My Voice: A Memoir (22 page)

CHRIS BROWN:
Yeah. I mean, and that was one of the most embarrassing things for me, too. Because of my image and who I was as a young role model to a lot of kids, and how people look up to me. Even parents and stuff like that. It was hard for me, because I let a lot of people down. And I felt that it was like turning my back on a lot of my fans, and turning my back on a lot of people, even the people I love, you know what I’m saying?

It was like walking on a tightrope. He fucked up and he was going to pay for it. We all knew that. He needed to. But also, he’s a human being. And I chose to focus on that while most of the media, even my Oprah, had chosen to ignore the possibility that Chris could be redeemed, that he could learn from this and look at how abuse had played a role in his upbringing, and focus his energy on never letting something like that happen again. From my perspective he deserved a fair hearing, even if he had a lot of work to do as he picked up the pieces of his shattered persona.

That was an empowering moment to take a stand that was against the grain and to handle a tough interview and to do it well. Owning that also let me appreciate my position within the culture and my unique perspective. I don’t know if anyone else could have had that same conversation.

I was proud of how far I’d come. At the same time, in this newfound confidence, deep down I was starting to get restless.

•   •   •

T
hings were starting to feel different at Hot 97. There was this new regime, and they were making decisions that seemed weird and off brand. They were adding all these pop records and coming up with all this corny digital content. In the past, when upper management had these bright ideas, they would always consult with all of us in programming because they valued our knowledge of our station and our listeners; we’d fight to keep the integrity of the brand intact. But more and more we weren’t even being asked—by management that had no connection to the culture and our audience whatsoever. It started to feel that we were losing control of the place, like we were losing our voice. I was showing up and I was doing the job, but I began to feel removed. I had never felt this way before—like the station was losing its heart.

Everything was changing. Our morning show—with deejays Cipha Sounds and Peter Rosenberg—was struggling against Power 105.1’s
Breakfast Club
. Cipha, who was funny and dry, had been at the station for a really long time and was loved by everyone. Rosenberg, newer to the scene, was smart, championed underground hip-hop, and like Ciph was dry and witty. The two were getting their rhythm, but it was hard to compete with what
The Breakfast Club
was doing in the market. Angela Yee, formerly of Sirius Radio, DJ Envy, formerly of Hot 97, and Charlamagne tha God, former sidekick of Wendy Williams, were a force. They were seasoned, they were digitally savvy, and they were provocative. To respond, Ebro, still programming director, would step in occasionally with some edge and help round out Ciph and Rosenberg.

Ebro was good. So good that corporate eventually asked him to do it on a permanent basis—with the stipulation that he had to give up his job as program director. When Ebro asked my opinion about whether he should make the change, I encouraged him. “If being on-air
is what you want to do and that’s what will make you happy, then absolutely.”

However, I couldn’t see the future and how this would affect all of us. The problem was, it was going to take a good amount of time before they found a new program director, and Ebro was still sitting in that chair but he wasn’t protecting us the way our program director had in the past.

In this vulnerable position, the fucking TV-show thing happened with VH1. For months there had been rumors of a reality show about the station. But nothing had been said until the day Ebro sat me down in his office.

“You know, Mona Scott wants us to do this TV show,” he says. “But, of course, we would need you to be all in so you can help position how we would be portrayed and all that.”

“I’m on the fence about it. It’s risky.” Mona was behind
Love and Hip Hop
and reality shows that weren’t the same type of tone as what I viewed Hot 97 as a brand to be. I said to Ebro, “That’s like fast-food TV. Ratchet TV.” Hot 97 was always a little smarter than that. Not to say Mona wasn’t capable—she was hugely successful—but I had questions.

Ebro assured me that nothing would move forward without my approval and that he would suggest I be a producer in order to protect the station’s integrity.

