Soulacoaster

by R. Kelly

  My house was a place where I could take off the R. Kelly uniform and let Robert do his thing and be himself.

  In an interview with Vibe magazine in 2007, John Monopoly—at the time manager of Kanye West, Shawnna, and Rhymefest—talked about his experience at a house party I had once thrown. It wasn’t the house I just described, but the so-called “’hood shit” Monopoly described hasn’t changed. He watched women braiding my hair and how we hung out in the kitchen “singing, laughing, and talking shit.” To Monopoly, this was a sign of my authenticity. From his perspective, it demonstrated my “strong bond with the public” and “connection to the streets.”

  While what Monopoly witnessed seemed to convince him that I had genuine street cred, back in 1995, as in 2005, as in today… if you’re hanging with me, I’m not “R. Kelly,” I’m “Robert:” a mama’s boy, who lives life and enjoys his life, his family, his friends, and his home. In fact, being connected with real life and real people is the only way my music can stay relevant. People tend to pamper R. Kelly, but with Robert, they can let their guard down and say what’s on their minds and hearts. R. Kelly moves too fast and tries to please too many people. That’s not a bad thing. In fact, it’s good because it keeps me connected with my fans. But, when I separate myself from the character and come down to earth, it’s Robert who picks up on the real vibes in the streets.

  The road was always calling me because it allows me to connect with my fans all around the world. I want to see them and they want to see me. I want to entertain them.

  I also found myself in the same position as thousands of male singers who came before me: If I sing a song that says I want to seduce you and you alone, a woman takes that personally. And I want her to take it personally. I want the woman to feel like I want her. And I want her to want me. All that translates into lots of ladies wanting me and, in turn, me wanting lots of ladies.

  Not too many years before, I was a school kid with a reading problem whom the girls laughed at. Suddenly the kid became a superstar with a lifetime pass to an all-you-can-eat buffet. And on the menu is every kind of beautiful woman you can imagine—every shade and every shape. I was excited that my songs were so strong, excited that my female fans liked the seduction, excited that women were looking to seduce me, and I said, “Hell, yes.”

  My love life started operating on the same level as my musical life: It was one gorgeous song after another.

  But even though I have this spirit of seduction, I also have a spirit that comes from God. The preacher in me is strong. When Mom passed away, she went straight to heaven. I truly believe that the only way I’m going to see her again is to make it to heaven.

  After her death and all the sudden success—not to mention this hurricane of women coming at me—I was thrown into some serious confusion. The preacher and the seducer got to arguing.

  In 1995, at the start of my second solo album, R. Kelly, I decided to let my fans know everything going through my head. But I wanted the preacher to deliver the message. Earth is my preacher’s turf and people relate to him because they feel he’s talking directly to them. The preacher is my music and my music—although it’s not the same as going to church, preaches.

  The intro on the record was called “The Sermon.” I preached like I was in church, a church organ playing between my words, with the sisters and brothers responding to my calls, yelling “Amen” and “Preach, Brother Kelly.”

  I said, “Before I start, I just wanna get a few things off my chest. You see, being in the business that I am in, looks like everything I do, everywhere I go, and everything I see, seems to be through some kind of magnifying glass. Can I talk about it?

  While you’re looking, I suggest you take a good look. And I hope you find just what it is you 're looking for. Just like that song says: ‘Ain’t nobody’s business what I do!’ Now can I move on?

  I remember when I was trying to be somebody, but I just didn’t know nobody. Now ever since God has blessed me, it seems that things are going a little bit different.

  Folks, ain’t it funny how things can change sometimes? Why, even the Statue of Liberty want some bump and grind. Can I get a witness off up in them jeeps? Amen.

  I don’t see nothing wrong with a little truth. You see the good book says that the truth is the light. I think it’s time to turn on your lights and see the truth. Can I talk on?

  You don’t know where I’ve been. You don’t know where I’m going. You don’t know what I do. Can I get a witness?

