Frank & Charli

by Frank Yandolino

  At this point Lalit realized he needed help with Artie, so I was brought in to meet all parties, introduce my own vast network in India, and above all try to make it happen. As we would always say, it was truly another Kornfeld Production. The fun began one memorable night at a dinner party in Mumbai, sitting around a large round table with about eight people. Indians love to drink. I mean love to drink. Stupid drink. Prakash Mehra never went anywhere without his bottle of Johnny Black. In the trunk of his car was a wet bar with ice, and he always could be seen no matter where or when, private or public, with a glass of Johnny in one hand, his gold and silver cigarette case and lighter and a white embroidered handkerchief in the other. Prakash was much like Dali; they never carried money and somehow someone else always paid.

  The waiter brought everyone a small bowl filled with a hot liquid and a floating square piece of white something, garnished with a piece of leaf on the side. Artie, always the first to indulge, no matter what he is indulging in, takes the hot white thing out of the bowl and proceeds to wash his face with it. We all looked in amazement as he scrubbed his face with what turned out to be, to his shock, a thin piece of sticky noodle dough, now stuck and glued to his face over his eyes and hands. It was a sight to see. He was then told it was a soup, not a hand and face wash. We and everyone in the restaurant including Artie laughed for hours.

  Every day is an adventure with Artie and his piles of pills, outbursts, fights, meetings, and interviews. One morning we were off on a several-hour drive to the remote town of Puna to meet with a Guru at his Ashram. Lalit hired a car and driver, but while cruising down the highway in the middle of nowhere we ran out of gas. It seems that in order to save some money, Lalit did not fill the gas tank, waiting to get gas cheaper outside of Mumbai. His calculations were wrong. I have learned this is the Indian way, that you have to account for how Indians think and do things into your own equations if you want to do anything in India. Kornfeld, Lalit, and I had to push the car miles to the next gas station.

  When we finally arrived at the Ashram to meet Guru Shri Shri Ravi Shankar Ji, who, by the way, has twenty million followers worldwide, there were hundreds of devotees spread out all over the building, hoping for a glimpse of the Guru. They were on the floor and on the steps, and we literally had to step over and on them to get to the third floor. At our first meeting, Shri Shri, as they call him, stood up from his high-back chair at the head of the large room. He was a small man with long straggly black hair and a long unkempt beard. He reminded me of Charles Manson. He approached me and asked, “And what is your name?

  “Frank.”

  He answered back without hesitation, “And are you?” I answered right back, “Always.”

  He smiled at my quick and direct remark. I hugged him, he hugged me. I don’t think you are supposed to hug Gurus.

  As in most cases I did the feasibility research, market analysis, budgets, and pre-production only to find out the investors didn’t have enough money to complete the project. All too often, investors only have the startup funds and are hoping to get other funds along the way, but that almost never works. That’s why I get paid up-front and even then not always the full amount. Charli always says, “You have to pay Frank to come to a party.”

  After several trips, mishaps, and broken promises the investors got cold feet. The spirit was dead. Just when you think you’re onto something and you realize you’re on the dead ball, I say: sometimes you’re on a roll, when you should be on a bagel.

  Sanjaya, the False American Idol

  Barry G. (I won’t mention his real name) is someone who has come in and out of my life, like the locusts who hibernate underground for years then surface for a season and spread havoc. Barry does exactly that; every few years for the last two decades he resurfaces. I never could figure it out. I would come to learn he was manic-depressive, and would only contact me when he was manic. Having been in the entertainment business all my life, compared to others I have met and or worked with, he seemed normal. I had no frame of reference, so I thought that’s just how he is. I found him and some of his music and lyrics interesting. He even had a style like Randy Newman meets Neil Young.

  One day in 2008, after I can’t remember how many years, he called me again, asking if I would help him put together his band and make a record. We agreed to meet at the City Diner on Broadway, where he proceeded to tell me that he was putting together a production company to produce a record for his son; I never knew he had one.

  “Who is your son?”

  He looked at me cool as a cucumber. “Sanjaya,” the young kid from American Idol with all the crazy hair. I immediately flashed on his image—that little South Indian-combo-Australian Aborigine-looking kid with a Mohawk. The ball was in the air.

