Everybody's Brother

by CeeLo Green

  The show worked because it was real, and CeeLo worked on The Voice because he’s real too. He’s seen the world and made history without getting a high school education. Despite coming from nothing, Lo’s performed for the royals in England and hung with the President of the United States. He’s a kid who was a street thug who now gets his ass kissed by network executives. You want to know why The Voice happened? For the same reason most of the good things in CeeLo’s career have happened. It’s not because he listened to the smartest guys in the room. It’s not because he listened to the “conventional wisdom”—because he is way too unconventional for that shit. CeeLo won big because he went with his gut and he was right again. Lo turned out to be the perfect person for The Voice because he’s a great singer and a student of great artists. He felt more confident because he was in business with a TV producer who comes from the grind—a self-made man like Mark Burnett. Diversity comes in all colors and races, and sometimes it even comes with a British accent.

  Everybody jelled into a real family pretty quickly because right away it became clear that this show was going to be around for a while. I think what CeeLo has gotten out of it is a kind of discipline—he’s become a better judge of vocal character, a better leader, and a better motivator of others. And to keep things real, it’s also made Lo a shitload of money, and that’s not a bad thing either. It’s been a trip to watch Lo coach people because he’s always done that and been a brainiac when it comes to knowing music history and putting that knowledge to use. If I was on The Voice, I’d want Lo to be my coach because that man does some real sensei-type shit. Lo picks songs on some deeper level. He knows how to put people in their element—and then he knows how to take them out of their element, because if they can work outside of their comfort zone, then they have a fighting chance to make their way in this business.

  Fortunately, smarter voices prevailed. Like one of my managers, Larry Mestel. I met Larry back when he was on the label side and I recognized how smart he is. Now he’s one of the guys who are trying to forge a new music business that really works. The old model was just about selling records, but today, the music business is less about hard product and more about branding yourself and working with other people to market your music and all that you do.

  That’s something I hope all these kids on all the talent shows today realize. A record deal was once the end-all, be-all mission, the dream destination. That was never completely true because the music business has always had a high failure rate. We forget that because just like war history is made by the victor, music history tends to get made by the biggest success stories.

  When I finally decided to do the show, which first aired in April 2011, I thought of The Voice as being what I call “a token of tangibility”—a sort of bridge of understanding for anyone who perceived me as being a little elusive, ambiguous, and enigmatic. Personally, I consider all three of those words to be compliments, but I felt as though the time had come for me to step forward toward the general public and let them get a better sense of who I am. This way they will know that I’m not just some crazy-looking guy telling them all “Fuck You.”

  One of the biggest selling points for me was that the casting of the show was spectacular, with four people who all fit very different molds. This is one place where we succeeded where so many other talent shows failed. Mark Burnett knew that the people turning in those chairs on The Voice all should bring different flavors to our TV feast.

  Blake Shelton is a good-looking good old country boy with a big heart of gold who everyone could relate to—including me as a country boy of a different shade. Blake and I hit it off right away.

  Adam Levine is a rock and roll heartthrob with a lot of heart. When I was cutting The Lady Killer album, Adam’s great band Maroon 5 was in the next studio, and we’d pass each other in the halls at all hours. We’ve become good buddies—which was great for me because Los Angeles, where we shoot The Voice, is his hometown and he’s got it wired. Adam is a local kid made good who grew up with some privilege, but also with a lot of soul that comes across in those bedroom eyes the sexy ladies like to look into so much.

  What can you say about Christina Aguilera? She is a true global superstar whose talent has been crystal clear since she was a kid and has only increased since she has lived a little and become the awesome woman she is today. When you’re on a show called The Voice, it surely doesn’t hurt to have one of the greatest voices in the world sitting beside you as a coach. Recently I recorded the famously sexy duet “Baby It’s Cold Outside” with Christina for my CeeLo’s Magic Moment Christmas album, and let me tell you firsthand, that lady is one hot duet partner and a formidable presence who can be sweet when she wants to be and a “Fighter” when she needs to be. I want to thank Christina for that sultry little Christmas gift to me.

