Shining Star: Braving the Elements of Earth, Wind & Fire

by Bailey, Philip

  I no longer had to look up to Maurice as a mentor. I could look at him across the table as a contemporary and say, yes, maybe we can work together.

  “I won’t work for you,” I told Reese, “but I’ll work with you.”

  Of course I had felt anger and mistrust, as though I had been deserted when Maurice ignored me and the other band members and formed the ARC label without consulting us. But at the same time, I chose to live out my faith, and for my own good, I put it all in perspective. I could either let it go, forgive Maurice, and move on, or else I could live in a web of bitterness, like some of the other members were doing.

  Once negotiations for an EWF reunion accelerated, I phoned Verdine and arranged a meeting between him, Maurice, and me. When we decided that we were going to give it a go, we reached out to Ralph Johnson and Andrew Woolfolk. I believe Larry Dunn passed when we gave him a call. Next we hired Sheldon Reynolds to be our new guitarist, and we brought in a fantastic drummer named Sonny Emery.

  That was the new EWF lineup as we entered the studio to record Touch the World, which was released by Columbia in November 1987. The politically charged first single, “System of Survival,” hit the R&B singles chart respectably. It was an aural homecoming of sorts. My falsetto made a return on the ballad “You and I,” and Reese’s kalimba was featured on the song “Thinking of You.” Yet it wasn’t exactly a feel-good, lovey-dovey reunion album. Because our audience’s tastes had changed, we decided to go with more edgy material. Touch the World dealt with the burning social issues of the day, such as urban crime, the Iran-Contra political scandal, prostitution, and teen pregnancy on songs like “System of Survival,” “Touch the World,” and “Evil Roy.”

  Over the past few years I had experienced victory and defeat, acceptance and rejection. Now the next challenge was to weather an Earth, Wind & Fire comeback world tour. The urban/pop/R&B music world of 1987 was an entirely new and different landscape with sexy solo artists and “new jack swingers” like Keith Sweat, Babyface, Whitney Houston, Anita Baker, Luther Vandross, and Janet Jackson. With our latest album, we were moving in the opposite direction. How would we fit in?

  We spent more than a half million dollars putting together a brand-new show, anticipating the throngs of people who would welcome us back in style. We spent crazy money on production, and Maurice secured new management with Jerry Weintraub, the superagent who also represented Frank Sinatra, John Denver, Neil Diamond, and other topflight acts. It seemed like a slam dunk, and everybody around us assured us that the fans would return in droves: “Oh, they’re waiting for you out there, all right.”

  Instead we received a rude awakening. While we booked the same giant amphitheaters and arenas that we had played previously, the crowds that turned out were minuscule. We were selling only between two thousand and three thousand tickets per show. It was devastating, and we hemorrhaged money on the road. We had gone from reserving entire floors of hotels, flying on private jets, and having to be rescued by security and police to playing in front of empty halls with an overblown production budget. Maurice still owned the EWF entity, and for the first time ever he shared the financial truth with me: We were hundreds of thousands of dollars in rehearsal debt before the shows even started, and now the whole tour was deemed a severe flop. I had newfound compassion for what Maurice must have been going through. I was touched by his faith and confidence in me. We were brothers again.

  I had horrible nightmares and scary dreams while we were out on the road playing those dreadful comeback gigs. It was a very dark and humbling experience. While we had a few good box offices in New York, Chicago, and Los Angeles, in the rest of the country we fared pretty poorly. The last straw came when we played a very bizarre show in Japan. It was a gig that took place during the “halftime” of an auto race. The promoters set up a giant stage in the center of the racetrack, where we were to perform. The crowd hadn’t come to hear music, and the concert was a disaster. We were merely a sideshow in some out-of-the-way city. Afterward, on the way to the airport, Maurice and I solemnly looked at each other, crestfallen.

  “You know what?” Maurice said to me. “I’d rather leave the legacy behind and let it be what it’s gonna be, because this is not it.” We both agreed.

