Let Love Rule - Lenny Kravitz Page 0,57
soaked or that the bitterly cold wind was freezing my face. Once inside Manny’s, where Dad bought me my first guitar, I’d be home. Many of the old clerks at Manny’s had known me since I was a seven-year-old begging them to let me stroke every guitar and beat every drum. Now I worked my way down the street, stopping at all the shops, first Manny’s and then Sam Ash.
I was checking out a Voyetra-8, a complex synthesizer, when this dude came over and said, “Don’t buy it.” He explained that it didn’t have MIDI. He further explained that MIDI stood for Musical Instrument Digital Interface. MIDI was the future, he said. With lightning speed, it could transfer digital signals to layer or separate sounds through multiple channels and ports. Basically, MIDI allowed different systems to talk to one another.
I asked if he was in a band. He said yes, the Michael Zager Band. I knew their disco hit “Let’s All Chant.” It turned out he’d written the song and sung lead vocals on the record. He introduced himself as Alvin Fields. I introduced myself as Romeo Blue. He looked at my soaking wet sandals, thought for a minute, and asked if I happened to be the same cat in the long coat who’d played bass synth with Herb Albert on Soul Train. I beamed. Yes, that was me!
Sensing that I might be homeless, Alvin asked if I had a place to stay. I didn’t. So, he invited me to crash at his place, at 111 West Ninety-Fourth Street. It was a tiny studio apartment dominated by an enormous widescreen television and a battery of keyboards, drum machines, and sequencers. Of course, he had a full-on MIDI system.
Within minutes, we went to work. We played for hours. At some point, after Alvin showed me the intricacies of his system, he told me about how he had produced Cissy Houston while her daughter Whitney stood on a milk crate singing background. On Alvin’s bookshelf, I noticed a Playbill from the early 1970s of the original Broadway production of The Me Nobody Knows. I told him I had been in the revival. He asked me if I knew Tisha Campbell. Are you kidding me?
Crazy small world.
I asked Alvin if I could use his phone. I called Tisha and said, “There’s someone here who’d like to talk to you.” I put Alvin on and heard Tisha scream, “Alvin!” It was fun to listen to them catch up after so long. After Alvin hung up, I said, “Why don’t we write a song for her? I really believe in her voice. Maybe we can put some tunes together that would help her get a deal.” The Reggie Lucas thing had never come to fruition, but I knew Tisha had “it.”
A few days later, in the middle of working with Alvin on Tisha’s song, I said, “Yo, can we take a break to watch The Jeffersons?” He said, “Sure, why?” When I told him why, he was amazed I hadn’t mentioned who my mother was earlier. There was no reason to, I said; now there was. The next day, I called Mom to say I’d finally found a place to stay. She wanted to know where and with whom, and immediately asked to speak with Alvin.
We were watching The Miss America Pageant. “Alvin, my mom wants to speak with you.” He got on the phone, introduced himself, and respectfully answered all Mom’s questions. He gave her his phone number and address and assured her that he didn’t do drugs and that he would look out for me. When he convinced Mom that I was staying in a sane and safe place, she sounded relieved. Alvin handed me the phone, and I told her I’d be in touch. As we hung up, the winner was crowned. It was Vanessa Williams.
I learned that before I came to live with Alvin, his roommate had been Jean-Michel Basquiat. Alvin said that Jean-Michel and I had similar energy. I hadn’t met the painter, but I knew his work well enough to understand that Alvin was giving me major props.
Alvin and I completed our song for Tisha. It was called “Love Is the Only Key.” Tisha came by to cut a demo right there in his tiny apartment. There was barely room for the three of us to move. Alvin and I played all the instruments and sang background. Tisha brought it home with a brilliant lead vocal.
So, I got my