Diana Ross: A Biography

by J. Randy Taraborrelli

  For all of this success—even if not monetary—to happen while Ernestine was on the road with Diana just made the victories all the more sweet for mother and daughter. “No one was more proud than Ernestine Ross,” Berry Gordy later said. “She could hardly contain herself. How wonderful when a daughter can make her mama so happy. I mean, that was worth a lot more than money to Diana in those days, believe me.” Good that this was the case because, as it turned out, there was no money.

  Mary Wilson recalled:

  When we got home, I went straight to Mrs. Edwards’ office and said, “Okay, so where’s all the money we made?” We figured, well, our record was a smash, we were on this big tour, we’ve hit the big time now. She said, “Girl, it cost us more to put you on this tour and keep you out there than what you made on it. You don’t have any money. In fact, if I were to sit down here right now and figure things out, you probably owe us money.” So, I left right away before she had a chance to get out her paper and pencil.

  “Before they left, they were singing the blues about ‘Where Did Our Love Go,’” recalls Maurice King, one of the top stage-performance arrangers at Motown, “I was in a meeting with them and Diane said, ‘We need you to do an arrangement on this crappy ol’ song we recorded because Berry is making us sing it on a TV show.’ When they returned from the tour, it was a different story. ‘How do you like that crappy ol’ song now?’ I asked Diane. ‘Oh, I looooooove it,’ she said, laughing.”

  Over the years, some pop music historians have theorized that it was the combination of Diana’s sultry lead and Mary and Florence’s hypnotic, almost mechanical, background vocals (“baby, baby, ooh baby, baby”) that made “Where Did Our Love Go” so unique. There were other reasons for its success as well. A few producers had experimented with Diana’s key on some insignificant LP tracks in the past, but in this case her voice in its new, lower pitch conveyed not only a certain sex appeal, but also an appealing naivety about love. Perhaps she really was beginning to question love’s mysteries because certainly her superficial romances up until this time in her life hadn’t offered much to her. Or maybe, as Lamont Dozier says, “The record just was a good one, the voice was a strong one, the timing was the right one—and nothing else really mattered.” Indeed, it’s easy to think of most of the Motown songs and artists prior to this time as being somewhat interchangeable. However, it’s almost impossible to imagine anyone other than Diana Ross singing “Where Did Our Love Go.”

  Whatever the reasons for the song’s success, Berry was convinced that H-D-H had hit pay dirt; certainly, the Supremes finally had a sound of their own, anyway. Eddie, Lamont and Brian were immediately pulled from all of their other company projects in order that they might devote themselves full time to the Supremes’ concerns. At once, as if by magic, they constructed two more songs directly patterned after “Where Did Our Love Go,” both written and produced with the newly discovered kittenish Diana Ross delivery in mind: “Baby Love” and “Come See About Me,” issued in September and October respectively. “We knew we had stumbled into a realm,” says Lamont Dozier. “A door just opened up and all of these great hits started coming through it—all children of ‘Where Did Our Love Go.’”

  Amazingly enough, both “Baby Love” and “Come See About Me” sailed to the number-one position on the pop music charts, with “Baby Love” even hitting number one overseas, a huge achievement for the Detroit label. Both hits were pulled from the quickly compiled Where Did Our Love Go album, a transitional collection that bridged the gap between earlier productions by Smokey, Norman Whitfield and others and the brilliant, new Holland-Dozier-Holland sound. It would go on to become one of the biggest-selling albums of 1964. Boasting the three number-one records, it would find a place on the pop charts for well over a year and sell more than a million copies.

  The rest of 1964 was a whirlwind, starting with a two-week tour of England in October—where the media referred to them as “Negresses,” a term they had never before heard. “At first,” Diana Ross said, “I was insulted!” When they returned, they were sent to Hollywood, where they appeared on the TAMI (Teen-Age Musical International) Show with the Rolling Stones, the Beach Boys, Chuck Berry, and of course the others. Then they went to New York for their debut appearance on The Ed Sullivan Show.