Months passed and I hadn’t heard anything. Then, all of a sudden, I get wind that they’re negotiating a TV deal with VH1 and Mona Scott. But nobody’s talking to me. Nobody’s talking to Flex. Nobody’s even talking to Ebro at this point. Upper management is negotiating a show on behalf of us without even talking to us. We don’t hear about it again till it’s already to the point where they’re sending us contracts to sign. We get the paperwork.
What the fuck is this?!
These were like the contracts you give to the cast members on
Love and Hip Hop,
who are
virtually unknown and just happy to be on TV.
What the fuck?! Who negotiated this?

The way the deal went down revealed that the people in power now didn’t care about protecting the Hot 97 brand anymore. They weren’t consulting with us and they weren’t paying us shit. We launched a revolt.

I marched into our general manager Alex’s office. “You cannot do this. This is not okay,” I said. “Number one, I’m not signing this, and number two, what you’re saying to your staff is that you don’t value them. You don’t even discuss this with them?”

In her defense, she was just trying to get it done fast. She didn’t want to lose the deal. And I’m guessing she thought that the big bosses in Indianapolis would be impressed with all the extra free marketing from this TV show. So in Alex’s mind she was doing the right thing—making deals based on numbers. And from what I understood, the numbers were in trouble. Our ratings were fine, but our small company going up against a monster corporation like Clear Channel had other challenges. Like a corner-store bodega going up against Walmart, we didn’t have anywhere near the same leverage when it came to generating advertising sales—which is the name of the game. And clearly for management a VH1 reality show could make a difference.

A lot of the younger staff wanted to do the show because they were looking to get as much opportunity and promotion as they could. And I couldn’t be mad at them. I understood that. But for some of us who were a little more seasoned—me, Flex, Cipha—it was a different story. Our stance was—
You have to pay us, and we have to have some creative control, which this contract is not giving us.
We fought and fought and management started pointing fingers at us as if we were holding the station back from this “amazing opportunity.” Meanwhile, Ebro wasn’t doing
anything
about it; nobody was protecting us. And now top
management was telling us we had to do this stupid show for fucking peanuts!

Flex and I go right into Ebro’s office and we take turns. I say, “Yo, this is the stupidest thing ever. These people are talking to everybody crazy!” Flex says, “What are you doing about it? We know you’re leaving to go be on-air, but you’re still sitting here.” Or words to that effect.

And Ebro kind of just puts his hands up, as if to say, “Well, that’s what they want to do. I’m staying out of it.”

Staying out of it????
I took that as a statement that he would stand by and watch this bullshit happen. I couldn’t believe it. Ebro had always fought for the station and the brand and the staff, and in that moment I realized how different things had become. His agenda had changed. And I no longer felt protected. And the fact that the station had the nerve to slide me this bullshit contract to sign proved it.

These contracts, by the way, pretty much want to own you. That’s how those television contracts are. You can’t do anything! You’ve got to get approval from VH1 if you want to do any other television show, make any appearances, or a whole bunch of other shit that was not gonna happen. I didn’t work all these years on my career to have VH1 and Mona Scott control what I do with the rest of my life! Worse, this was what the people at Hot 97 were trying to do to me. They were going to let that happen to me. In fact, they were setting me up for it. I felt betrayed by that. I also felt extremely protective of the talent that didn’t have the tenure I had and who had less leverage to fight for themselves. Now, not only was I fighting for myself, but I was fighting for the Ciphas and Miss Infos and Laura Stylezes of the team. Ultimately, however, everyone wanted to do it, and the majority of the team felt like this was an opportunity they didn’t want to miss out on.

My solution was to let them do it without me, but I was informed that they would not do the show if I wasn’t a part of it. Great. If I don’t
sign on, I ruin the opportunity for the rest of the team. So I fixed a few things in the contract that were really disgusting and I got my money up a little bit and reluctantly agreed.

VH1 Announces New Reality Show,
This Is HOT 97
BET
Posted: 03/06/2014

TV station’s latest program gives a behind-the-scenes look at New York radio.