  Together, the four of us have made a pretty winning team. Despite having made a splash on a few award shows, I’d had most of my experience in TV on the other side of the screen. Yet even I could tell that Mark knew how to build a television show to last—in part because he is so damn good at what he does and in part because that’s where the money is in TV. So Mark surrounded us with an altogether excellent team, including our host Carson Daly—a true music guy who helps keep our show together when the coaches get out of control—which is more often than you might want to imagine. We’ve become like a little family on The Voice, and we don’t just sit down together in the chairs. Off camera, there are card games outside the trailers, and some of us are practical jokers—as my homeboy Usher, a Season Four rookie, recently learned. You never know what might happen next.

  Each of us coaches came from very different backgrounds, and all of us made pretty good names for ourselves, but I give you my word that at one time or another, all of us felt like underdogs, undervalued and written off. Somebody along the way told us that we could not do what we wanted to do. You don’t go far in show business without someone telling you “No, you can’t.” And so yes, we did.

  I have no regrets whatsoever about becoming a TV fixture in such a positive, musical, and fun way. I’ve loved the chance to work with so many talented young artists, from Nakia and Vicci Martinez back in Season One right through to Nicholas David and Trevin Hunte in Season Three. I have wonderful stories about each of my team members, but I don’t want to leave some of them out by singling out any of them. In my mind, they are all stars.

  I have to say that I’m always rooting for the underdog on The Voice, because I’ve always felt like an underdog myself. I guess you could say I’ve got a working-class-hero kind of quality to what I do. I love people whether they’re as normal or abnormal as me, even if they consider me strange or different. Wait a minute! That’s where the whole question in “Crazy” came from—hey, if you think I’m crazy, I think you’re crazy!

  However much of an oddball artist I am, I wanted the world to know that I am also a professional, and I take pride in being a professional. The fact that I get to do what I do for a living is not luck. I know what I am doing. My integrity is intact. The best lesson that I can teach the young artists who come on my teams is if you’re truly talented and really fortunate, you can make a career out of being yourself artistically for the rest of your life. That’s the dream. That’s the ultimate achievement. So I encourage artists on the way up to go for gold. But in order to do that, you have to ask yourself a very big question: Who are you? If you want the whole world to know who you are, you better answer that question for yourself first.

  If I ever really let others define me, I’d probably be locked up in a Georgia prison right now. Throughout my life I have never been comfortable with the idea of any other man or woman determining my fate. That is why I have always listened first and foremost to one voice—and that’s the one that comes from deep within me.

  Even with the mostly young artists I have worked with on The Voice, I always try to encourage them to listen not just to me but to their own hearts and souls. Do you think a timeless a
rtist like Prince asked for a lot of advice on what kind of music to make? I surely don’t think so. As I see it, Prince started a revolution because he made the music that he heard inside his own head and in his own heart. When I listen to a classic album like Dirty Mind or 1999 or Purple Rain, I hear a young Prince making the music that he had to make because he was expressing something burning deep inside himself. For my money, that’s what music should be before it ever becomes a business—music should be a powerful form of personal expression.

  Today, there are far too many artists—and that is using the term “artist” way too loosely—who take the opposite approach. They listen to every voice telling them what to do and what will sell. These kinds of wannabe artists try to play by the rules and they play it safe. They think that they can fake it and still make it. And maybe they can for a minute or even for fifteen minutes. But soon after that, their pop expiration date comes due.

  In music and in life, my advice is to choose your battles and then fight your heart out for whatever you believe in. At least if you win that way, it will have been worth the battle.

  Let it be said that despite being written off many times by people who underestimated me to be a loser, I have time and time again reacted instead like the winner I am. I have always reacted by consistently standing up for myself—especially when no one else would. Life is many things, but too often for too many of us underdogs, life can be a street fight. Fortunately, I was born a street fighter, and most of the times I have won my battles or, at the very least, I lived to fight another day.

