by R. Kelly
The film captured the intensity before the heavyweight championship battle between George Foreman and Muhammad Ali in Zaire. The film showcased champions of the sports world—Ali and Foreman—and champions of the music world—James Brown, B. B. King, and Wayne Henderson. These champions drew attention back to Africa, the Motherland. I will never forget the footage of Ali traveling all over Zaire with children, adults, everyone screaming: “Ali, Boma Ye! Ali Boma Ye!” Ali’s obvious love for Africans and their unshakable faith, confidence, and deep ancestral love for him were inspiring.
As a son of Africa, I wanted some of that. I wanted to feel my homeland: touch it, experience it, and sing about it. I felt a deep spiritual connection with a place I’d never been. I wanted to integrate its rhythms and harmonies, and meld its music with my music.
I had long hungered to go to Africa to see the Motherland for myself, but I had never had the opportunity. And since the court case came up, I couldn’t travel outside the country because my passport had been taken away. I’d heard that I was known there, but I didn’t feel the time was right for a visit. I also felt I needed to make an African album first.
I’d heard a lot about the problems in some (not all) parts of Africa—poverty, war, and the lack of things we take for granted—clean water, for example; and I also was aware of the spread of fatal diseases like AIDS and malaria. The idea of viruses and how they spread and infect people got me thinking: What if there was a positive virus, something that if people got infected with it, it would spread healing instead of sickness? In a way that’s what music is—a virus that spreads hope and joy. It can bring healing by bringing people together. That’s the virus that the world needs. So when I set out to write the songs for what I called the Africa album, I knew that I wanted to bring healing and love to my African brothers and sisters—a family that I had not even met yet.
I’m a “method” writer. To prepare to record what I called the Africa album, I bought every DVD and book on Africa I could find. I took them to the studio and placed them all around me. I had posters and maps of Africa hung on the walls. I had my assistant convert the Chocolate Factory into Africa; we brought in grass and sand and trees, and everyone coming into the studio had to dress in safari gear. I wanted to bring as many props in as I could so I could get deeper into the spirit. As I sang, everywhere I looked I saw Africa. I tapped into the spirit and felt all the energy, tragedy, joy, and sadness that my ancestors had experienced. The rhythms came out. The melodies emerged. The harmonies fell from the sky. Don’t ask me why or how, but I was singing songs with sounds entirely new yet incredibly old and strangely familiar.
My idea was to give the Africa album away in Africa, like a free vaccine, as a way to spread healing and inspiration. Needless to say, the record company did not support the idea of an album of all-inspirational music; it wanted me to get back to the sexual songs that are my trademark. It also didn’t understand the concept of giving away music; so, for a while, the record sat on the shelves in the Chocolate Factory. But little by little I’ve managed to get a lot of the Africa album out over the years. The song “Let Your Light Shine” was released to raise money for victims of hurricane Katrina—a tragedy that affected me deeply. I got to perform the song on the BET telethon, but I could barely get through the song, thinking about what had happened to the people of New Orleans. “Heal It” and “Victory"—two songs on the Epic album, a collection of my inspirational songs—were also originally written for the Africa album.
It was like living in an African dream, but it was nothing like the dream that came true when I actually visited the Motherland.
TRIAL
May 9, 2008: The final legal nightmare was about to get underway. Amid all the media hoopla, the day was finally here—the day of reckoning.
Two weeks before the trial, though, a woman had popped out of nowhere with a new accusation. Our private investigators checked her out. They advised me that she was not a credible witness; nonetheless, my attorneys were nervous. This was the first time I saw them sweat. They said they thought I should cop a plea.
“But I’m not guilty,” I said.
“We know that, but you’ll get less time if you cop. And we’re not liking the way the jury is looking.”
“Well, I am liking the way the jury is looking,” I countered. “I think they believe; I don’t think those people want me to go to jail.”
“The prosecutors are offering you a deal that means only eight months in jail.”
