. “Anything you want, man.”
For the next few hours, we worked the verse, with Michael trying as hard as he could to be true to my demo.
“It’s better than the demo,” I kept telling him. “Way better.”
Next day, of course, I was less nervous. I knew the chorus was a killer, and Michael would nail it in no time. When he started singing, though, he immediately felt the need for background vocals.
“Rob,” he said in that high, sing-song voice, “would you mind coming in here and singing backgrounds with me?”
Mind? Are you kidding? Michael Jackson was asking me to sing with him!
I had to practically stop myself from running to the vocal booth. I paced myself so I could walk slowly, but in my heart I felt like a little girl.
When we started to sing, the blend was perfect. We were butter and toast. He did that same rocking motion I’d seen him do on “We Are the World.” Sitting there next to me—my voice over his, his voice over mine—I tasted heaven. Heaven on earth. Brother, this is as good as it gets.
“You know, Rob,” he said later that afternoon, “sometimes it can take me a month to get a song where I want it.”
“Me, too, Mike,” I agreed. “Sometimes it takes me more than a month.”
“I’m glad you understand. You’ll be patient with me, won’t you?”
“I’ll be whatever you want me to be, Mike. It’s still like a dream for me.”
“Can I ask you something else?”
“Sure.”
“Is there a mall around here, Rob?”
“Just a couple of blocks away.”
“Would you go there with me? I love malls.”
“I love ’em, too, Mike. Let’s roll.”
With Bubbles and the security team in place, we went to Water Tower Place, one of the nicest malls in Chicago. Michael headed straight for the Disney store where he was fascinated by a larger-than-life statue of Donald Duck hung above the entrance.
“That’s beautiful,” said Michael. “Do you think they’d sell it to me? I’d love to have Donald Duck for Neverland.”
“Couldn’t hurt to ask,” I said.
Of course Michael Jackson walking into the Disney store caused a near-riot. When the manager appeared, Michael couldn’t have been sweeter: “Is there any way I could buy that Donald Duck?” he asked.
“I’m afraid not, Mr. Jackson. It’s permanently built into the front of the store.”
“Oh, that’s a shame,” Michael said politely. “But thank you anyway, sir.”
I’d never met anyone with better manners.
We spent the next three weeks perfecting the song. As far as the production went, Mike let me take the lead. Of course he had ideas for instrumental touches of his own—and they were all great. We never had a single disagreement.
After the sessions, he’d hang around the studio to talk. He was interested in my remix methods. He loved the remix on “Your Body’s Callin’” and wanted to know how I’d done it. When I explained that I worked by instinct, he completely understood.
The experience of working with Mike was drama-free. Every night after he left the studio and got in his van, people were hanging out the windows of office buildings and hotels, stretching their necks to get a glimpse of him. He’d always stop and wave.
When the job was done and it was time for him to leave Chicago, he gave me another hug and said, “You’re my brother.”
I was too choked up to say anything.
When “You Are Not Alone” dropped as the second single off Mike’s History album, it made the Guinness World Records book as the first song to debut at #1 on the Billboard Top 100 chart. It was #1 in the U.K. as well as in France, New Zealand, Spain, Switzerland, and Japan. Mike was right. They were singing it all over the world.
When the video came out—featuring Michael and Lisa Marie Presley, his wife at the time—I loved it for being so original. It got everyone talking.
Unfortunately, the credits on the record listed Michael as a co-writer of the song. Naturally that got me a little upset. But the minute I put a call in to Mike, he got right back to me.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “My people are so used to me co-writing everything, they presumed I’d done this as well. But mark my words, Rob, this mistake will be taken care of immediately.”
And it was.
It would be some years before Michael cut another song of mine: “One More Chance” for his Number Ones compilations album. Before that, he invited me to his L. A. studio, just as a guest. I wound up singing on that session and having a ball. We’d talk every three months or so. He’d tell me what was happening in his life, and I’d tell him about mine.
Michael Jackson died on June 25, 2009. News of his death was like a hatchet to my chest. He meant to me what breathing means to most people. He was not only my brother and friend, he was also my mentor. I am honored and blessed to have been in Michael’s presence. I got to know him like most of the world never will—on a person-to-person, soul-to-soul level. I broke down and cried when I saw a YouTube video of Michael dancing to “Ignition Remix” in the back seat of his friend’s car. I mean, he was jamming; you can tell he was fully into and feeling it. I was like, “Wow, he’s doing my music, he’s singing to my music.”
I’ve been in the business for over 20 years; I’ve written songs that have sold around the world and won all kinds of awards. But, it wasn’t until I saw the great Michael Jackson busting his familiar moves to my song that it all became official: “Kells” is here, baby, for real.
In late 2009,1 used part of that video in a tribute to Michael as part of my tour. The YouTube video segued into a montage of his performances and personal videos. Afte
r it played, I walked out on the stage and sang words that came to me after his death:
Don’t say goodbye to me
There is no need to
Don’t say goodbye to me, because I’m still with you
Don’t say goodbye to me, don’t shed a tear
Because I’m still here
Go light a candle and say a prayer
Scream out victory, ’cause love is still there.”
The tribute was my way of keeping Mike with me, with all of us, really. I refused to let him go and was determined not to let him die.
Because he was super-human, I was sure that Mike would live forever.
TRADE IN MY LIFE
Understand this about me. There’s the studio, the basketball court, the crib, and the road. The studio comes first In the studio, the lady is music and she possesses me more deeply than any woman. I need the basketball court for release. The competitive fire inside me needs to burn. If I don’t burn it off, it’ll burn me up. I need a crib for privacy and protection. I love my fans, but some of them are aggressive to the point of craziness.
In 1994,1 found a converted church in the Lakeview section on Chicago’s North Side; an upscale, in-the-city ’hood near Lincoln Park, the lakefront, and Wrigley Field. I saw the place, with its 10,000 square feet of living space, as a blank canvas that I could paint any way I wanted. I’m a perfectionist in music, and I’m a perfectionist in design. I was going to design this, my first major home, according to my vision.
For example, I envisioned an indoor pool and basketball court and a spacious indoor rehearsal/dance studio. I wanted a 27-foot stairwell in the living room, polished hardwood floors in the dining room, elaborate lighting, and breath-taking art throughout the house. There simply had to be monster sound and home theatre systems and a great room with a grand white piano as the centerpiece. I had a massive, 1500-gallon, in-the-wall aquarium installed with a pair of killer sharks swimming inside. I got that idea from a James Bond movie I saw; thought it might make my place unique and give it attitude.