He looked over at his crew. They giggled a little, then he said, “Okay, sweetie. What’s your name?”
“Kendra.”
“Okay, Kendra, I’ll make sure to give it to my manager.”
I got a few steps away and I heard him say, “Throw that shit away. Man, I’m so sick of people giving me their damn demo.”
I felt so stupid. I’d had to get the courage to walk over to him and then he was an asshole.
“What did he say?” John asked.
“Nothing. Come on. He took the CD and then when I walked away, I heard him say throw it in the trash. If you don’t walk up to people, how do you get on?” I asked myself out loud and walked toward the door mad—mad that we had waited for that asshole and he was so rude.
“Don’t worry about him. Everybody is not an asshole like him. Fuck him,” John said, catching up to me as I walked down the street upset.
“I know, but what makes me so mad is that these people know at one point they were trying to get on and somebody gave them a hand, but now they act like ‘I got the key to the door and I’m not letting anyone else in.’”
Already I could see this was not going to be easy at all. Nobody takes you seriously until you are on their level. Fuck him, I thought. I swear when I get big I will never forget how it feels to be small.
Chapter 9
I was at my first open mic at North by Northwest. It was a really nice restaurant bar. There were spoken-word artists, poets and singers. Little triangle lights hung from the ceiling above each booth. There was big storefront windows and beautiful floors. The stage was squared a few feet off the ground. A brick wall was the backdrop.
I got onstage and told the crowd I was a little nervous. It was the first time I had sung in front of someone in so many years. It felt so natural, though. I closed my eyes and just began to sing. I sang Anita Baker’s “Angel.” People were feeling it. I thought I did okay but I was scared and next week I would be better.
My mom and Marcus came out with me the following week. I felt more confident.
“How y’all doin’ tonight? My name is Kendra Michelle and I’m about to sing a song for you. Who out there has been through something or is going through something?”
I waited for the audience to respond and then I said, “Well, so have I. Let me tell you about my life.” The drum starting going boom tap boom tap. I closed my eyes.
“My life my life in the sunshine when you think of my life la di dod di da. Life is what you make it.” My eyes were closed and I opened them a little to see the crowds’ reaction. They were paying attention and grooving with me. Somebody from the front of the club yelled, “Sing it, girl!”
I got through the song without crying. When I got offstage everybody applauded.
As I walked toward my seat, a man with a bald head and a medium-size frame with a goatee and thinned-out mustache approached me.
“How you doing? I’m Tony Staton,” he said as he put his hand out for me to shake. I left him hanging like, I don’t know you.
“I caught the end of your set. Your performance was great.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you have a manager?”
“No.”
“Well, I would like to talk to you about management.”
“Okay, what other artists do you represent?” I asked. I took him a little off guard with that question.
“I represent a girl group that just signed to Columbia Records, and I handle a few other artists who are in the process of being signed. I had another boy group, but as soon as I got them a deal they got another manager. But that’s another story. Take my card and when you get some time, give me a call. I can get you shows up and down the east coast where record execs are going to be.”
“Thanks. I’ll call you,” I said as I walked over to the table where Marcus and my mom were sitting. Marcus gave me two dozen red roses. “You were great,” he whispered.
We sat, ate dinner and then left the club.
As we left, the club, these girls yelled, “You are so talented, girl, you make me want to go get a Mary J. Blige CD. You was good.”
“Thanks,” I said. When I was on the stage I felt so big.
“Look, you have fans already,” Marcus said as he held my hand and we walked to the parking lot. The same gushing girls were getting in a big white Cadillac Escalade as I entered my little Toyota Corolla. They smiled and waved again. I think I do need a manager. I’m tired of this stage of the game already.
The next morning I found that man Tony’s number. I dialed him up.
“Hi, Tony. This is Kendra.”
“Yes, Kendra. It’s good to hear from you. So when can we can meet up in person?”
“Can you meet me today?”
“Sure. What time?”
“We can meet in Center City at the London Grille at six.”
I hung up the telephone and started to get dressed. I heard so many horror stories about people being taken advantage of. I had to make sure Tony was real. I was going to have Marcus go with me—he just didn’t know it yet. When he pulled up, I didn’t let him get fully out of the car before I said, “Baby, you have to go with me to meet this man. I need to meet that manager, the one I told you about. He wants to meet downtown in an hour to discuss managing me.”
“Do I have enough time to take a shower?”
“A quick one,” I said as I gave him a kiss on the cheek.
On the ride over Marcus and I already agreed that we were going to let Tony talk and see what he had to say. He came and had a seat at our table. He looked a little different in bright light. His mustache was coming in salt and pepper, and he had a big bald head. He was wearing a black sweater and blue slacks.
“I think you are very talented. I haven’t heard a singer blow like that in a long time. If I were your manager I would get you doing some shows first, then eventually get you signed to a record deal.”
“And how does all that work? How much do you get paid?” Marcus asked.
“I get fifteen percent of all her shows.”