From their nationally known deejays to their infamous yearly hip-hop festival, Summer Jam, HOT 97 has long been known by their catchphrase, “Where hip hop lives,” and now they’re inviting viewers behind the scenes via VH1’s newest reality show,
This Is HOT 97
.

Then it’s time to shoot the TV show. Now we have producers in there who give less fucks about the station than our management did. They’re creating a show called
This Is Hot 97,
and now, in addition to putting the station’s brand in jeopardy, we all have to put our own personal brands that we had worked so hard to build in the hands of people we didn’t know or trust and who didn’t know anything about us. It was such a sloppy and desperate move. But you know, the days I had to show up, I showed up.

I like to joke I’m not afraid to try some goofy shit. So I was game for some of it. And once I commit, I’ll do it.
All right. You want me to fucking act like an idiot? Okay. When do we start? Fuck it.
Especially when you’re with people that you love. I love Miss Info. She’s one of my best friends. So if you put us in a scene together, I’m gonna have fun with her.

Right before they called “Action,” I’d turn to her and say, “Kill me.”

She’d laugh.

“No really, punch me in the face right now. That would be better than this.”

Then we’d turn to the camera and have our fake watercooler talk. Like on
The Office
when actors broke the third wall and talked about their meetings.

I hated how we got here, but I tried to have as much fun as I could in the moments when I was actually shooting. It got harder and harder as time went by.

While I’m going through the motions and laughing at the ridiculousness, I start to realize how Ebro is being positioned on the show. He’s the center of every fuckin’ episode. He’s doing the voice-overs. He’s involved with creating the story lines. Me and Flex are looking at him like,
Oh shit. He just fuckin’ went and let this show happen because he’s about to be the star of this show!

And I loved Ebro so much that I said it to him multiple times. Like, “Yo, fam, you look crazy. Not just to me, but how do you think that makes it look to these people that you have on the air for five, ten years? They’re not even on the show.” We had a midday guy, Big Dennis, who had been with Hot 97 since I have been—all these years—and they didn’t even have him on the show! He’d been there way longer than Ebro. And then there were DJ Camilo, DJ Enuff, Mister Cee—all these solid personalities, the people that really are in the streets representing Hot 97—and they were not included, and you have Ebro as your fucking star.

It was fast becoming a mockery of the station.
How sad, for everything we’ve done, everything we’ve built—this corny TV show will be our legacy
.

Ultimately the problem wasn’t the TV show. Had the opportunity come along when we were at our most stable as a station, it might have been different. But we weren’t in the same place. For the first time I felt foreign in this home that I’d helped to build. Man, we loved that place.
We cared about that place. We went to war for that place. And now we’re sitting there watching it fall apart.

I’ll never forget this one day when I walked in to work and I realized that the lights were really dim. It felt so dark and gloomy. I’m sure the lights had always been like that—it just had never really bothered me before. Now it started to feel depressing. After all the years and the loyalty, I started to realize that the thing I was so loyal to no longer existed.

Maybe it’s time for me to move on?
I didn’t know what that thought meant. Leave radio in general?
Maybe
I could move to LA or Miami and open a bar, a restaurant. I don’t know.
I had no clue what I would do. I just started to sense that I couldn’t keep doing this.

The first step is realizing there is a problem, and this one was staring me in the face.

IT’S BEEN A LONG TIME

F
or everything that wasn’t going so well at work, my love life was in a new and amazing place. In a roundabout way, the change started back in 2010 or so, when I had a general “hi, how are you” meeting with a lady from Telepictures. She’d had to cut it short because she had another meeting about to start.

On second thought, she offered, “My next meeting is here. If you want, though, you can stay and meet him. He’s a matchmaker.”

Hmmm. Single at the time, I was curious, and apparently this guy was good. Like a young Hitch, the lady told me. “So, do you want to meet him?”

“YESS! I do!”

