Let Love Rule - Lenny Kravitz Page 0,8

had no idea who they were. It didn’t matter. I loved hearing live music, and I was happy to be there. When they finished, I thought the show was over. My dad laughed and told me, no, that was just the opener. (I’d later learn that the group was the Commodores, before they were called that.)

I could feel a restlessness in the air. People started clapping and stomping their feet. What’s going on? All of a sudden, the lights dimmed again. Blinding spotlights exploded to life. I could make out a bunch of guys running onto the stage and taking their positions. And then it happened.

Bump.

Bump-ba-da-bump.

Ba-da-dum-badah-dah.

Bum-bum-bum-bum.

Bum-bum … BUMP.

All of a sudden, I realized I was looking directly at the Jackson 5 as they launched into the intro of “I Want You Back.” I couldn’t believe it. It was a million times more explosive live than it was on my record player. The vibration pierced me to my core. There I was, in front of my real-life heroes. Their moves were precise, expressive, and irresistible. They were flawless. And Michael’s soulful, angelic voice soared. It was surreal. I jumped out of my seat. This was the best moment of my life.

The Jackson 5 were touring behind their Third Album, a record that had come out only a few weeks earlier. I already knew it by heart. I especially loved the James Jamerson bass line to “Darling Dear,” a song never released as a single. The hits “I’ll Be There” and “Mama’s Pearl” were dynamic. The album cover mesmerized me. I used to stare at their faces, their perfect Afros merging into one another. Their look inspired my Afro.

During the show, Dad pulled out his Leica. Being a photographer and realizing what this night meant to me, he documented it. To this day, a photograph from the concert remains on my wall and is one of my most prized possessions. It documents more than a life-altering event. It documents my father’s love and understanding of who I was. It’s interesting how much he missed about me, how much space there was between us. But at that miraculous moment in time, his insight lit the spark. That spark would define who I would ultimately become.

On the taxi ride home, I dozed in and out of sleep, leaning on Dad’s arm. Never had I felt so close to him.

* * *

Though he cared for me, Dad didn’t really understand how to deal with me. On a Sunday morning not long after the Jackson 5 concert, he took me to Central Park to watch me ride my bike. He sat down on a bench and I took off. Everything was going fine until the front tire hit a rock, and I crashed. My jeans ripped and my knees bled. I started crying—and got Dad angry.

“If you don’t stop crying,” he said, “I’ll give you something to really cry about.”

I didn’t understand his anger. Was he mad because I’d fallen or because I was crying? Instead of consoling me, he grabbed me by the arm and rushed me home. When we got there, he told Mom that she had a crybaby for a son.

Rather than argue with her husband, Mom waited till bedtime before asking if I wanted to say the magic word. I did: “Abracadabra,” and suddenly Ruff Ruff was right there for me. Ruff Ruff patiently listened to me. Ruff Ruff heard my confusion. Ruff Ruff understood how embarrassed I was. Ruff Ruff took away my pain.

That same year, my parents took me to the Rainbow Room, on the sixty-fifth floor of Rockefeller Center, in the midst of Manhattan’s glittering skyscrapers, to celebrate my sixth birthday. Duke Ellington was playing that night, his orchestra outfitted in formal tuxedos, looking like diplomats. Duke was dressed in white. The sound of his big band was enormous. Mom and Dad knew Duke, who came to our table for a brief moment. The great man picked me up and conducted his musicians as they broke into “Happy Birthday.” Saxophonist Paul Gonsalves walked over and played the melody right in front of me. Even though he didn’t know how to show physical affection, enlisting Duke was Dad’s way of making me feel special.

Other men were openly affectionate. Take Sid Bernstein. He was my friend Adam’s dad. Sid was the promoter who’d brought the Beatles to America and publicized their legendary concert at Shea Stadium. Sid worked with everybody, from James Brown to Herman’s Hermits.

You could fit our tiny apartment