“And what about if she get signed? I don’t want her getting jerked.”
“I wouldn’t allow her to sign anything that I didn’t believe in. And I know plenty of entertainment lawyers. I would definitely make sure she has her business right. We would sign a management contract that’s good for two years, but for any reason at any time you want to terminate me you can.” Tony kept talking on and on about how I was talented but that was only going to take me half of the way. I needed somebody to let me be an artist and let them handle my business. He went to the bathroom, and when he left the table I asked, “Do you think he selling me dreams, Marcus?”
“No, he seems legit.” I was relieved that Marcus had come with me, because I wouldn’t have been able to make this decision on my own.
Chapter 10
We were on our way to Washington, D.C., but we were stuck right in traffic on Interstate 295. On a Friday afternoon it wasn’t even moving at all. Tony had booked me for a show in D.C. and we were running late. I was so upset.
“Tony, I am so sorry. We are lost,” I said over the phone. I was mad at myself for not allowing enough time. When I had checked for directions, it said two and half hours. I’d thought three hours and I would be good. I couldn’t breathe.
“You okay for time. I’ll just let one of the other groups go in front of you,” he said reassuringly.
I didn’t want to be late for my first show. My mom and Marcus were driving down with me for support. I was so excited to be having a big show in D.C. This was a great opportunity. I looked at the address Tony had written for the club. We were on the right block, but I didn’t see the spot until Marcus pointed to a house and said that’s it.
“That’s not the club!” I said as Marcus pulled over in front of some rinky-dink neighborhood bar.
“Yes, it is, Kendra. Look at the address.” I didn’t even want to go inside it looked so bad.
Tony talked all that stu
ff about who he used to manage, and here he had me in Northeast Washington, D.C., in some dive. I was performing on the second floor. I was so irritated. If it wasn’t for my mom and Marcus being with me, I would have left.
Tony walked up to us and said hi. I pulled him to the side and gave it to him.
“Tony, I brought my family down here and I’m telling them I have this big show in Washington, D.C., and you should have just told me it was not a real place.”
“Kendra, I’ve been doing this for ten years. I know what I’m doing. You just have to trust me. A lot of people can sing. What makes you different? What’s going to make you stand out from the rest? We’ve got to develop you some more. We are going to get to the big clubs and meet with the labels. But what sense does it make if you are not ready?”
“I think I’m ready.”
“No, this is what you have do to get ready. You have to get rid of your stage fright and get your presentation tight. Why am I going to put you in front of somebody when you still forget your lyrics sometimes? I have relationships at labels, and I don’t want to lose my credibility, you know. The question is, will you get yourself ready? Will you work harder and better than the artist they saw the day before, and the next artist they’ll the day after?”
I just nodded my head as he kept running his mouth.
“I understand all that, but why do you have me at this small-ass place? How is this going to help my singing?”
“It’s going to help you, because a real artist will get onstage and give a great performance for six people and sing like they are singing for six million. You sing because you enjoy it, not because you think you about to get paid. Don’t forget that,” he said.
I thought about what he was saying and decided to follow his lead. Face it—he had more knowledge of this business than I did.
My next show was in New York City at a place called the Sugar Bar. This husband-and-wife singing group from the ’80s, Ashford and Simpson, owned the club. It was small but it was packed to capacity, and it had a different vibe. For some reason I was so nervous—maybe because I knew there could be somebody in the audience who could change my life. Or it could have been because everyone who was on the stage was really good, except for this one guy. He was on the stage singing Al Green’s “Let’s Stay Together,” ruining the song. His voice kept cracking and he kept saying that he was sorry but he wasn’t feeling well. Don’t make any excuses, I thought. Then the girl who went on before me sang “Over the Rainbow.” She didn’t know the words and tried to compensate by oversinging and yelling. She almost blew my eardrum out. She wasn’t that good but the crowd still respectfully clapped. Then they called me up to the stage. I took the microphone.
“How y’all doin’? I’m from Philly. My name is Kendra Michelle, and I’m going to sing a little Stevie Wonder.” I took the microphone out of the holder.
I was singing Stevie Wonder’s “Ribbon in the Sky.” The band began to play the music. “Speed it up,” I said to the band so they could pick up the beat. I was a little nervous and I missed my cue.
“Bring it around again,” I instructed the band—the bass, loud guitar, drums, electronic keyboard. The beat began, and I started swaying. I took the mic out of the stand and began to sing. I looked out into the audience and I was nervous for about two seconds. Then I closed my eyes and sang. The crowd was really into it. As soon as I left the stage, people started asking if I had a CD for sale or a website. I was flattered, but I felt unprepared. I told the guy who asked, I was working on it. We stayed around for a little while then we left to go home. On the drive back Tony said he talked with a couple of people about me.
I got home about one in the morning. I could tell that Marcus was getting a little fed up with all my late nights singing but it wasn’t like I was just partying—I was basically working. When I came in the door he looked at the alarm clock and then at me.