They wound up letting me stay for their whole meeting because the conversation was so good. The meeting was with Paul Brunson, a good-looking, supersmart young man who had married his high school sweetheart. I had one of my “I feel connected to this person” moments.
The thought crossed my mind that this was maybe someone I could work with in some capacity one day. Intrigued, I started asking him a zillion questions about what he does, how he does it, and how does he know? Then he turned the conversation to me and asked why I was single.

“Because I haven’t met anybody.”

“Well, how much work have you put into it?” When I asked if you shouldn’t just let it happen, he said, “No. It’s the same way you work on your career. When you want something, you get it done. If you want to be in a relationship, you have to work for it.”

Work!?
That was different. And when we got into a whole discussion about who my type was, I had no idea.

“Well, let me offer you this. What are your three core values?” I had no idea what he meant. He pressed on. “Tell me what your three core values are. I want you to think about what your three core values are, and then I want you to look for those. Because you can get distracted with somebody who’s funny or smart, somebody who entertains you, or somebody’s swag—but none of that is real. None of that is the thing that is going to hold you together. So I want you to find out what your three core values are, and I want you to start looking for that in somebody else. Because if you don’t know what they are, you can miss it. It could show up right in front of you and you could totally miss it.”

And the three things that came to mind right away were (1) Family. Family and friendships were so important, and loyalty is right up there. (2) Honesty. It’s at the core of who I am. And I know everybody says that, but it really is who I am. I like to be honest, even if it’s not comfortable. I look for the truth in everything. (3) God. I’m private about my faith, but my spiritual connection to what’s good in the world matters a lot.

Now what? And why did I have to work at it? Didn’t I have enough
on my plate as it was? Did I even have time for a relationship? Paul argued that with the right relationship, you can actually accomplish more.

In the meantime, Tiffany—one of my girlfriends I’ve known for years, and a much-loved wardrobe stylist—was tired of me not going out on Friday nights and said, “Look, he’s not going to come knocking on your door. Maybe you need to change your circles. Meet some new people.” As it happened, she was going to a listening party for Ne-Yo at Ink48 Hotel, where Idris Elba was going to be DJing. I had been trying to book him for my show and Tiffany offered to introduce us.

I didn’t know if I would like him or not—but I knew girls went nuts over him and I knew he was a really dope actor and that I’d love to have him on the show. So I went with Tiffany and found myself in the middle of a private party up on a rooftop of a hotel with music blaring, a swimming pool, and lots of pretty people. When she started to drag me over to meet Idris, I could see that the booth was mobbed.

“Well, there’s his manager, Oronde,” Tiffany said. “Let’s go say hi.”

Tiff takes me over and introduces me to Oronde Garrett. He says, “Hey, Tiff,” and gives her a big hug. Then, turning to me, there’s an awkward clash as he goes to give me a hug and I go for the handshake.

There is so much noise and distraction, but there is something about Oronde that feels familiar. A tall, dark-skinned guy originally from Brooklyn before going to college in Maryland, Oronde looks at me with a big, genuine smile and asks, “Do you want to go meet Idris?”

“No. It’s too crowded over there, but I’d love to have him on the show.”

He thought it would be a great idea and then added, “But we gotta hang out.”

Not sure what he meant, he gestured to me and Tiff and said, “What are you guys doing tomorrow night?”

“Oh, I can’t do anything. I’m going to a fund-raiser for Mary J. Blige’s charity.”

Oronde said, “Oh? Well, then, we’re going, too!”

Is he trying to be cute???
“You’re not going.” I laughed.

“Why can’t I be going to that?” He laughed, too.

The next night, when I arrived at Cipriani’s for Mary’s FFAWN Gala, yep, it turned out that Idris was in fact hosting the event. And Oronde was there. I noticed him sitting a couple of tables way, and just as I spotted him, he waved, as if to say,
Told ya
. I laughed and shook my head.