  The Supremes would be the first Motown act to appear on the Sullivan program and receive the all-important prime-time exposure the show always guaranteed its guests. Indeed, immediately after any appearance on that show, a recording artist could expect his or her record sales to, at least, triple.

  In those days, most popular vocalists were either nightclub chanteuse types, rock and rollers or slickly choreographed rhythm and blues singers. The Supremes’ wholesome imagery—as first seen by the American public on The Ed Sullivan Show on 27 December 1964—was like that of a popular 1950s nightclub act, the McGuire Sisters, whose biggest hits included songs like “Sincerely” and “Sugar-time.” On the Sullivan show, the Supremes even presented themselves like the McGuires by using one microphone instead of three, and placing their lead singer in the middle of the trio. However, in the McGuires’ ensemble, Phyllis, their marvellous lead singer, was the only one of the three who came off as very animated. Each of the Supremes, by contrast, had energetic personalities. As they performed their one number, “Come See About Me,” Mary was beautiful and absolutely poised, while Florence was statuesque and endearingly awkward. Diana was obviously the focus of the group, gesticulating, mewing, popping her eyes and demanding attention, much like the early Lena Horne in the best of her MGM movies. For Diana, it was an amazing, even startling, performance. Suffice to say, people were talking about it the next day.

  For their performance, the girls were dressed simply in blue-tiered silk dresses; their makeup was limited to heavy eyeliner and lipstick. Actually, Sullivan’s makeup artists seemed to have had no idea what to do with the Supremes because of the girls’ skin color. It’s difficult to imagine it, but in 1964 there really weren’t a lot of black people on television. Therefore, when someone of African-American descent made it onto a nationally televised program, it was such a novelty no one even knew how to do their makeup! When Sullivan’s people finished with the Supremes, they actually looked Egyptian. Before going in front of the cameras, they quickly wiped off the excess makeup and reapplied it themselves.

  Although Mary and Florence were excited about appearing on The Ed Sullivan Show, in Diana’s view it left a lot to be desired. It’s surprising because she looked like she was having so much fun—more fun, in fact, than the other two. Secretly, though, she wasn’t so thrilled. “I was very unhappy,” she later said.

  We were supposed to do two songs and we ended up doing one song. We didn’t have any great stage setting. It was like they pulled a screen down and we stood in front of it. We had our little short dresses and we sang one song and then off, which is no different than any other act that does the Sullivan show for the first time. They always told you to prepare two songs, but by the time the actual show rolls around they cut it down to only one. So, that’s what happened. We did the one song and I just cried. I was so unhappy because I thought we had done something wrong. Maybe I didn’t sing strong enough at rehearsal. I thought I hadn’t given my all and maybe that’s why they took one of the songs out. I didn’t know that was a regular routine. After that, we started doing interviews and someone asked me about the Sullivan show, and I really put Sullivan down because I was hurt.

  In the end, Ed Sullivan loved the Supremes—and hopefully he never read any interview Diana gave in which she criticized him. Over the next five years the group would appear more than a dozen times on the live—not taped—program. The money wasn’t bad, either. By now, the Supremes were managed by Motown’s IMC (International Management Company) division, as were all of the company’s acts. According to their IMC contract with Sullivan, the group was paid $7,500 for each Sullivan appearance after the first three, for which they earned $1,500.* But, of course, the
y then had to split the money three ways, and also pay for expenses and agent’s fees and other Motown expenses, so there wasn’t a lot left for them, if any. However, for each time one of the shows was rerun, the group earned $115.18—about forty bucks each. But, it wasn’t really about the money when they did the Sullivan show, it was about the exposure. Indeed, people of a certain generation remember the Supremes most for those fantastic Sunday night appearances. To display their versatility, they would always perform a show tune, such as “My Favorite Things” from The Sound of Music or Cole Porter’s “I Get a Kick Out of You” from Anything Goes. (In the latter, they tap-danced in hats and tails and Diana tripped—on live television!) Then they would usually introduce their latest hit record. On Monday morning—and who knows how Motown managed to coordinate it!—the song would be available in record stores.