“If the jury is looking to be against me, why is the prosecutor looking to deal?” I asked.
“Look, Rob,” they said, “you do what you want, but we’re extremely nervous. Eight months isn’t bad.”
“What’s bad,” I said, “is even one day. What’s bad is the seven years that I’ve had this court case hanging over my head. One day in jail means that I’ve copped to these charges. How can I have a career behind that?”
“Eight months is better than 15 years.”
My business manager motioned me into a separate room and said, “Rob, I think the judge is against you, and the jury will follow. I think you should take the deal.”
I snapped on his ass and said, “Man, don’t ever go against me. I got God with me. I got my gut instincts telling me to do what’s right. I don’t need you to tell me to cave in.”
He kept quiet as we went back into the room with the lawyers.
“You made a decision, Robert?” they asked.
“I’m not copping to nothing,” I said. “Just do the job I’m paying you to do.”
“We will,” they said, “but don’t say we didn’t warn you.”
Before that moment, when people asked if I was afraid, I’d say, “No, just a little scared.” My attorneys’ words, though, put fear in my heart.
Yet my faith was still there. Faith got me to sleep the night before the trial. Faith got me up in the morning. Faith got me dressed and to the courtroom on time. Faith got me to stick by my decision. No deal.
My lawyers managed to show that some of the witnesses who testified against me were angry at me for personal reasons that had nothing to do with the case. Some of the witnesses contradicted themselves in their testimony, which made it hard to believe them.
Of all the witnesses who had testified against me, everyone was angry at me for personal reasons that had nothing to do with the case. One claimed I had promised him a recording deal. Another was mad that I didn’t loan him money. Each was prejudiced. Each was looking for his 15 minutes of fame up there on the stand. My attorney, Ed Genson, with his expert cross-examination, caught many of them in a web of contradictions.
I knew my case was strong. But when the prosecutor stood and gave her closing argument, man, she was really strong. She almost had me believing I was guilty. She painted me as the most dangerous man on Earth. She was downright brutal. I figured, though, that was her job. Tomorrow she’d be in another courtroom calling some other dude the most dangerous man in the world.
Next was the closing argument by one of my lawyers. I prayed for him to be as persuasive as the prosecutor—and he was. He was great.
The jury was instructed to deliberate. So we waited—an hour, then two, then four, then six. Then, seven-and-a-half hours later, we were told a verdict had been reached.
Back to the courtroom, back to my seat; surrounded by my legal team.
The wait wasn’t over. The judge hadn’t returned to the courtroom. Meanwhile, I was sweating. Then, out of nowhere, a man handed me a card from his cigar shop. He whispered in my ear, “I know you love stogies, and we’d love to have you out to try some of the merchandise.” I gave him a half-smile; I wasn’t sure what his gesture meant. I told my attorney what had just happened and asked him if that was a good sign.
“Yes,” he said, but he wasn’t smiling.
Finally, the judge entered and called for the jury.
As they walked in, I watched their faces. Count for count, the judge asked the chief juror what they
had found.
I heard the words “not guilty” spoken 12 times. Not guilty on every count.
Over and over again, I said, “Thank you, Jesus. Thank you, Jesus. Thank you, Jesus.”
The policemen in the courtroom—who, up until the verdict had been read, acted like real hard asses—were now smiling and shaking my hand. I felt like the world was hugging me. Heaven was hugging me.
Someone from MTV managed to snag an interview with my attorney immediately after the trial. My lawyer broke it all down, explaining exactly why the jury found me “not guilty.”
The prosecution’s “star” or “surprise” witnesses never took the stand, including the woman that the prosecution believed to be the woman in the tape, in spite of her deposition to the contrary. The Chicago Sun-Times reporter, Jim DeRogatis, who broke the story and was the first to receive the supposed sex tape, took the Fifth and refused to testify. Instead, jurors had to rely on testimonies of “con men and hustlers,” he explained. He specifically mentioned one individual, the fiancé of the state’s key witness, and an attempt to solicit a payoff from me.
