Let Love Rule - Lenny Kravitz Page 0,40

was filled with all the latest technology: the newest stereos, TVs, and the brand-new Betamax video player. We watched the first full-length porno film I’d ever seen, Misty Beethoven. It could not get any better than this.

And then there was the jam room. That was the one filled with sparkling drum sets, guitars, basses, keyboards, and amps. We would play all night, and no one would tell us to stop.

Still another room had a small stage with a piano and mic setup. That’s where Mr. Gordy auditioned aspiring artists. Kennedy and I started up our own little group. Once or twice, Mr. Gordy would wander in, listen for a while, smile, say a few encouraging words, and leave.

* * *

The Beverly Hills High Music Department really did live up to its reputation, but it took me a minute to adjust. I was just coming off my three-year stint with the prestigious California Boys’ Choir, and I was a little snobbed up. I mean, I sang on recordings conducted by Zubin Mehta and performed with the Metropolitan Opera. And now I was a member of a high school choir? You could say I had something of an attitude.

Joel Pressman was the music teacher, and I challenged him. But he knew how to handle my arrogance. He, too, had a bit of a personality. Yet he was able to teach me that the music community was all about being gracious and open to new situations. No matter how much you think you know, there’s always something more to learn. Mr. Pressman and I were cool.

Same for Mr. Farmer, who taught orchestra, jazz band, and marching band. Confident about my drumming chops, I argued with him about tempo and feel. When he gave instructions, I talked back. I was already playing good guitar, so I wasn’t exactly receptive to his critiques. Like Mr. Pressman, though, Mr. Farmer knew how to get to me. He saw I tended to rebel against authority. I’m sure that had to do with my dad. But both teachers saw my potential. They broke down my stubbornness and taught me a lesson I’d never forget: whether you’re in a choir, a jazz ensemble, or a marching band, music isn’t about confrontation; it’s about cooperation.

Beverly High was overrun with talent. One curly-headed dude had the aura of a rock star. His guitar playing was ridiculous. We didn’t really know each other well. It was only years later that I became friends with Slash.

Musicals were a big part of the school program. I was a drummer in the orchestra, seated in the pit and playing the score of Oklahoma. Onstage, singing the lead role, was Nicolas Coppola, who later changed his last name to “Cage.”

* * *

I was stimulated by the artistic energy surrounding me in Beverly Hills, but my biggest stimulation was happening two thousand miles away, in Minneapolis. Just as Michael Jackson rocked my world in grade school, Prince rocked my world in high school. When I saw Prince, I saw myself—or at least the me I wanted to be. He could write, sing, dance, and play the shit out of the guitar and every other instrument.

Prince had found a way to funk up New Wave. He knew how to grab attention and create an image. He wore punky clothes and hairdos. He was fearless. In my mind, I heard him saying, I’m gonna wear a trench coat with nothing but black panties and thigh-high black stockings and ankle boots. I’m gonna wear heavy eye makeup and process the hell outta my hair. I’m gonna do whatever feels good, and you’re gonna love it.

I loved “Soft and Wet,” from his first album, and “I Wanna Be Your Lover,” from his second. But the release of his third album, Dirty Mind, hooked me for life. “Head” was beyond brilliant, not to mention scandalously sexy.

David Bowie was another huge influence. He gave glam swag, and he understood rock as theater. I’d always loved KISS because they were rooted in comic book fun. But Bowie took it further. He kept redefining himself with a mysterious sophistication I recognized as real art. Like Prince, he was cocky and cool at the same time. He had a knack for switching up characters and inventing alter egos like Ziggy Stardust.

I started thinking, Can I become such a character?

I kept asking myself, Who, in fact, am I?

I started seeing that my search for a look and a voice had been going on since I first saw