  So before you go trying to pass judgment on me, pass judgment on yourself Worry ’bout yourself and what yourself is doing, and where yourself is going, and who yourself has been with. That way, you don’t have to EVER worry about nobody but Jesus.”

  From the pulpit I had to get right to the dance floor. “You Remind Me of Something,” the first single from R. Kelly album, got some serious criticism. But that didn’t bother me. I was proud of the song because I was freer with my metaphors. I’ve always wanted to express myself in ways that other guys never have. I was glad to write:

  You remind me of something.

  I just can’t think of what it is …

  You remind me of my jeep, I wanna ride it

  Something like my sound, I wanna pump it

  Girl you look just like my car, I wanna wax it

  And something like my bank account

  I wanna spend it …

  So pull up to my bumper and let the system sound

  Girl, I bet ya’ I can drive you crazy

  The song is a compliment to women, not an insult. We fellas love our jeeps. We love our cars. We love the speaker systems in our rides. And naturally we love our bank accounts when we got money. You can compare a woman to the moonlight and stars; you can compare her to a beautiful flower or an angel from above. All that’s cool. But I wanted to come down to earth and make a comparison that was real to men.

  I was happy the song got talked about. And I don’t think I’m wrong in saying that the fans got a kick out of the lyrics. They proved that to me when they ran out and bought the single and it wound up hitting the #1 spot.

  The power of music inside me didn’t pay any attention to debates about my musical direction. It simply kept feeding me more and more lyrics, words, riffs, and rhythms. It got to a point where—and I know this may sound crazy—I talked to the notes in my head. I made them prove that they’re worthy of completion.

  “Come on, that all you got? What else? Bring it!”

  Even before I was married to a woman, I was married to my work. Music feeds me more than I can consume sometimes. Mostly, it serves me in the wee hours of night, so my engineers and staffers have to accommodate all-night creative sessions. Because I still struggle with reading and writing, I’ve got old-fashioned cassette recorders all around the house, in my cars, everywhere to catch those moments of pure inspiration. When a melody comes to me, or some lines of lyrics, I’ve got to get them down fast. I have a near perfect memory, but I’ve got so many songs in my head that I’ve got to catch them as soon as they fight their way to the surface. So I’ll hum the melody or the bass line, whatever it is that comes to me, into the cassette deck. Or now, one of my iPhones or iPads. Or I’ll call the studio and have the engineer record my ideas over the phone. From those bits of melody or rhythm I’ll continue to build.

  In the studio, I have my longtime musical director Donnie Lyle, who is also an accomplished guitarist. I have a couple of keyboard players and programmers on staff. I’ll hum or imitate with my voice all the parts of the song and Donnie will recreate the sounds in my head on the track. As the words come, I’ll sing them over the track, and keep refining and refining until the song is done. I’ve created a life that basically revolves around music. I’m like that weird scientist who’s locked himself in the basement experimenting, testing, and, every once in a while, blowing up stuff just to get that perfect formula.

  When the song “I Can’t Sleep” came to me, I originally wanted to cut it with Toni
Braxton. It has her inflection and vocal attitude all over it. Toni had wanted me to produce her. Naturally I said yes. I love her voice.

  When she came into the studio, though, she wasn’t happy that “I Can’t Sleep” was already written. She thought we’d be writing together. Well, that’s never been my style. I’m the Lone Ranger. I prefer to write alone. Because I’m as much a word man as a music man, I have both bases covered—and I’m not looking for a collaborator. It’s not that I don’t recognize the greatness of other writers. But what I do, I do alone.

  Toni was unprepared for my way of making music.

  “Just listen to the song first, Toni,” I said. “It’ll fit you like a custom-made dress.”

  If I produced a song that fit Michael Jackson, I knew I could produce a song that fit Toni.

  After listening to “I Can’t Sleep,” she said she liked it.

  But then came the tough part—producing it.

  Because I had resculpted the melody with Toni in mind, I knew exactly which way it had to go. She just had to follow my roadmap. Except Toni didn’t want to follow.