  “Sanjaya, your son? What the hell is that? You’re kidding me.”

  “No. He’s my son.”

  “Your son? How did that happen?”

  “Do you remember years ago I came to your office with a girl I said I was gonna marry one day? Her name was Jill.”

  I didn’t know what time he was talking about; I did, however, vaguely recall a girl who he was with who didn’t seem too keen on Barry’s marriage comment.

  “What does this have to do with Sanjaya?”

  “Well, I married her and he is her son, Sanjaya, who I adopted.”

  I was in shock. Nothing he said made any sense, but he continued.

  “We would like you to manage Sanjaya and put together his record and his career. We have a song ready to go. He needs to do the vocals over, but it’s called ‘Drive My KARMA.’”

  Barry knew the drill. Especially with him, based on his history, I wouldn’t do anything without getting paid first. We went back to his apartment. He played me the song; it was corny and dated. Politely I said to let me think about it. Then he said the magic words: “I will fund it all.” A few days later Sanjaya’s mom, Jill, called me, reminded me how we’d met more than ten years before, and said she would like me to manage her son’s career. Barry was gonna fund it, and I would put together the package and make appropriate deals for Sanjaya and his sister, Shyamali. Several days later they all flew to New York. We met and agreed I would become their manager.

  A few days later I was able to arrange a full-page article in the New York Post, photos and all. The headlines read: “Sanjaya and his sister are moving to New York.” Everyone was talking about it. From the first day we met, my inclination at every opportunity was to grab the ball and run. Except it was almost always me alone who grabbed and ran; Sanjaya hardly ever existed. I had to be both Frank and Sanjaya. Sometimes, even if the timing is right, the ball just won’t bounce. In some ways Sanjaya was the laziest piece of crap you would ever want to meet. I had to wind him up every day, and that’s if I could find him.

  In order to make that easier I had him move in with us. We treated him like family, like a son. My kids, Jaime and Frankie, weren’t too fond of him, his character, or his dogs. However, they both did a great job on the Sanjaya campaign with Jaime’s public relations ideas and connections and Frankie’s web design and Internet skills.

  Sanjaya entered my life much in the same way things have happened in the past. I never really was a fan of American Idol; my interests were only aroused at the end of competition to see if there was truly going to be a talent, one who was a future star, inspirational, innovative, entertaining, who could really contribute in some way. This doesn’t matter to Clive Davis, though; he makes things happen anyway and somehow everything he touches turns to gold. He is a genius. Everyone knows that he controls all avenues of the show and its ancillary properties.

  Clicking through the channels one evening, before I actually met him, I caught Sanjaya in the middle of a song, unaware of anything that had happened before that moment between him, the judges, and his sister. My first impression was, that’s a strange-looking kid. He seemed very emotional and vulnerable, and had a great smile, but was it real or some deep-rooted psychological front?
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  That was it, though; I never really followed the show. I did see Sanjaya on an occasional press clip here and there. Later, after I met him, the ball was mine. The whirlwind of TV appearances, articles, interviews in newspapers and magazines, TV commercials, fashion shows, a memoir, a music record, and other events had begun.

  Through it all, there he was, sleeping. He’d lie on our couch watching TV and social networking all night, then sleep all day and into the evening. He moved into Jaime’s old bedroom with his new puppy, Padma, a crazy tiny little miniature Doberman Pincher who shit and pissed everywhere and chewed everything. Sanjaya rarely cleaned it up and if he did you had to do it again to make sure it was clean; that was part of his pattern. You had to do everything he did over or stand next to him to make sure he even did it. I liked him very much, but not the dog; nor did his mother, who, along with his sister, fortunately kidnapped Padma while Sanjaya and I were off somewhere. They went to Montana and gave the dog away to a shelter where they thought Sanjaya would never find it. To prove a point, defiant Sanjaya and his friend tracked down the little dog. After finding it, he brought it back, but eventually chose to abandon little Padma anyway.