  “We used to gather round the TV and watch and scream and jump up and down,” recalls Oprah Winfrey.

  Colored people on TV! Colored people on TV! You never saw anything like it in the 1960s—three women of color who were totally empowered, creative, imaginative … beautiful. Poised. It’s hard to imagine today, but back then such a thing was a true anomaly. As a small colored girl, the only influences I had on TV were characters like “Buckwheat.” To see the Supremes and know that it was possible to be like them, that black people could do that … Well, I wanted to be Diana. I would stand in front of the mirror and just be Diana, miming her songs, her attitude. At one point, I thought maybe I wanted to be Mary. But then I said no, I must be Diana. I think every little black girl of my generation wanted to grow up and be … Miss Ross.

  Diana couldn’t help but be flattered by such comments. “When I’m told that the Supremes were the first beautiful, powerful, strong black women that people saw on their TVs or in a magazine, I just cherish it. I’ll cherish it all of my life.”

  Considering that Oprah has probably interviewed every worthwhile celebrity in the business over the years, her reaction to Diana is telling. Before her interview with her in 1993, she recalls, “I sat in the tub the night before and cried myself out. I was worried that I would see her and not be able to control myself. Break down. So I had to get it out.”

  Back in Detroit after that first Sullivan appearance, the Ross family was enjoying a great deal of local recognition because of their daughter’s great achievements of late. Ernestine couldn’t even go to the supermarket without being stopped by well-wishers commending her on Diana’s success. Fred’s colleagues at work slapped him on the back and offered hearty congratulations. Even he had to admit that his daughter’s “overnight” popularity had made him proud, but he was still cautious and warned her to save her money because “You never know.” Diana’s brothers and sisters found themselves on the guest list of practically all of Detroit’s house parties and, T-Boy once remembered, “Everyone in Detroit wanted to be friends with us just to be closer to one of the Supremes.”

  The Motown Sound … the Motown way

  The hit records “Where Did Our Love Go,” “Baby Love” and “Come See About Me” are considered historic touchstones for not only the Supremes and H-D-H, but also for their record company, Motown. Indeed, these songs would become the generic standard for what would one day be called the Motown Sound. Each was a sparsely orchestrated, pop-washed, rhythm and blues song with catchy lyrics. However, the simplicity behind each composition was deceiving; the secret to each song was really that all of the elements—lyrics, voices and music—came off as genuine and heartfelt, and that was not an accident. As Brian Holland put it, “Berry said that if the kids believed this material, their belief would translate into record sales, which is exactly what happened.”

  The sudden and phenomenal success of the Supremes precipitated immediate acceptance for much of Motown’s roster of recording artists, many of whom had been previously experiencing only marginal and occasional major hits. Junior Walker and the All Stars, the Miracles, Marvin Gaye, the Temptations, the Four Tops and even Diana’s rivals Martha and the Vandellas all had hit records in the next several months with titles like “Shotgun,” “Ooo Baby, Baby,” “I’ll be Doggone,” “My Girl,” “I Can’t Help Myself,” “It’s the Same Old Song,” “Dancing in the Street” and “Nowhere to Run.” Berry Gordy and his Detroit youngsters were certainly on a roll that can only be described as being magical. It was called “The Motown Sound”—the only sound to rival the Beatles’ success in America.