  “Sorry, Rob,” she said. “I don’t hear it that way.”

  “But, Toni,” I said, “that’s the way it’s written.”

  “Well, I’m changing it.”

  “Then you’re ruining it.”

  “Just because I’m singing it differently than you want it sung doesn’t mean I’m ruining it.”

  “It’s a hit the way it’s written,” I insisted.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Well,” I said, “you’re certainly entitled to your opinion. And I’m entitled to take back my song. So I will.”

  At that point Toni and I agreed to disagree. She realized that, like the Lakers and the Celtics, we just weren’t going to get along.

  What Toni rejected, I accepted. I recorded “I Can’t Sleep” myself on my 1995 self-titled album R. Kelly. It went #1.

  The “Down Low” story started with me riding around L.A. where I saw Ronald Isley walking down Sunset Strip. I had my driver stop the car so I could get out and holler at him.

  “Ronald Isley! Man, you don’t know how much I love your music. You don’t know how much my mother loved your music. I bet you don’t even know who I am.”

  “Are you kidding, brother? You’re R. Kelly. You got the hits.” He looked at me like I’d accomplished what he’d accomplished. I couldn’t believe it.

  All I could say was, “Well, I believe I got some hits for you. I’m looking to make the kind of music my people listened to on the porch when we were growing up. You feel me?”

  “I feel you, but what do I call you, brother? What does the 'R' stand for?”

  “The ‘R’ is for Robert, and Robert is ready to roll with the Isleys if the Isleys are ready to roll with the ‘R.’”

  “We roll now.”

  That very day we went to the studio where I played some tracks for Ronald. He loved them all. The very first song we did was “Down Low,” where I sang lead but used Ronald and his brother Ernie prominently in the background. You can’t help but hear the Isley vibe on that record. I was careful to respectfully label the song “Down Low (Nobody Has to Know) featuring Ronald and Ernie Isley”

  When it came time to make a video, I already knew the whole story—it was like a movie in my head, when I wrote the song. I was the young dude kicking it with the woman of a superbad gangsta named Mr. Biggs. I cast Ronald in the role of Mr. Biggs—and suddenly both his face and his voice were back in the media. He told me that the song and the music video propelled him into a whole new career.

  Hanging with Ronald was like being with a teacher. I always learned something new from him. Like any writer or director, I took great pride in giving the Mr. Biggs character life. The Isley Brothers were one of my mom’s favorite groups. I was truly humbled to work with them. My only regret was that my mom couldn’t see her baby boy singing with the Isleys.

  Just as “Down Low” had me looking to the past, my collaboration with the Notorious B.LG.—“You To Be (Be Happy)”—on the same album had me looking to the future. I saw that, staying in the present, I could ride on both sides of the road: new-flavored old-school R&B and rap-heavy hip-hop.

  GOD & MUSIC

  The other side of the R. Kelly album testified to my relationship with God. It may be hard for some to understand, but I considered what was happening onstage with my music as steps I was taking toward God. If not for Him, I couldn’t have come that far For whatever else was happening in my crazy life, God was happening. God can’t help but happen. God’s always there.

  With all the success of 12-Play, with all the pain that came with my mother’s death, with all the willing women surrounding me, I felt the need to reach out to the Lord for help. I needed Him bad. I loved Him deeply. Even on a love song like “Baby Baby Baby Baby Baby …” I asked my baby to take me to church on Sunday morning where I can thank the Lord. I sang, “Let’s say a prayer together: ‘Heavenly Father, which art in heaven, I pray that you keep this love together.’”

  Same thing was true with “Thank God It’s Friday.” I took the title seriously. On one.level the song was about “Friday night, disco lights, feeling right,” but I had to bring God into it. I addressed the Lord when I sang: ‘Heavenly Father, I thank you, I thank you, and I thank you—so many looking, looking.’”

  I was one of those people looking.