“He is an absolute extortionist and tried to extort me personally,” my attorney told MTV. “I was angry about that. I am upset about that. I went down there, and they absolutely hit me up for $350,000 that Mr. Kelly was supposed to pay.”
As for me, I was too emotional to give any interviews. After the verdict was read, I went to the bathroom and broke down and cried. I had to share that moment with my mother in heaven. I could feel her crying alongside me. The moment one flood of tears ended, I’d burst into another. I just couldn’t stop crying, and I couldn’t stop thanking God as I left the courtroom. Tears flowed freely as people blew kisses, slapped me on the back, congratulated me, or wished me well.
I was so dazed I felt like I was being kidnapped. When I got to my car, my boys snatched me inside. Marvin Sapp, the gospel great, was blasting on the radio, singing a song I’ve sung at my shows, “I Never Would Have Made It,” praising the one and only God who saw me through.
Within minutes, my phone was blowing up. People who had testified against me were calling to apologize, to say that they really hadn’t meant it.
Did I forgive them?
Yes, I forgave everybody. I just wanted to get back to my normal life.
“Where do you want to go now?” my crew asked.
“McDonald’s,” I said. “I’ve gotta get a double cheeseburger and fries.”
VICTORY
My dream was about to finally come true. I’d been invited to Africa, and now, after the trial, with my passport restored, the time was right.
My first trip to Africa, in July 2009, was monumental for me. I was invited to perform at two VIP concerts at the close of the ARISE Africa Fashion Awards, an annual event that spotlights up-and-coming African fashion designers. It was an experience like no other. My African fans came out in droves to the concerts in Johannesburg, Cape Town, and Nigeria.
Most fans there had grown up listening to my music but had never seen me. Because the visit was a long time coming, I was overwhelmed by raw, pure love. The last time I had that feeling was back when I was street performing. My first visit to Africa reminded me of the time when there was no pressure to live up to a megastar’s image. African people just accepted me and loved me without really knowing me. It was one of the highlights of my career and the beginning of a relationship that would help me define the global significance of my music.
While there, I felt like Ali. I jogged in the streets with the kids. For two days, I ran drills and trained with the South African army. Night after night fans sang my name in their songs. I met Winnie Mandela and she took me on a tour of Soweto. I was invited to Nelson Mandela’s house, which had more security than an airport. I was humbled and honored to meet the great man. Madiba, as he is called by the people of South Africa, was surrounded by many of his children and grandchildren. One of his great-granddaughters, Zenani, was a fan of mine and wouldn’t let me out of her sight. When I sat down at the piano to sing my song, “Soldier’s Heart"—"You stood on the front line/You led the way/Right out of the darkness/You could have let us go astray/ You were ready to die for our sake/That takes a soldier’s heart”—and dedicated it to her grandfather, Zenani Mandela sat right next to me on the piano bench.
Meanwhile, back in the States, I released my ninth studio album, Untitled. In 2008,1 had originally planned to release it as 12-Play: 4th Quarter. But when all of the material leaked by way of the Internet, I had no choice but to scrap the idea and start from scratch. In the meantime, a management associate suggested that I release my first mixtape for the streets to tide fans over while I started recording again. That was how The Demo Tape (Gangsta Grillz)— remixes of popular R&B/hip-hop standards and some of my original work—came to be.
It was also around this time that I was approached by Clive Davis to work with Whitney Houston on her comeback album. I did two songs for the album and one of them, “I Look to You,” was the first single released and a #1 hit for Whitney.
The Untitled album debuted in December 2009 at #4 on the Billboards 200 chart with the big club hit, “Supaman High,” featuring OJ Da Juiceman. Keri Hilson and I sang “Number One,” another smash. Untitled was a sexy record, where many of the songs like “Echo"—which had me yodeling—took me in new vocal directions. I also produced a song called “Pregnant,” which blended my voice with Tyrese, Robin Thicke, and The Dream. When I wrote it, I was thinking of how Quincy Jones had done something similar with Barry White, El DeBarge, Al B. Sure, and James Ingram in “The Secret Garden.” I wanted to challenge myself to see if I could do something just as lush and beautiful. For me, Untitled is still an undiscovered jewel. I don’t think it got the kind of promotion it deserved.
