Soulacoaster

by R. Kelly

  The opening ceremonies for the World Cup were scheduled for June 11, 2010, at the newly built Soccer City Stadium in Johannesburg. Artists from the album, along with more than 1,500 other artists, dancers, singers, praise poets, drummers, and flag bearers were invited to perform at the opening ceremony. I was to have the honor of performing the official anthem and was excited about my second trip to Africa and the opportunity to get another taste of the unconditional love I had experienced a year earlier.

  I wasn’t sure who’d be there to greet me when my plane touched down. My hopes were high, but I just didn’t know if my African fans cared enough to come greet me at the airport. Well, they showed up by the thousands—newspaper accounts put the number at 10,000. Getting off the plane and seeing the sea of beautiful black faces looked biblical to me. I was in tears. I dove into the crowd so my spirit would go out to the people. When I finally made it to the car, I jumped on the roof so my fans could see me as I pumped my fist in the air. I love going where I’m celebrated, not just tolerated, and this trip to Africa was a straight-up celebration.

  The day before the World Cup opening, I attended the FIFA Fan Fest in Cape Town with the Executive Mayor, Dan Plato, to take part in a special celebration for Nelson Mandela. During the Grand Parade World Cup welcoming ceremony, I stood beside Plato when he stepped out on the balcony of Cape Town’s City Hall above tens of thousands of fans. This was the same balcony from which Mr. Mandela made his first speech upon his release from prison in 1990. We were there to light the cauldron that symbolizes the everlasting light provided by Mr. Mandela’s legacy. I felt very honored to be the first to light the eternal flame with the Mayor. Once the cauldron was lit, with arms outstretched and with that beautiful, lyrical African accent, Plato shouted: “CAN YOU FEEL IT?”

  The crowd cheered wildly.

  After the lighting of the eternal flame, we went to the stage area, where I had been asked to sing “I Believe I Can Fly.” Now, I really didn’t have an opening song planned for the occasion, but the mayor’s words, “can you feel it,” kept repeating in my head. The Soweto Spiritual Singers went on before me, and they were singing a wonderful chorus with an incredibly addictive beat. The air was filled with the sound of vuvuzelas—an African horn, almost like a supersized kazoo that gives off a piercing, majestic, some say “annoying” sound. The sound of the vuvuzelas became the soundtrack for the entire trip, as it is used for celebrations, sporting events—any kind of occasion where people are expressing joy or excitement. From backstage, I asked that the choir continue to sing out the rhythm when I took the stage. They did. I walked out on stage, singing “CAN YOU FEEL IT!” And, again, the crowd went wild.

  I quickly slid into “I Believe I Can Fly,” and the place erupted. It was truly humbling to see all these people, from the very young to the very old, on a continent so far from Chicago, singing my song. And they knew every single word.

  While I was singing “Fly,” in the back of my head the lyrics for “Can you feel it” were forming.” I was onstage singing one song while mentally scribbling another. I told one of our camera crew to make sure that he got the opening of my performance, so that I could have the recording for reference. I promised myself that I’d complete the song once I got home. And I did.

  More than 85,000 fans were screaming, waving, and blowing vuvuzelas when I arrived at Soccer Stadium for the opening ceremonies of the World Cup. It seemed like everyone was in accord, showing great love. There were soccer fans from all over the world, each representing their country and their favorite team. Especially excited were the South African fans, rooting for their national team, Bafana Bafana, who were competing in this first match against Mexico. Nelson Mandela himself would be in the crowd, and Joann Kelly’s son would soon be performing “Sign of a Victory” with this great man in the audience. The energy of the crowd shot into me like electricity; there’s just no other way to describe it. The crowds, all that love, all that energy, the very spirit of Africa electrified my senses all at once.

  As I was on my way to the dressing room beneath the stadium where I was to change and wait for my cue in the ceremony, a few people from the group I had been traveling with came running towards me. Somehow, I could read their spirit. They were bringing bad news, which I did not want to hear, especially before my performance. I tried to get them to restrain themselves and hold off on whatever it was they had to tell me until later, but the news couldn’t wait:

  “Zenani has been killed in a car accident,” they said. “Zenani is gone.”

  The words went through my heart like a bullet. But there was nothing I could do but go on the field. When the crowd saw me, the screaming and the vuvuzelas went crazy. The sound was like a gigantic swarm of bees.

  Dressed in all black but for a gold hood and sneakers, backed by the powerful Soweto Spiritual Singers, I began the performance in a crouched position. I stood and sang the most powerful rendition of “Sign of a Victory” that I could muster. I sang for Zenani and her great-grandfather. I sang for all the grandfathers and grandmothers, all the fathers and mothers, all the brothers and sisters who have lost someone they have loved. I sang to the 85,000 people in the stadium that day and the 2 billion people watching around the world. I sang for love itself.

  I

  sang

  for

  love

  itself

  HANDS ACROSS THE WORLD

  Music can be the calm after a deadly storm. Delivering comfort was the reason I released the single “Let Your Light Shine” in 2006 as a tribute to the victims and survivors of Hurricane Katrina, and “Rise Up” in 2007, after I heard about the massacre of innocent students at Virginia Tech.