  But we stuck with it. In order to pay the bills, we booked ourselves on some “Budfest” package shows, sponsored by Anheuser-Busch, the brewers of Budweiser. The live dates featured a stable of younger R&B groups, like the Deele and the Time, some of whom were direct musical descendants of EWF. We played one night in Madison Square Garden with these new-generation urban acts. I suggested we do one of our sexy hits, “Can’t Hide Love” from the 1976 Gratitude album. Maurice demurred, but we did it anyway, and the audience, especially the women, went bananas. As I hit the congas, I yelled over at Verdine, “I told you so, I told you so.” This proved that our fire was not yet doused. We tore up the other acts on the bill. We were on a slow, gradual rise, committed to rebuilding our audience even if it meant going back out as an opening act again. Later we did just that when we went out on tour with Barry White, who was billed as the headliner, and EWF as “special guests.” It helped us make our way toward playing the better venues again.

  Next we set up a tour to help rebuild our European market, and did forty-four more shows. It was rough, but we had to tough it out. While out on the road overseas, I noticed that Maurice had tremors in his hands. As time went on, they got progressively worse, and Reese tried his best to hide them. I also noticed that he had begun taking strong medication. Then we experienced a very scary incident. In Amsterdam we were crossing an avenue on which trolleys were running. I looked over and saw Maurice standing in the middle of the road as a speeding trolley headed directly toward him. I grabbed him and pulled him out of the way just in time.

  Maurice was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease around 1992 but didn’t make a public statement about it until 2000 in Rolling Stone magazine where he said he was treating it with medication and had it under control. Parkinson’s is a degenerative disorder of the nervous system, and the early symptoms include shaking of the limbs, cramped joints, and slow movement of the body. There is no cure, but its symptoms can be controlled with medication. Maurice had always been the picture of health and had taken such great care of himself. As long as I had known him, he ate healthy foods and took many vitamins.

  Maurice hid his condition from the other band members as rumors of his ill health began to circulate around the industry. Certain aspects of his behavior made sense. Whenever we signed agreements, his handlers would escort Maurice into another room so that we couldn’t see them holding his hand steady so he could sign the documents. Soon it was plain to see that while Maurice could continue to work in the studio and compose, he could no longer handle the latest rigors of the road.

  The public announcement of Maurice’s inability to tour was a major blow to Earth Wind & Fire’s campaign to return to prominence and dominance. The obvious question became: What would happen to the group now that Maurice was no longer an active performing member?

  27

  WANDERING THE WILDERNESS

  We were clutching at straws when we released Heritage in February 1990, our final album on Columbia. It’s filled with annoying drum machines and inboard studio effects, and even special guests like MC Hammer (featured on two tracks), a prepubescent rap group on Motown called The Boys, and an aging Sly Stone couldn’t rescue the dated and insincere studio sound of the record. Hip-hop was going full steam at the time, and there we were, figuring out if we could still play the game. It was our most disappointing record. Ugh.

  In 1993 we left Columbia and signed with Reprise Records, the same Warner Brothers label group that had launched the original EWF back in 1971. With Millennium, instead of chasing the latest trends in urban music, we tried a back-to-basics approach. We brought in lyricists who had worked well for us, including Allee Willis, Roxanne Seeman, and Jon Lind. Maurice
and I cowrote a love ballad with the great Burt Bacharach. In spite of the adjustments, the album was a dud, and we were dropped from the label.

  That same year Don Myrick was killed. His death occurred years after we worked together. I don’t know the whole story, but the cops were called out to his house because of noise or a disturbance. The police thought he pulled a gun, and he was fatally shot in his doorway. Don was unquestionably a very special talent. His best solos can be heard on “Sun Goddess,” “After the Love Is Gone,” and “Reasons.” He never sounded clichéd, but had a swinging hard-bop tone that was right up there with Sonny Rollins and Ornette Coleman.

  By the turn of the nineties we had become the children of Israel, leaving Egypt and wandering the wilderness. EWF had to pay penance for a few years until our fans, both old and new, could fall back in love with our songbook of hits. With Maurice no longer in the lineup on the road, we were unsure of our future The band didn’t officially break up; we were in “pause” mode until further notice. Then an intriguing chain of events took place.