Soon after the release of Untitled, my long-time consultant and producer of Trapped in the Closet, Ann Carli, told me that FIFA, the international association that governs world soccer, was seeking submissions for a special album being created for the 2010 FIFA World Cup games, which were to be held in South Africa—the first time a World Cup match would be played on the continent of Africa. They were also looking for three special songs to represent the games: the World Cup Mascots theme, the closing ceremony song, and finally the official anthem of the 2010 World Cup. Ann suggested I write and submit something. She warned me that it was a long shot—that every artist in the world was trying to get one of those slots, and that, even though I had been found innocent in the case, many corporate brands might still shy away from any association with me.
With my basketball mentality, I can get really competitive. The opportunity to have my song considered as the anthem for the World Cup games and the fact that it was a long shot got my adrenaline pumping overtime. I went to the bookstore and bought every book and DVD it had on soccer and immersed myself in my research. I watched soccer on TV and ran drills with the Chicago Fire Soccer Club, which was one of the USA teams, to get a better feel for the game. I watched Invictus, the Clint Eastwood film starring Morgan Freeman and Matt Damon about how Nelson Mandela used rugby to help unite the people of South Africa during the 1995 Rugby World Cup game.
I didn’t want to write a song that was just about soccer or the World Cup; I wanted it to be bigger than that. I believe music can guide us into a world of peace, and I wanted a song that could speak to humanity on a global scale. I dug deep inside to find something that would inspire people like “I Believe I Can Fly” had inspired millions. In the same way that “I Believe I Can Fly” wasn’t just about basketball, I wanted another song that explored the known and the unknown. We know we’re missing love in this world. We know we need love to survive, but we don’t know how to get there. I searched for words that spoke to the healing possibilities of love.
Keep in mind, my trial and victory were still fresh in my mind. I’ve always said that the depth of my struggle will determine the height of my success. If there’s no fire, there’s no scream. If there’s no scream, no on
e will hear you or come to help. No continent has struggled more than Africa, especially South Africa, and “Sign of a Victory” is a testament to its struggle. It’s about what Africa has been through, what it is going through, and, mainly, what Africa will overcome:
I can feel the spirit of the nations
And I can feel my wings ridin’ the winds, yeah
I see the finish line just up ahead now
And I can feel it risin’ deep within
And that’s the sign of a victory
Part of the rules for the World Cup anthem was that the song include a performance by an African artist or group. As this was a massive global event that would shine the spotlight of the world on Africa, they wanted to make sure that local African talent got some of that glow as well. I reached out to my label in South Africa and asked them if they could help me find a choir to sing on the track; they introduced me to a South African gospel choir, the Soweto Spiritual Singers. After watching some performance footage and listening to their music, I knew they would be perfect. The song would not be complete without their unique gospel touch, so I arranged to record it with the choir. The syncopated percussion beats, combined with a chorus of heavenly African voices, gave the song the stamp of authenticity.
I was humbled when Nkululeko Vilakazi, co-founder of the Soweto Spiritual Singers, described our effort:
“The song embodies the story of South Africa—hope, strength, and triumph over adversity. It is an uplifting message of victory. It blends American R&B and pop with the Soweto Spiritual Singers’ Zulu choral chants and African musical influences.”
Although “Sign of a Victory” was custom-made for the event, we had to wait several weeks before we found out if the song would even be accepted for the official album. I was blown away when I learned it was selected as the official anthem for the 2010 World Cup games! It would also be the first track on Listen Up!: The Official 2010 FIFA World Cup Album. I felt like, instead of dominoes falling down, things were starting to go the other way: it was dominoes up—and “Sign of a Victory” was the first domino to stand.