A Superstar and a Backroom Believer
LIONEL RICHIE AND AL ABRAMS TELL THEIR STORIES
Both are new. Both are engaging. Both are Motown-related. But, overall, there could hardly be two more different books than Lionel Richie’s Truly and Al Abrams’ High On Soul.
The former is the singer/songwriter’s first; the latter is the late Motown publicist’s second. Richie is a superstar, elevated to that enduring status by his creativity at Berry Gordy’s company, firstly with the Commodores, then solo. Abrams was a backroom believer, who wanted – late in life – the world to know what he contributed to that company, not least of all, the idea for its memorable ’60s slogan, “Motown: The Sound of Young America.”
Suzanne de Passe’s “Uncle Benny” with Lionel
Truly is a highly polished, quintessential autobiography, chronological across its 467 pages (Gordy’s own memoir was 432 pages, Diana Ross’ was 299). It is entertaining, amusing and well-written with the help of Mim Eichler Rivas, although that co-author credit is hard to find therein. (She has worked with other celebrities, and her books include an autobiography of singer Della Reese.)
High On Soul is less an autobiography, more a 170-page assembly of personal stories, random anecdotes and honest opinions, with some repetition from Abrams’ first memoir in 2011, Hype & Soul. Parts of the new book were clearly composed after he was diagnosed with terminal cancer. “My last song is on the turntable,” he writes.
In High On Soul, the author is keen to remind us that he was Berry Gordy’s first hire in 1959 and how improbable that was. During his subsequent seven years’ employment at Motown, Abrams clearly made an impression, securing press coverage for its artists and its business. Indeed, the book’s first 12 pages feature fulsome tributes to him from the likes of Otis Williams, Mary Wilson, Martha Reeves and Duke Fakir.
And, actually, High On Soul and Truly are alike in one respect: both contain surprisingly honest – and not always self-serving – admissions about their professional and personal lives.
For hardcore Motown enthusiasts, the most interesting parts of Richie’s book are the details unknown – or little-known – about his time at the company. Clearly, the key individual in the Commodores’ early years was manager Benny Ashburn. What helped bring the sextet to Motown was the fact that Ashburn’s sister, Miriam, was a close friend of Eunice Brown de Passe, whose family owned a house on affluent Martha’s Vineyard in Massachusetts. Her daughter was Suzanne de Passe, a central figure in Motown’s evolution in California during the 1970s. “In fact,” writes Lionel Richie, “he was Uncle Benny to her.”
‘Grateful to be along for the ride’
So when the Jackson 5 exploded into popular culture and plans were being laid for the youngsters’ first U.S. tour in 1970, de Passe asked Ashburn if he knew of any potential opening acts. “I do,” he answered immediately. “They’re all asleep at my apartment, including under the dining room table.” That’s how Richie remembers the Commodores’ big break, and, adding about Ashburn, “He set the audition for the next day.”
It took place at Lloyd Price’s Turntable nightclub in Harlem, and de Passe was reportedly impressed by Richie’s performance that night of “Wichita Lineman,” the Jimmy Webb song. He recalls in the book that, years later, she elaborated: “I will always believe after seeing this guy singing ‘Wichita Lineman’ that his crooning voice is everything. That is where I think the seductive power of Lionel Richie’s voice lives.”
Richie has the grace to add, “At age twenty-one, I would never have put myself in the same sentence as the words seductive and power. Never. I was just grateful to be along for the ride.”
For their Jackson 5 opening slot, the Commodores’ setlist included Stephen Stills’ “Love The One You’re With,” Carole King’s “You’ve Got A Friend” and Sly & the Family Stone’s “Dance To The Music.” Yet when they were signed up for the tour, the arrangement didn’t include a record deal.
De Passe set that up during the spring of 1971. In Truly, Richie remembers that the tryout was held “at MoWest – Motown’s new recording studio near Formosa Avenue and Santa Monica Boulevard in Hollywood that was still under construction. The downstairs studio was completed, totally state-of-the-art, but the interior of the upstairs wasn’t done. ‘Yeah,’ I thought, ‘this is literally getting in on the ground floor out here.’ ”
Richie doesn’t reveal the audition setlist, but does recall that de Passe swiftly telephoned Berry Gordy afterwards to recommend signing the group for recording. “She had earned the credibility, even at twenty-five years old, to make the call.” The Commodores – Richie, Walter Orange, Milan Williams, Ronald LaPread, Thomas McClary and William King – inked their Motown recording contract on June 1, 1971.