After the event I had plans to head uptown to Harlem for my friend Dawnie B’s birthday party. Dawn worked for Nike and knew a lot of the same people I did. As I was leaving, Oronde asked, “Where you headed?” When I told him, he grinned and said, “Oh, yeah, we were invited to that, too.”

This was fun. A bunch of us headed up to Dawn’s party. At one point I thought my ex might be there, and it tickled me to think he’d see me all decked out, having a great time and sitting at a table toasting it up with Idris.

Then, right at the table, Oronde leaned over and quietly asked me, in the most direct way possible, “Are you into my friend?” Before I could answer, he explained, “Because I thought there was a connection with you and me, but now you’re over kee-keeing with Idris in the corner. It’s totally cool if you are . . . I just don’t want to be barking up the wrong tree.”

Oh, my God! Honesty and directness!
Thank you, Jesus!

I took a breath and answered with equal honesty. “Well, actually, no, I’m not. At all. But, honestly, I think one of my exes is here, and I was just kinda being a dick.”

Oronde got it and he got me. “Okay, I can deal with that.”

“I’ll stop now.” Besides, at that point, he had my full attention.

We went out to a late dinner that same night and that was it. We’ve been together ever since.

•   •   •

Billboard February 13, 2014—Emmis, Owner of NYC’s Hot 97, Buys WBLS, WLIB for $130 Mil, Increases Urban Market Share

Emmis Communications, a radio and publishing company which owns WQHT (Hot 97) in New York along with a host of other stations across the country, has announced a deal with YMF Media to purchase two New York radio stations for $131 million in cash. The acquisition of the two stations, urban adult contemporary station WBLS 107.5 FM and WLIB 1190 AM (and the city’s first station targeted at African-American listeners), will double Emmis’ annual station operating income, the company said.

The company announces not just that they are buying WBLS but bringing in somebody to run both BLS and Hot 97 together. Our general manager, Alex, is out. This guy who’s gonna run the place, Deon Levingston, comes from WBLS. That was
his
baby, his shining star. Now Hot 97 would become the stepchild.

People were getting fired left and right, good people who had worked for Hot for a really long time, and it was merging into an unfamiliar, strange stepfamily.

When WBLS came in, we were still shooting the TV show. So we’re in the hallway shooting this buffoonery and these older BLS people are walking around like
, What the fuck are they doing?
Deon, the general manager, did not like the show, you could tell. Very weird energy. We’re shooting this show that we all hate that Alex made us do. Alex doesn’t
even work here anymore! Ebro’s the fucking star of the show. We don’t have a program director in place. It’s a circus.

I didn’t even recognize the place anymore.

When the show aired that spring, I didn’t tune in. I couldn’t do it. My weird ability to ignore something as if it doesn’t even exist kicked in and I was just so happy it was over. It was canceled after the first season. Everything was unraveling, and the whispers grew into shouts.

What am I holding on to? I don’t feel the same way about this place. I mean, I love being on the radio. And I love my friends here. But I don’t love how this ship is being run anymore. Either I’m going to sit on this sinking ship or I am going to get off the fucking boat.

At that point I still didn’t know what that meant, but I knew it was time for me to move on. It was coming. It was getting close. My contract was up already. With all the changes in management, nobody seemed to notice or care. This new general manager barely had a conversation with me. Maybe once. Maybe he had too much on his plate.

So anything could happen to the station at that point. And it wasn’t just us. This move was going to do the same demolition to the legendary KISS FM and put some of the most iconic names in radio off the air. The same could easily happen to HOT.

Almost everybody at the station was feeling uncomfortable, uneasy, hating the way shit was going down. I was walking into the studio one day and Enuff approached me in the hallway outside.

“Hey, you good?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“I know shit is crazy,” Enuff said. “Ang, I know you’re frustrated.”

“Yeah.”

“Just let me know when it’s time,” he said. “Give me a heads-up.”

I looked at him and I said, “I’m giving you a heads-up.”