“I told you my show was in New York. Right?”
“I understand, baby. I just miss you being in the bed with me. How was your show?”
“It was good. Tony did get business cards from some A&Rs from a few different labels. He’s going to make some calls in the morning.”
“That’s good but I miss you. I need to feel you come and get in bed with your man.”
I took my clothes off and fell into Marcus’s arms.
Over the next few months Tony had me singing everywhere—talent shows, karaoke nights, and even at birthday parties and weddings. I was tired but it kept me motivated. So far he was doing a good job. Tony got me an interview with a local weekly alternative newspaper and I met the journalist at a café on South Street. I told her about all the shows I had coming up and about my music. Philadelphia Weekly did a big article on me, and when I went to work some of my customers brought the article in and asked me what I was doing still working there.
Chapter 11
Tony followed up with this guy he’d met at the Sugar Bar who was an A&R for Sony Music. He was already coming to Philadelphia, and he wanted me and Tony to meet him at his suite at the Loews hotel. I told everyone at my job, my mom, Marcus, my brother and Nitra, and everyone was so hyped. My mom was so excited she wanted to take off from work. I told her not to though.
“You’re going to be a star. Forget this job. You’re about to be a star,” my mom said.
“Mom, please go to work. It is not that serious.”
“Okay, I’ll go, but call me as soon as you finish to let me know how you made out.” I promised her I would.
His name was Eric Dawson. He was in his early thirties with almond skin and light freckles. He was very tall and intimidating. His suite had a big sofa and a big window. He was sitting on the sofa.
“How you doing?” he said.
“Hi.”
“So how long have you been singing?”
“Since I can remember,” I said.
“Let me hear what you have.”
I sang my heart out for him for three minutes of Alicia Keys’s “I Keep on Fallin’.”
“What do you think?” I asked Tony once we got in the hallway.
“He said you need some work. I told you, Kendra, he said he would be in touch. I’ll call him on Monday but I have to be honest with you, it does not seem promising.”
I had met with four A&Rs each time but nobody was interested. I didn’t know why, because I knew I could sing. I always looked nice. It was just something crazy. They already had an idea of what they wanted and I wasn’t it. Tony was reading the frustration in my face, because each time we had a meeting and didn’t get a response, I was losing confidence in myself.
“Kendra, I’m going to keep it a hundred percent. We have to clean up your look. Like right now they can’t tell who you are. You a cute girl but you need some jazzing up.”
I looked at Tony like, excuse me, look at yourself in the mirror. “What’s wrong with me? I look nice.”
“Okay, you look nice, but the last two guys kind of said the same thing—that we had to get your image together. Next time I want you to wear your hair down and basically come looking like you are a star, ’cause you are. No more jeans, and wear some makeup. Look like a grown-ass woman. As a matter of fact, we are going to buy you a few dresses and I’m going to have my wife, Liz, go shopping with you.”
Chapter 12
Tony was able to get me a meeting at Touchlight Music Group, a midsized label in New York City. Tony’s wife, Liz, gave me a total makeover. She was a makeup artist at M.A.C. and did makeup for weddings and photo shoots. She taught me how to do my makeup and had my skin looking flawless. She also told me to be “on” twenty-four hours a day. That meant as soon as I awoke in the morning I should do my hair and get dressed, even if I was just doing nothing in the house all day. I had to act like a star like there were cameras following me. And so far it was working. Marcus thought I was acting a little crazy because I was actually keeping up with the beauty regime. As soon as I awoke I glammed it up and discovered it made me feel go
od too. He thought I looked good, but he hated all the extra time I was beginning to spend in the bathroom. I had to work some of that confidence today.
I couldn’t decide what I was going to wear. It was between a green wrap dress or a short black halter dress. My hair was the only thing I didn’t have to worry about. I had already gone to the hairdresser and was wearing a chic long, flowing weave with a part in the middle. I was going to be a star, I said as I looked at myself in the mirror.
My attitude now was, “You are going to sign me.” I had to get on now. I can really sing, I look good and I write my own songs.
I decided to wear the black dress with black and white knee boots. I had big gold bangles on and glossy peach lipstick. This meeting was so important because the A&R, Thomas, had actually seen me before at the Sugar Bar and personally requested that I come to his office.
We walked into Touchlight Music Group’s doors at eleven in the morning. The receptionist was a very pretty Latina. She was wearing a short red-brown skirt, nude stockings and black high heels. Tony told her we were there to see Thomas Reid, and she said that he would be out momentarily and to have a seat. We sat down and I began taking everything in. I was really at a record label. It could really happen—all my dreams could come true. That would be so good. If I could be a signed artist my life would change dramatically. Gold and platinum records decorated the walls. I turned around and looked at Tony like, do you see this? He just nodded like, I know. The tables were filled with postcards and huge illuminated wall posters of album covers. The office was so busy with people walking in and out.
All I Want is Everything Page 9