  As I reached the end of the album, I reached out to God again in a song called , “As I Look Into My Life”:

  As I look into my life searching for that paradise

  Oh Lord, will you help me, find me, take this crazy ghetto past of mine

  And put it all behind me

  I concluded the R. Kelly album with a prayer/song I wrote called “Trade In My Life.” I sang about “sittin’ here wonderin’ how did things go so wrong . ..” and came to the conclusion that I had to give my life to God. I said, “I love my music and I love my fans, but I’ve got to step back, look at this thing like it sure-enough is. What does it profit a man to gain the world and lose his soul? I’m gonna trade it to be with you . .. from the depth of my heart.”

  R. Kelly ended on a holy conclusion—when the love of a woman, the love of music, and the love of God all came together in a single song. “Trade In My Life” was an affirmation of my love for Jesus, the same Jesus who, through my mother, I met as a little boy; the same Jesus who lived in the mind and soul of Lena McLin; the same Jesus who had blessed me with a talent that had taken me from the dirt to my dreams.

  The R. Kelly album and my lyrics seriously confused many music critics and fans. Mixing the spiritual with the sensual was a hard feat for many. Some speculated that my mother’s death was the beginning of “a spiritual awakening” for me. My critics wrote that R. Kelly was wrestling “with both sexual and spiritual concerns.” And some people took offense and accused me of “twisting things up.” There weren’t many artists who had so boldly combined the secular and the sacred. Some detractors speculated that the album confirmed that, like so many before me, I was lost and uncertain about who I wanted to serve.

  Oh, I knew who I wanted to serve all right, but I wanted to be honest. My mother’s death affected me greatly, but it didn’t constitute a “spiritual awakening.” The seeds of God, church, and religion had been permanently planted in my life by my mother and Pastor McLin. I had never walked away from God.

  In my late 20s, I was going through some personal trauma; I was thinking about my future and what I was doing with my life and career. Writing and singing about these inner conflicts onstage was just my way of taking steps toward God. He created me. Surely He’d help me, if I asked.

  The rumor mill really blew up in 1997 after my surprise appearance at a gospel concert in Chicago. Looking back on my comments that night, I understand why many expected me to abandon R&B and make a full-fledged conversion to gospel.

  I talked about my obsession with money and material possessions and being the center
of attention for women and the media. “Here stands a broken man,” I shouted. “I used to be flying in sin—now I’m flying in Jesus.”

  I want to be clear here, I never considered my music sinful. For the most part, what people see onstage—R. Kelly bumping and grinding, dropping my pants, seducing women—that’s all show business. What I do onstage doesn’t mean I jump off the stage and continue my act in my real life.

  If my fans and the critics could see me as I worship, filled with the spirit, praising in praying, or seeking guidance from my pastor, they’d know that God is and has always been essential to my life.

  At the concert, I was expressing my faith, acknowledging God, and honestly admitting that I had some serious work to do if I ever planned to join Joann Kelly in heaven. There is no divide between sexy and spiritual music in my world. God blessed me with the ability to create both. Take away the seductive lyrics, and they can be easily replaced with gospel.

  I was grateful when one of the great contemporary gospel singers came looking for me. He knocked on my door and said, “Rob, let me help you, brother.” I felt his spirit and genuine love of God. I went into his prayer circle and received many blessings from his insights into the Lord.

  But because God gave me a discerning nature, even in the midst of a powerful prayer circle, I was aware of what was happening around me. Example: I was seated in a room in a prayer circle—brothers and sisters who had dedicated their life to the Lord. A sister asked us all to hold hands as she led us in prayer. When I pray, I get emotional. I give my heart over completely to the sacred moment. I can start crying, shaking, and even talking in tongues. Anything might happen when I pray. This time I fell to my knees, calling out to God and thanking Him for His grace. As I fell, though, I noticed the group leader had his little video camera aimed at me. As he was catching me on tape, I heard him talking on his cell: “Yes, we have R. Kelly with us. R. Kelly is saved. R. Kelly is in our prayer circle.”