“You are?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Like right now?”

And I just nodded my head like right now. I went back into the studio and I still didn’t know what I would do or when I would do it, but the feeling inside had gone from foggy to clear. This chapter of my life was ending.

•   •   •

W
hat am I gonna do? What’s my next move?

Oronde knew everything I’d been going through and had witnessed my building frustration. He came home one night and told me that Chris Green, a record rep who also happens to be Tiffany’s boyfriend, had said that Power 105.1 had been asking what was up with my contract.

“They’ve been asking that question for years,” I told Oronde.

His point was, as bad as things were, “You should meet with them. What could it hurt?”

As much as working for Power was not an option for me, and I couldn’t even fathom the thought, I
was
intrigued by Clear Channel, the parent company. They were doing some innovative things in the industry with their iHeart app and music festival. A lot of people were paying attention.
Maybe Oronde was right. What could a conversation hurt?
The first thing I did was call Pecas. Over the years Pecas had come to me a few times about Clear Channel wanting to work with me. “I’m not talking to them,” I had insisted in the past. “Fuck them.” I had always been fiercely loyal to Hot 97. Could I really work there? I wasn’t sure, but I had to know my options.

“If I talked to Doc, do you think he could keep it confidential???” I asked Pecas. Doc was the head program director for all of the urban stations at Clear Channel, which is now iHeart.

“Yeah,” Pec said, sounding slightly surprised yet totally unfazed.

Pecas, promising we would keep it confidential, set up a meeting for me with Doc. “He’s at the London Hotel,” he said. “He’s gonna meet you by the bar.”

“The London?” The London Hotel is a popular spot; it’s not a discreet place. But I was so removed at this point, I really didn’t even care; and it was an eleven a.m. meeting, so—
Ah, fuck it
. I just went.

Sitting down with Doc was so weird for me because of all of the history, all of the years that they had been the enemy. Now I’m actually sitting here having tea with him! I didn’t even want to get a meal. I wasn’t even committing to breaking bread. “I’ll have a mint tea.”

“Well, it’s really nice to meet you,” Doc said. “First, I just want to say how much I respect you and everything that you’ve done. I think you’re amazing.” He went on to talk about what he knew of my career. I’d heard that he was a really nice guy. We had a great conversation.

“So where are you in your career right now?” Doc asked.

“You know, I’m at a point where I want to know what my options are for my future. Not just for right now, but for five years from now,” I said. “I want to have an understanding of what the landscape looks like in radio, and I thought you would be a good place to start.”

“Well, is your contract up?”

“Yup.”

“Really?” His eyeballs opened wide. “You know, it’s so funny,” he said. “I’ve been with the company for so many years. And every year we get these numbers about what radio personalities resonate in the market. Your name is always at the top of that list. So every year it comes up. The question is, ‘What do we gotta do to get her?’ Every year we have the same conversation. ‘We can’t get her. She’s too loyal. She’s never gonna come here.’ That’s always the conversation. But you know what’s so crazy is it got to the point some years ago that nobody even asks anymore.” He
goes, “But this year we had somebody new to the company that hadn’t had that conversation yet. So we get the numbers back just like always. You’re at the top of the perceptual for the market. And the person says, ‘Well, can we get her? Well, what do we got to do to get her?’” Doc had said, “It’s never gonna happen. We’ve tried. She won’t even talk to us.” Two days later Pecas called him. Doc couldn’t believe it. “She wants to talk?!”

It was funny and flattering.

“So what would you want to do? What would your ideal situation be?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. I would want to be on in more cities than one. I want growth. I don’t want to go somewhere and have the same exact thing. I want more.”

He understood that. And to be honest, I don’t even think I had wrapped my brain around the fact that I would have to be on Power 105.1. I was really looking at them as a big company—
maybe I could be on in LA, in Miami and Philly.
At that point I was still not mentally prepared to commit to the idea that I would go to the competition.