  I came back from Africa with a deeper understanding of myself and a strong desire to do even more with my music. What dwells within me is global, and my music speaks all languages. I became obsessed with the idea of world peace and accomplishing it through the brotherhood of music. Music will pave the way.

  This was the motivation behind Epic, an album of some of my inspirational records: “The World’s Greatest,” “If I Could Turn Back the Hands of Time,” “I’m Your Angel,” and “I Believe I Can Fly.” It also included five new ballads, among them “Can You Feel It?” the song I’d heard in my head while performing in Cape Town, and “Sign of a Victory.” I decided to include a couple of songs from the Africa album in this collection as well. The prelude “Heal It” and the song “Victory” both fit perfectly with the album’s inspirational theme. “Fireworks” was another song inspired by the World Cup; I wrote and recorded it the day that I got the news about “Sign of a Victory” being chosen as the official anthem. In my mind, I could truly see the fireworks of the ceremony. My joy is recorded in that song.

  “I Believe” was inspired by the election of Barack Obama as President of the United States. The song came to me when he was still running for office. Usually, when I write inspirational songs, I see myself as a hero trying to save people with music.

  As my involvement with Africa deepened, I had a strong desire to work with more African artists, to explore African talent, to strengthen my connection with Africa (the homeland). It didn’t take long for that desire to become reality.

  A few months after the World Cup ceremonies, I was approached by representatives from Rockstar4000/Sony Music Africa and Airtel. They asked if I’d participate in the ONE8 project; the concept was to create the first Pan African supergroup to be formed by eight of the biggest artists/groups from across Africa. I was asked to be the One in the One8; they were looking for a well-known international artist to lend his or her name to help expose African music and talent to audiences across Africa and around the world.

  I was asked to write and produce a song with a group of superstars from all over the African continent: Amani from Kenya, 2face Idibia from Nigeria, Navio from Uganda, JK from Zambia, Alikiba from Tanzania, 4x4 from Ghana, Movaizhaleine from Gabon, and Fally Ipupa from Congo DRC.

  My goal was to Produce a
song that rang out a11 over the world. When I sing, I sing with everything I’ve been through. The song needed to be something that would convince people of all colors and all nationalities that they can come out of Poverty or overcome whatever problems they’re dealing with—that they can fly, too.

  I hadn’t met any of these artists before attempting to write their song. All I had was video messages and samples of their music that they had sent me. Each artist had a unique style and characteristics. It was a true challenge. But I live for challenges, especially those that help me grow as a singer, songwriter, and music producer.

  After getting a handle on their individual styles, we arranged to have all the artists flown into Chicago to record “Hands Across the World,” the song I’d created for the One8 project. Usually when I work with American artists, I have some idea of their musical range—what they can or cannot do. I also know when they’re being real and not-so-real.

  With the ONE8 artists, everything was real. I love having fun with my music; I also love working with different people, different genres of music, and different talents and gifts. It helps stretch my talents and abilities.

  Africa to America

  Everywhere come on and spread some love

  We got faith and a little hope

  I believe that we can heal the globe

  It’s time to open our eyes and see

  That all we need is you and me

  Unity’s like harmony

  So let me see you stretch your hands across the world

  Hands across the world …

  I’m reaching out to the poor people,

  the sick and the alone

  I’m reaching out to the fortunate who

  can build their own homes

  I’m reaching out to the ones who seem

  to have lost their way

  And I’m calling on the ones who can

  show them a brighter day

  I will be forever humbled by the soul-to-soul connections with members of my African family.

  I consider my continuing African experience among the highest highs on my Soulacoaster.

  Thank you, Mom.

  Thank you, Miss McLin.

  Thank you, God.

  LOVE LETTER

  With my music, I’m always switching lanes—making U–turns, going forward to new destinations, or traveling backwards to familiar places. I don’t resist the journey. I feel like I have this musical time machine that I can just get in and travel anywhere I want to.

  With my time machine, I can stay rooted in the music that made me, while creating songs based on current experiences and inspirations. It feels good knowing that people depend on you to come up with songs that make them want to make love; to get on the dance floor; or to be better fathers, mothers, men, and women. But, with all the fame, fortune, and media attention, I’m also struck with the thought that this is an awesome responsibility.

  This is why it’s important for artists to tap into the spirit of music. Every now and then it’s important to tap into the spirit of the greats so we can extend their legacies. Hopefully, you know, someday somebody will be in a studio trying to tap into the musical spirit of R. Kelly. That’s what this whole thing’s about—it’s the power of music. Generation after generation, music is God’s miracle channeled through His children who express His gifts. Our job is to just keep the miracle of music alive, express it to the best of our ability, and pass it on to those who follow.

  My legacy is important to me. After I’m gone, I want to be remembered for my music and the way my music touched people around the world. I want to be remembered as a songwriter, a singer, a performer, a producer, and a good father. And honestly, I want to be remembered as one of the most versatile artists of my era.

  All this was on my mind when I decided to produce my next album, Love Letter. It had gotten to the point where every time I switched on the radio, I’d hear my sounds and riffs. I was flattered but also concerned. This new generation, unfamiliar with my original work, might think I’m copying what they hear on the radio, when in reality I would be just doing me.