Al Abrams with the Chairman, circa 2013
At least two other individuals played essential roles in subsequent events: producer James Anthony Carmichael and attorney Jay Cooper. The former was “there to bring out [the Commodores’] sound, not invent it or tell us what we should sound like,” declares Richie. “We were no longer in search of a musical identity. It had been there all along.”
Cooper served the singer/songwriter at that challenging moment when he became a solo artist. “ ‘I might need to go to law school if my career goes off the rails,’ “ Richie recalled telling his new business advisor. “Jay said, ‘You could never be an attorney. You’re too sensitive.’ ”
Another Jay – Lasker, president of Motown Records as Richie’s solo career went stratospheric – might have taken issue with that characterisation. The two men evidently did not get on, even though the star’s first three solo albums sold at least 30 million copies worldwide during the ’80s, and with a sky-high royalty rate that was 35% of wholesale. In Truly, Jay Lasker receives absolutely no mention; that seems rather churlish.
In High On Soul, still one more senior Motown figure is the subject of intense criticism: Michael Roshkind, whom Al Abrams first describes as Berry Gordy’s “east coast cosmopolitan media hire.” That may have been a fair description when Roshkind initially became associated with the firm in the 1960s, but in later years, he advanced to the C-suite as Motown Industries’ vice chairman and chief operating officer, with Gordy’s full confidence.
In his second memoir, Abrams takes particular offence at the fact that Roshkind, who served in the U.S. armed forces as a young man, awarded himself a Navy Cross, which is usually given to sailors and marines for extraordinary heroism in combat. “To me,” he writes of Berry Gordy’s indifference to the fabrication, “disrespecting our military men and women by not confronting the Roshkind lie created an unfortunate music sin that has never been repaired by addressing it.”
Colleagues in the attic: Al and Bernie
Abrams was fired in December 1966. When he decided to write his own “Motown memoirs,” Roshkind paid him substantially not to. In High On Soul, the former publicist revisits his experiences at the company, and includes a transcript of a candid interview done for the University of Michigan. He also offers a script for “a record label television series,” called Hype!
More compelling and personal are Abrams’ memories of Motown’s first art director, Bernard Yeszin, with whom he shared office space in the attic of Hitsville U.S.A. in Detroit. “Bernie even created a sign for their attic space informing visitors they had to sing to enter.” Later, Yeszin fell on hard times, and Abrams publishes some of the emails they exchanged. “We are the overlooked creative team that Motown deletes from its history as if we never existed,” the former art director wrote to his friend. He adds, “My contribution will never be recognised. I carry with me hundreds of interesting anecdotes, of which devoted [Motown] fans would love to hear, but alas, my dear friend Al, it shall never be.” Yeszin died in Los Angeles in July 2014.
Abrams died the following year, and High On Soul concludes with reflections by his widow, Nancy. “Al helped define Motown and helped propel it into becoming a mega-global record company phenomenon where skin color and world color diverged into the color of humanity.”
For his part, Lionel Richie is equally philosophical in the closing pages of Truly, recognising that his ongoing career (he is still a judge on television’s American Idol, for example) owes as much to good luck as to talent. “Most of the contestants remind me of myself when I was starting out,” he reflects. “By sharing my unlikely journey, I hope to reassure these amazingly talented, brave kids – and readers of all ages – that those things you may think are broken inside of you can turn out to be your true gifts.”
Book notes: Truly is published by William Collins, while High On Soul (with a subtitle, Tell Me It’s Just A Rumor, Berry) is from New Haven Publishing. Both books have a typo or two, with Lionel Richie’s most egregious error being the misspelling of his son-in-law’s surname (it’s Grainge, with an “i”). Fortunately, spelling is not an issue for the audiobook of Truly, which is also available. Just to be close to you, Lionel narrates it himself.