  Several months later he shows up at my door with a new puppy, Luciano, a French bulldog and terrier mix who also pissed and shit everywhere and chewed on everything—eyeglasses, slippers, shoes, wires, tables, chair legs. After a while he gave the puppy to his sister. Sanjaya as it turns out basically destroyed, caused to die, or abandoned every pet and plant he ever owned.

  After we executed the initial management agreement, I immediately took over shaping his career. I didn’t think he was showing his total ability as a singer, dancer, and entertainer. He was best as a total performer, a song and dance man. He and Shyamali should be like Kid Creole and the Coconuts, Dan Hicks and His Hot Licks, Ricky Martin, Louie Prima and Keely Smith, Donnie and Marie, Sonny and Cher. But that idea didn’t work. Shyamali always said no to everything; her attitude was rooted in a deep resentment for her brother’s fame that eventually resulted in nothing ever happening for her.

  I began negotiating for him to star in a TV commercial for Nationwide Insurance. Sanjaya, his sister, and I were off to my favorite place, India, to shoot the spot. Arriving in Mumbai, we were treated as royalty, especially from my friends and connections, five star all the way. Sanjaya was blown away. His only other time in India had been to visit his father in a very small remote village in Bangladesh. His father was a musician and abandoned him and his family at a very young age. So arriving in Mumbai as royalty was a first. Everyone knew him, stopped him, hugged, kissed, and took pictures. It was amazing how all of India recognized him, even in the remote village where we shot the commercial.

  Another example of grabbing the ball with Sanjaya was when Brian Shinn, a member of the Shriners organization, contacted me. They were exploring the idea of Sanjaya helping in some way by becoming a spokesperson and host performer at the annual Shriners convention in Fargo, North Dakota. We went there to help raise funds for the flood victims, and by the time I was finished, Sanjaya was the master of ceremonies for the three-ring circus and performed in front of thousands of screaming young kids. Actually, mothers, fathers, grandmothers, people of all shapes, sizes, and ages came out to see him. After the event, Sanjaya said that he had never been to a circus. Yet there he was, singing, surrounded by elephants and flying trapeze girls. That was one of the first of many firsts for Sanjaya. During that time, he also flew an airplane for the first time. He was gliding over North Dakota; we took pictures of the unbelievable floods. At Fashion Week in New York City, he modeled and walked the runway; he was a sensation and a natural model. We also wrote a book, published by Simon and Schuster, released a musical album, and performed live shows. He also starred on a television reality show I’m a Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here, which was shot live from Costa Rica and aired on NBC for a month.

  Then he disappeared back to his mother’s and sister’s arms and took his grandfather’s name, Joseph Recchi, for some reason. His mom couldn’t take it anymore; she felt out of control, knowing she couldn’t control me, and thereby unable to control Sanjaya, but more importantly unable to control his money. With Sanjaya it became “rags to riches to rags” when he disappeared back to his mother. She sure did a great job; now he is broke again singing on the subway. You are what you eat.

  Sanjaya is special and maybe he can reappear on top again, but the question is whether he will want to, and stop being the False American Idol. In this case I had grabbed the ball that wouldn’t bounce.

  In Charli’s Words

  The first time Frank and I met Sanjaya, he was with his sister, Shyamali, their mother, Jill, and Barry G. at a restaurant on Broadway on the Upper West Side here in New York City. Jill was Barry’s ex-wife. I didn’t say much. I just watched and listened. Sanjaya and his sister were adorable, well-mannered, and seemed very nice. I liked them, they liked us, but you could not help but notice as Barry spoke that Sanjaya became filled with anxiety and rolled up into a ball. He was definitely trying to cope with just being with Barry, let alone with what he was saying. He was completely traumatized. I didn’t know why, but from the moment I saw her I did not like Jill. She was watching Sanjaya’s every move and most of the time speaking for him; it seemed as if this is how he had lived his life, with his mother scamming people while the children did whatever she might say, no matter what it was. My initial impressions unfortunately became reality.

  Jill had great plans for Barry. She knew how to manipulate him and was focused on his money, and he had a lot of it. Barry was totally in love with Jill and would do anything for her. She was very cute but cunning and could never be trusted. My basic instincts were to stand clear of her and she knew it.