  Recently, Goodie Mob and I recorded a song called “Fight to Win,” which we performed on The Voice in April 2012. We took the stage wearing gold uniforms like superheroes, beautiful battle-scarred survivors bathed in light and glory, walking through smoke and ruins. While the audience roared and Adam, Blake, and Christina rocked in their seats, I swept my arm out to silently present my crew, blending my old world with my new one, coming full circle. T-Mo started rapping:

  Fight to win, stand up straight

  No debate, pushed by hate, concentrate

  Penetrate, generate, motivate

  Live by faith, keep believing,

  I know the reason,

  It’s the season, now’s the time

  Keep on dreaming, keep on leading

  And keep on fighting

  In a way, that song is the story of my entire life. Fighting—whether it’s with our fists or with our wits—is what we underdogs have always had to do in order to survive. We fight the good fight even when the odds are stacked against us. We fight for our lives. We fight to get friendship. We fight for love. And if we’re really lucky, we fight to win and actually do triumph in the end. To some I may look like a loser or a freak, but in my heart, I am a world-champion prizefighter, and until the day I die, I will always keep my eyes on the prize.

  The Season Three finale of The Voice was a little poignant for me, because I had decided to take a temporary break from the next season to in order to focus on my own music career for a while. And there was somebody I met during that last episode who moved me deeply. A good friend of mine was at a game at the high school football stadium in Avondale, Georgia, when he saw a kid in the stands who looked just like me. Actually he was like a mini-me, because Jordan Jackson is an achondroplastic dwarf, otherwise known as a little person, and even though he’s in ninth grade, he’s about the size of a five-year-old child. Hank took a picture of Jordan and sent it to me, and I couldn’t believe the resemblance. When we saw some YouTube clips of him dancing, I decided to fly him out and work him into the season finale.

  We met in my dressing room at The Voice and I could tell right away that this kid was special. He was witty and poised, and so naturally talented. “Whassup, my man!” I said. “Come on and sit with me and tell me how you learned to dance.”

  “Videos!” he said.

  Jordan learned everything by watching movies like Step Up and You Got Served and imitating all the moves until he had them down perfect. It reminded me so much of myself as a kid, imitating those classic singers until I sounded just like them, none of it with any formal training. There was something else in Jordan that I could relate to, and that was always being looked at sideways by people because you’re different. I wanted him to know that people found me peculiar too, and when I was such a small kid growing up and dressing in old-man’s clothes, people sometimes thought I was a dwarf. I could relate to the feeling of isolation that comes with being different. But I don’t have to spell it out for Jordan. He could just see by my example how it all can turn out—if you’re true to yourself. Under that beautiful smile he may have some of that anger I felt, because he might not know how to make his difference work for him, what it means for his life. It takes time to figure that out, but he will.

  Jordan was such a huge hit dancing to “Play that Funky Music” with me and Nicholas David on The Voice that I hired him to be part of the show I was putting together in Las Vegas. Now he’s a professional and can see a future for himself, doing what he loves to do. And if someone tells him that he looks like CeeLo, you know then that’s cool! ’Cause I ain’t bad looking… I’m just peculiar! I don’t have to tell him, I just show him.

  Today I love being part of The Voice success story, and not just for the money. Being on the show hasn’t just been a paycheck to me—though the paycheck is very sweet. It’s been an education too. So when I decided to take a break from Season Four, it was because I didn’t just want to talk about being a great artist—I wanted to keep pushing myself to live up to my own advice and be one.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  A Prodigal Son Comes Home and Atlanta Goes Green

  Now listen

  It’s morning and the prodigal son is shinin’

  I yawn and stretch and get dressed for some mountain climbin’

  I wear it well but this is not by my designin’

  The inevitable has impeccable timin’

  And if you left it up to me I’d say never

  Only God could’ve brought us back together

  And all I say is I obey

  You see, the family tree is tatted on my back forever

  Uh, and I feel purpose

  The salvation army is at your service

  Act like you heard it

  Cause uh, our only challenge is balance

  But I believe that the will of God is perfect

  Now let’s go

  —Goodie Mob, “Is That You God?”

