Let Love Rule - Lenny Kravitz Page 0,42

we were driven to begin with, now we were doubly driven. We were making connections left and right. One of those connections seemed a sure bet.

He was a shady character called Smokey. He claimed that he played drums for the Gap Band. The Gap Band was huge and one of my favorite groups. One night, Smokey heard us jamming—Dan on drums, me on guitar—and he flipped out and said we were gonna be stars. And he was gonna help us form a band. We’d be the leaders, he’d find us sidemen, and we’d soon be touring the world.

Smokey even came up to Cloverdale to meet Mom. My mother skeptically listened to his hype but didn’t say a word. When he left, she expressed her doubt. This prompted me to challenge Smokey during our next meeting. I asked him to demonstrate his drumming chops, but he declined. He said he didn’t want to show up Dan. Dan and I insisted. That’s when we learned that Smokey couldn’t play a lick. Not only was he not the drummer for the Gap Band, but it turned out he was on crack! Dan and I had been blinded by our ambition. But Mom’s eyes were wide open.

That misstep didn’t stop me. Nothing would. I kept looking for the right sound, the right voice. I kept looking for my musical self. And this took the form of putting together new bands with new friends.

* * *

I was introduced to a guy at Beverly named Tracy Oberstone. He looked so androgynous that most people thought he was a girl. We clicked immediately. Tracy had a Black Jamaican mom and a white Jewish absentee father who hadn’t shown up until Tracy was in high school. His dad turned out to be Sy Marsh, a high-powered agent who represented Sammy Davis Jr. When Marsh finally did appear in Tracy’s life, it was only to drop off a bag of second-hand clothes. I was a witness to that sad scene. To complicate things even more, Tracy learned that one of our high school friends, Tracy Marsh, was Sy’s daughter! His dad had never even bothered telling him that he went to school with his half sister, not to mention that she shared his name!

Reed thin with a headful of ringlets, the male Tracy had a vibe that, in the Prince/Michael Jackson days of the early 1980s, I was sure was right for a band. And as one of the boy dancers on The Tim Conway Show, he was already a pro. Tracy’s gender-bending Mick Jagger silhouette gave him the look of a lead singer. In fact, the first thing I asked him when we met was “Can you sing?” He said, “Not really,” but that didn’t stop me. I took him to my house and, playing piano, began training him.

Tracy and I scraped together enough money to book a little studio on Western Avenue and cut a song we’d just written, “Love Me Up.” Dan was on drums, I played all the other instruments, and Tracy sang lead. Using the Beverly Hills High/Hollywood connection, we gave the tape to our classmate Jill Bogart, to give to her dad, Neil, who owned Casablanca Records, home to Donna Summer and KISS. Bogart called the song “encouraging” and said he wanted to hear more. But no contract followed. At age sixteen, I was already looking for a major record deal.

Because Tracy’s mom was so chill, I liked hanging at his house at 310 North La Peer, in the Flats, a middle-class section of Beverly Hills, where they rented the upper floor of a duplex. His big brother, Mark, had a Marantz stereo system, cable TV, and, best of all, an oversize bong. Playboy Playmate posters covered the walls. This was the room where I first got blasted on Michael Jackson’s Thriller.

Because of my dad’s uptight vibe, my house was far less friendly than Dan’s or Tracy’s. Dan could handle my folks—he and Dad bonded over jazz—but Tracy couldn’t. When I introduced him to her, his first words were “Hey, how you doin’, Rox?”

My mouth hit the floor. For all her easygoing charm, my mother was dignified. She comported herself correctly at all times. Etiquette was paramount. A child did not address a grown woman by her first name unless given permission to do so. My other friends knew to call her “Mrs. Kravitz.” In this instance, though, not wanting to cause a stir, Mom gave Tracy a pass. She simply smiled hello,