  In 1994 I was performing solo gigs that included a few Earth, Wind & Fire songs in my set. That same year smooth jazz guitarist Russ Freeman from The Rippingtons and pianist David Benoit released a CD entitled The Benoit/Freeman Project. One of the songs on the disc was a version of “After the Love Is Gone,” featuring vocalists Phil Perry and Vesta. At the time smooth jazz had a network of about eighty highly rated radio stations across the United States, including stations like the Wave in Los Angeles; WNUA-Chicago; WQCD in New York; and the genre’s pioneer station, KIFM in San Diego, playing a mix of contemporary vocal and instrumental jazz.

  Each year KIFM hosted an annual outdoor listener-appreciation party and concert at the beautiful Hyatt Regency in La Jolla, north of San Diego on the Pacific Ocean. Their Memorial Day weekend event featured signature smooth jazz artists like saxophonists Kenny G and Dave Koz. With Benoit and Freeman booked to perform in 1994, they contacted me to ask if I might be interested in joining them onstage as a special guest to sing “After the Love Is Gone.”

  After I told them I would do the guest slot, I wondered, What if Verdine came, too? At the time Verdine was working on a music project with the British pop funk band Level 42, but said that he would gladly come down to San Diego and do the show with me. The two of us jumped onstage, feeling a little nervous and uncertain about how it was going to go down. I ended up also performing a few snippets of Earth, Wind & Fire standards, and then Verdine launched into a stinging version of Ramsey Lewis’s “Sun Goddess.” At that point the crowd went wild. At the post-gig meet-and-greet, people were all over us. After signing a few autographs, Verdine and I looked at each other and came to the same conclusion.

  “Maybe we can do this without Maurice!”

  That show lit the fuse for what was to happen next. What we saw—and had missed on our prior comeback attempt—was that between 1983 and 1994 a new generation of music lovers had been getting turned on to us. After a ten-year cooling-off period our music had come back into fashion with a combination of original and new fans.

  Soon after the KIFM gig Verdine and I had dinner with Maurice to tell him what had happened. We spoke about the possibility of using the name to tour. We felt the band needed to continue to uphold its legacy. The audience was there, and time was working in our favor. True, as youngsters we had had more energy, but as we’d matured, we now had the know-how and experience. Although it wouldn’t be easy, with the right budget-conscious execution, we could possibly make this work again.

  Next Verdine and I met with Bob Cavallo. Although he was no longer managing Maurice or the band, Bob had been getting calls from an agent named Jeff Frasco at Creative Arts Agency (CAA). He’d been asking Bob about us. “Can we get Earth, Wind & Fire to go out on tour again?”

  Frasco assured Bob that CAA could build up enough demand on the concert trail to make it worth our while to perform again. The figures Bob mentioned sounded pretty enticing. Once Cavallo reached out to Maurice, Reese’s curiosity was piqued, even though we knew it was out of the question for him to rejoin the band on the road.

  “Will people come if I’m not there?” Maurice asked Bob.

  “I think they will,” Bob replied. “Hire an extra guy, and let Philip sing your parts.”

  While Cavallo brokered an arrangement with CAA, we held auditions and rehearsals. An associate of mine, Damien Smith, became our manager, and later we aligned ourselves with Irving Azoff’s Frontline Management. The central lineup became Verdine, Ralph, and me as the original frontline triumvirate. We went on the radio to announce on Tom Joyner’s nationally syndicated morning show the news that we were back. We performed live in the studio, and Tom heartily endorsed the concept of EWF going out without Maurice.

  We negotiated a licensing agreement with Maurice so that we could legally use the name Earth, Wind & Fire. By 1996 EWF was back on the road without its original mentor and founder but with a full musical ensemble: guitars, keyboards, drums, bass, the five-piece Earth, Wind & Fire Horns (in place of the Phenix Horns), plus two supporting vocalists, one of whom was my son, Philip Jr. We drew up a hit-laden hundred-minute set and toured like bandits as the demand for our music got stronger.