  I didn’t want Love Letter to go to the future because I didn’t want to get ahead of myself. And I didn’t want to stay where I was, look to the side, and see another version of my current self. Instead, I got into my musical time machine and set the dials to take me back 20, 30, and 40 years. When I landed, I found myself hanging out with Sam Cooke and Jackie Wilson—spiritually and musically. I shook hands with them, soaked in their essence. They became my teachers, fathers, uncles, big brothers. I put myself in their time zone, and when I returned to the present, I brought armfuls of new and exciting goodies. I decided that Love Letter was to be a concept album—an entire CD unified by the theme of “love.” I love doing concept albums more than any other kind of album. They allow me to, in a way, get dressed up musically. It’s not a freestyle situation; I set boundaries for myself, and the music must stay within those lanes.

  Love has never failed. It has won every battle. Today and forevermore, love will go undefeated. With Love Letter, every song had to be about love—old-fashioned L-O-V-E. So I programmed myself musically to come up with love-feeling tracks, songs both romantic and sexy, yet classy, like back in the day.

  I had to set the proper mood in my studio. On my big-screen TV, I projected pictures of guys like Ray Charles and Marvin Gaye. I wanted to see their faces; I wanted them with me as I wrote songs, practiced lyrics, and laid down tracks. I knew these men, like all men, had their struggles. They went through trials and tribulations, but through it all, they had a heart for music and a love for people. That love shined through every song they sang. I have that same heart for music, that same love for people. But I didn’t want to be R. Kelly or Kells or the Pied Piper of R&B or the Weatherman. I wanted you to feel the mama’s boy inside me. I wanted you to feel Robert. I wanted the sweetest part of my soul to touch the sweetest part of yours.

  I saw the album as an actual body of songs—one arm, then another arm, a head, a leg, another leg, a foot, another foot, a nose, a smile, two smiling eyes—not just a collection of individual songs. I conceived Love Letter as one long single—a letter filled with heart, tears, and passion on each page.

  I hadn’t originally planned for Love Letter to be my next album. As I often do, I was working on material for two albums at the same time—Love Letter and the project that I thought would be next up, was Zodiac, a continuation of the 12-Play concept. I’d even come up with a new name for myself for that album—"January Boy,” because I’m a Capricorn. But then a song so powerful came to me in the studio, that it took over and there could be no question that it was going to be my next record.

  “When A Woman Loves” was the first single. Just as a righteous woman is the backbone of a man, a woman’s true love can be the backbone of an album. After all, a woman’s love, actually two women’s—Joann Kelly and Lena McLin—made me who I am. In Love Letter, I’m singing about the love that comes from a mother, a grandmother, a great-grandmother. I’m singing about the love that comes from your fianceé, your wife, your daughter, your granddaughter. It’s the kind of love that keeps on going and growing. I don’t even consider “When A Woman Loves” a song really; it’s like the heart that keeps the body alive.

  Singing it was challenging because it was written in the mode of Jackie Wilson. Like so many of the great artists back then, Jackie had a powerful voice. He belted out every note; he cried out every lyric; there was no half-stepping. Sam Cooke was my spiritual soulmate as I wrote drop-down-on-your knees pleas for a woman’s affection. I love that style and believe it’s what’s missing in songs heard on the radio today. Love Letter brings those powerful styles and that heart-and-soul connection back into the mainstream.

  C L A S S I C

  “Radio Message” is a story set in the ’50s—before using cell phones, texting, and tweeting became the norm. It’s about a guy who did his girl wrong and wants to make up. He’s written her but she won’t wri
te back. He gets this crazy idea. He heard about a contest the radio station is running. The next caller on the line gets two tickets and a limo ride to a concert. He knows his girl loves the radio and figures if he’s the next caller, he can plead his case on the air. Maybe she’ll be listening. So he makes this desperate attempt and, sure enough, his call gets through. He gets to plead his case in the form of a song, crying: This is a radio message to my baby, and I’m begging her to come back …

  “Number One Hit” is a song that compares a lady to a smash hit. Having been blessed with many #1 hits, I know the tremendous adrenaline rush that comes with your very own top-of-the-chart winner. So I wanted to compare that feeling to falling in love. That’s why I said, “We went past gold … our love blew up.” I sang that she is “my Elvis and Priscilla, my Michael Jackson’s Thriller, Smooth Operator by Sade, and, baby, let’s not forget the 12-Play … you my Titanic, my movie star, my Coming to America, my Avatar” (Avatar, by the way, is a movie I’ve seen about six times. It gets better each time.)

  “Not Feelin’ the Love” was written for Michael Jackson. We lost him before he could sing it, so on Love Letter I’m singing it to Michael, for Michael. In truth, he can never leave us. Michael Jackson is a permanent part of our lives. His music is so deep in us that nothing can erase it. The highlight of my career so far is working with Michael. I’m humbled by the fact that I had the opportunity to work with the greatest man to ever make music. The best way I can express my love for Michael Jackson is to make sure my music honors his legacy.