  Motown approached its music assembly-line style. Everything was done in-house—songwriting, producing, publishing, booking and management. Gordy’s staff of producers would be told when an artist would be off the road and available to record, and then a producer would eagerly begin work on tracks for the singer while writers went to work on lyrics. Often several artists would record the same song with the same tracks. Then, Gordy and his quality-control staff, consisting of almost everyone who worked for him and headed up by Harvey Fuqua, would select the best material during Monday-morning meetings in his office. Berry locked out anyone who wasn’t there by nine o’clock sharp. His criterion for releasing a song was basic, and very human: “Would you buy this record for a dollar?” he’d ask. “Or would you buy a sandwich?” Lamont Dozier observed, “The answer to that question could mean the difference between a major hit and a waste of time, considering the financial status of a large part of his market.” If someone on the staff became too technical in his or her assessment of a song, Berry quickly cut him off. “Do you like it, or not? Does it move you, or doesn’t it?”

  By using the same musicians on practically every session—the Funk Brothers, as they were called—Berry and his producers were able to create a standard sound. He refused to allow these valuable session musicians to be credited on Motown albums because he did not want them to be stolen from the company. If he discovered that a musician had played on a session for another company, that musician would be immediately fired.

  Throughout the years, many of Motown’s writers and producers—and artists, too—have complained of being financially taken advantage of at the company. It’s been a running theme with a lot of them. This is ironic considering the fact that Berry started Motown partly because he felt that he, as an independent songwriter/producer, was being treated unfairly by the record companies with whom he did business in the late fifties. It’s true that Berry’s contracts were ironclad in Motown’s favor but, really, what record company contract in the 1960s was ever outlined with the artist in mind? These deals were always about the record company’s best interests—and the artist was just glad to have an opportunity to sign on the dotted line. Although Motown’s royalty rate for its artists was low, many recording artists of that era have said that it was the norm for rock and roll stars of the era. For instance, at the beginning of their careers, prior to 1965, the Supremes were each making 1 percent of 90 percent of the suggested retail price of each single and album sold, less all taxes and packaging costs—that is $.00675, not even three-quarters of a cent per record.

  Consider this: “Where Did Our Love Go” sold more than a million copies. According to their contracts, each girl’s immediate royalty would have been roughly $7,000. However, before they saw any of it, they would have to pay whatever they owed on the eight singles that were released before “Where Did Our Love Go,” which hadn’t done nearly as well. Making matters worse for them, they also had to pay for the costs of the more than fifty songs they’d recorded that were never even released. The recording costs for such unreleased songs were always recouped from the Motown artists’ royalties—someone had to pay for those sessions, though one might have thought it would have been Motown—and practically half of the songs the Supremes would record over a ten-year period went unreleased. The real sticking point regarding these unreleased sessions was that the artists had no control over them. If they were called into the studio, they had to record whatever was put in front of them. It’s not as if any of them could say, “I don’t like this. I think it’ll proba
bly never even come out. So, I’m not going to pay for this recording session. I’m leaving.”

  Given these expenditures, it’s doubtful that Diana, Mary and Florence had much money to show for “Where Did Our Love Go” … especially since after those disbursements, they still had to pay the IRS. Ralph Seltzer, Berry’s chief attorney, put it this way in the late 1980s: “I can’t remember all these years later what Diane and the girls earned on ‘Where Did Our Love Go,’ but if they made a thousand bucks each, I would be amazed.”

  After 1965, each girl made 8 percent of 90 percent of the wholesale price, less taxes and costs, or $.0091—nearly a penny for each record! After all of their expenses, it’s easy to see why the Supremes never became wealthy women. Indeed, according to Mary Wilson—who has made it clear that she had serious reservations about some of Motown’s accounting practices—when Diana Ross finally left the Supremes in 1970, “The total profit for me was one hundred dollars. Total. That’s it.”

  In his defense, Berry Gordy says,

  Many of these artists became superstars, but when they first came to me they were just kids off the street who needed direction. Even some of the lesser Motown artists are still performing, making records, appearing on television, making money. What people don’t know is that we carried many artists for years before they ever got a hit. Some never did. The artists received whatever they were due and a whole lot more—care, personal attention, grooming, advice, direction.