  Unlike our 1987 return we didn’t play the arenas but cautiously booked ourselves into smaller theaters and medium-sized halls, cultivating our audiences, just as we had in the old days, except now we had infrastructure, a brand, and the music from which to build. It took us about three years, working our butts off, to convince the domestic and foreign promoters that we were for real, and that the band could still perform . . . and that audiences weren’t going to throw apples at us when they discovered that Maurice was no longer standing up there with us.

  As we blazed trails again, I had dinner one night with Richie Salvato, a longtime supporter who also works with Maurice. I hadn’t fully embraced the responsibility of leadership within the organization until Richie told me, point-blank, “One of these days you’re going to have to step up and accept the fact that you’re now the leader of this band.”

  It was a come-to-Jesus moment. When I first joined the group in 1972, not in my wildest imagination had I ever had any intention or desire to lead EWF. Until Richie laid it on the line, I hadn’t even considered the idea of my being the leader. But somebody had to lead, and that conversation with Richie was the nudge I needed for me to finally assume an active leadership role in the group.

  Now with the power to hire and fire, what kind of leader would I become? A nurturer? A perfectionist? One who delegates? I wound up becoming all three, in some form or fashion. I’m very meticulous, yet I’m supportive. I inspire musicians to be their best. I don’t get involved in power struggles. I don’t bark orders. I’m the guy who watches over everything, and very little gets by me. I’m intuitive and sensitive and concerned about others in the organization—how they’re faring and whether or not they’re raising their game.

  Auditioning musicians is a process that Verdine, Ralph, and I now do together. We listen and we watch, and each time we do there’s a twinge in my chest that says yea or nay. In addition to reading their résumés, I watch how musicians carry themselves and how they get along with other people. Our organization doesn’t have time for drama or craziness. If you need intimidation to motivate you, you’re not the right choice. The music tells when it’s time to make adjustments.

  My leadership differs from Reese’s in that I’m more pro-family, which we weren’t under Maurice’s reign. Looking back, neither Maurice nor I was practiced in the art of preserving family stability. When and where we grew up, family wasn’t a priority. We didn’t realize how important paying attention to family was. Looking back, surely we should have maintained a better balance between our professional and personal responsibilities. That has all changed. My daughter Trinity is my personal assistant, Philip Jr. sings the harmonies in the band, while Creed helps me archive the latest
EWF images.

  Verdine, Ralph, and I have a personal chemistry that works. Verdine creates attention everywhere he goes, and is at “ten” from the minute he steps on the stage. Even though I’m a loner, I like to think of myself as a consummate pro. I’m not an entourage guy. I like my space. Maurice noticed early on that, like him, I was a private person when we traveled as a band. It might have to do with having been fatherless as a kid. Most important, my identity is not wrapped up in EWF. It’s what I do, and I’m very proud and thankful for it, but it’s not who I am. That’s an important distinction between me and the others.

  Right now we’re in an enviable position. The Earth, Wind & Fire songbook is two hours of hit songs that everybody knows and loves. At the same time we’re always tweaking and balancing the set. Two shows at the Beacon Theatre in New York City can’t mean the second night is a repeat performance of the previous night’s show. Each gig and venue must have its own identity.

  Songwriting, performing, and entertaining are about service. If you keep that in perspective, you can’t wander too far off the path. It’s only when you get too self-absorbed that you lose your way. You’re there to play music. Whenever I feel the ego rising, I can hear my mother’s voice telling me, “An honest day’s pay for an honest day’s work.”

  It’s hard to believe, but since reforming back in 1996, we’ve reached more fans, young and old, without Maurice than we did with him from 1972 to 1990. We have six buses and four semitrucks. With concert tours, foreign and corporate gigs, plus orchestral and classical dates, we work more than we did back in the glory days. Only now we’re much happier and smart enough to slow down, enjoy our families, take a break, and be thankful for the opportunities that enable us to tour globally.