  It all came about quickly; it felt like all of a sudden we were managing Sanjaya. Soon Frank was off to India to shoot a TV commercial he had arranged for Sanjaya and Nationwide Insurance, and they would take Shyamali along. When they returned, Sanjaya, Jill, and Shyamali were going to move in with Barry. Shyamali would not stay at Barry’s, though, and could not leave fast enough. The next day she was off to see her boyfriend in LA. I thought it was strange she had no desire to see or stay with her mother and seemed to resent all the attention Sanjaya was getting. Most daughters are so connected they can’t wait to spend time and talk to their mom. Not this girl; she couldn’t wait to get away from all of it.

  Sanjaya was younger than his sister and very vulnerable. He grew up in a house of domineering women: sister, mother, aunts, and cousins, all women. He would do anything and everything they said he should do. He wanted to break his ties with them now, so he was going to stay with us, after refusing to live with his mother and Barry. He wanted to be free of their controls and begin to be himself. I thought that was unbelievable. I certainly could never just drop off my children somewhere with people I hardly knew. My kids would never stand for that either, but Sanjaya, like a robot, did anything Jill wanted. He must have been dropped off a lot as a child. He didn’t have anything to say about it and now he was living with us in New York City. I think he was seventeen years old.

  We became close. He was a really nice boy so I took him under my wing and tried to make him feel like one of the family. Well, my kids did not appreciate sharing me or Frank and more importantly could sense Sanjaya was a user, believing that with him what you saw was not what you got. It was obvious they did not like him. He was always looking in the mirror, posing, and always on the cell phone taking orders from his mother. I tried to explain to Frankie and Jaime that he was Frank’s client and to give Sanjaya a break, but my kids did not give breaks, so they completely avoided him.

  I suggested Sanjaya should consider going back to school, but no one liked that idea, especially his mother. She wanted him to have a career and make lots of money. In fact, she was the one who pushed her kids and became the annoying backstage mom during American Idol.

  I took Sanjaya to 42nd Street to teach him the subway syste
m. I thought he would have to get around New York and should have an understanding of where he was. We went to the train station and stood on the platform and then we got on the train. Everyone in the car recognized him and lined up to get his autograph, showering him with love and affection. He was a natural star. This was unbelievable; he was smiling and happy to meet all of the people on the train. Old, young, men, women, black, white, Spanish, and Asian, he was recognized by everyone and he had a charisma that was magnetic to everyone who came in contact with him. I have never seen anything like it. Wherever we went he was recognized and stopped and asked to sign autographs. He always did it with a kind and willing attitude. He was a natural and everyone was attracted to his smile.

  Jill was kind of a free spirit, hippie type who found Sanjaya’s biological father in Bangladesh, under a hut, and brought him and his entire family back to Seattle to live, and then they had two beautiful and talented children.

  Sanjaya experienced all the influences to completely confuse a kid. Jill divorced his Indian father and latched on to Barry, who is an Orthodox Jewish, manic-depressive millionaire, perfect for Jill’s plans. And then she went to work. She is a natural Svengali but something else must have happened; I don’t know what, but something that really frightened her children. A manic depressive is something I have never been in contact with, but I could always sense that those children at a young age must have seen something traumatizing and been permanently scarred. I am sure it was not easy for Jill either, and eventually Jill divorced Barry.

  Just about that time she was arrested for growing and selling a huge amount of marijuana with her new boyfriend in the woods behind their house in Seattle. Shyamali was also arrested. She was only a teenager and this was not easy for her because her mother had brought her in to this. During American Idol the people working on the show found out about it on the Internet, and this was something that kept them from choosing them as winners. When the kids were auditioning for American Idol, Shyamali was not chosen but Sanjaya was, and I don’t think she ever recovered from that rejection. Jill was a real backstage mother and very impressed with her kids. She thought they would be really big stars, and they could have been, but Jill caused havoc on the set of the show. She became overzealous that her kids were going to be such big stars and was so demanding the producer banned her from traveling and production. It was after that we met Sanjaya and Shyamali and we were hopeful to begin a terrific career.