  I, LOBERACE

  Las Vegas gave me a chance to connect again with my inner showman.

  Photography by Meeno

  The first order of business after taking a break from The Voice was to finish up a comeback album with Goodie Mob. As far back as 2007, when we announced the Goodie Mob reunion, Gipp and Khujo and T-Mo and I had been throwing around ideas and laying down tracks here and there with the mind to coming out with another album. One thing after another held it up, but we kept accumulating material. After The Lady Killer and The Voice put me back on top as a solo artist, it was time to get serious. I wanted to show that we truly were Still Standing, like my brother Khujo on his bionic limb, rising from the ashes. A lot of us don’t survive long, where we’re coming from. But we’ve made it this far, and it’s time for Goodie Mob to be back on top again. We wanted to make a record to instill some imagination back into the music business. And for us to remind the world of what hip-hop is all about.

  I don’t have to rap for a living, but hip-hop and rap music is my culture. When we do Goodie Mob, we don’t just rap about random thoughts. It’s got to be real, and be purposed. Anything I’ve ever done is about civil and social service. It’s all about people. You have to understand, I’ve committed my career to outshine the dark that I had done. I’m forever in my community’s debt that way.

  “Fight to Win” was first record out of the chute, followed in May 2012 by an intensely personal song called “Is That You God?” It perfectly sums up our situation, ou
r new knowledge of acceptance that comes from suffering and struggling for so long. It was a sort of manifesto about what really matters in this world. We show brotherhood, family, forgiveness, and obedience—because I’m always obedient to what my art tells me to do.

  I don’t want to get too spiritual on you, but I’ve said before that if you could envision what music looked like, that would be God. Sometimes singing that song with my brothers, as with so many gospel songs and spirituals from my childhood, I can also understand what God sounds like here on Earth.

  But since I have always looked at life as a combo platter of choices between Good and Evil, it is also perfectly in character for me to set up shop in a place known as Sin City.

  One way of pushing myself as an artist recently has been living out one of my biggest dreams as a performer by putting together CeeLo Green Is Loberace—my very own splashy yet soulful Las Vegas residency at the Planet Hollywood Resort and Casino. My whole life, I have loved the idea not just of performing but of putting on a real, big theatrical show that captures my spirit in a way that I can’t completely do at every concert. At most shows, you work the room. In a residency, you create the room to suit your personality, and Lord knows I have a big personality. Yes, I love to sing for people, but I also love the concept of shocking audiences with a bold rush of spectacle, sight, sound, color, creativity, and charisma. Doing all that within the economics of the entertainment business today is not too easy, but that’s the moon I choose to shoot for, and I’m going to do that any chance that I get.

  I created Loberace to be a musical journey, from the roots of soul to psychedelic funk, hip-hop, and beyond, with my eclectic tastes splashed all over the set and interpreted by a bevy of very sexy dancing girls. Hey, this is Las Vegas, baby—what would a show be without a little titillation? I love to surround myself with the things that I love, so Goody Mob appeared every night, all of us dressed in gold and white robes like members of the world’s funkiest choir. Boy George, one of my earliest heroes, was also part of my act, doing his gender-bending androgynous thing to perfection. I also showcased V, a slinky, sinuous singer from South Central with a voice that can knock you off your feet. I was so impressed with her that I took her on in a management deal. And it’s not just because she knows that bald is beautiful. And, as promised, we brought out Jordan Jackson and his mom—and hired a tutor to keep him up with his lessons. He danced every night in a top hat and tails—another showman in the making.