Luther Vandross: Make It Your Own

I enjoyed a recent documentary about the life and work of Luther Vandross. (‘Luther: Never Too Much’, 2024, directed by Dawn Porter)

‘I want to be remembered as a premier singer of our day, not as the love doctor.’
Luther Vandross

Vandross was a soul singer, songwriter, arranger and producer. Gifted with a smooth velvet tenor voice, which could quiver excitedly and then settle securely on a simple refrain, he sang of love sought, cherished and lost, and so charmed his way into the hearts of millions. His career was marked by single-mindedness and self-belief; by pragmatism and versatility; and by an ability to seize new opportunities in his own distinctive style. 

‘I’m going to focus my entire life and whole energy into [music]. And there is no other consideration. So rejection will just have to happen. And if it happens, it’ll happen, and I’ll keep on going.’

'All of the band was on time for rehearsal
And played everything just right.
Then came the news telling me not to worry,
The show is selling out tonight.
Well, the lights went on, and suddenly the crowd began to scream,
And as you could well imagine, it was like living a dream.
Oh, but when the lights went down and the standing "O" was done,
I was just another lonely guy who didn't have no one.
Give me your love, give me your love, give me your love.
I wanted your love, your love baby, your love baby, your love.’
I Wanted Your Love'

Vandross was born in Manhattan in 1951. Though his beloved father, an upholsterer and singer, died of diabetes when he was 8, he had a happy childhood.

‘The funniest thing is, if there’s enough love in your house and in your home and in your life, poor, rich, none of that stuff registers.’

Raised by his mother, a nurse, on the Lower East Side and then the Bronx, Vandross delighted in watching Motown acts on the TV and drew pictures of the Supremes in art class. Having taught himself to play piano by ear, his love of music was crystalised when his sisters took him aged 13 to see Dionne Warwick at the Apollo Theater, Harlem. 

‘I knew from that moment that I wanted to be able to affect people the way that she affected me that day.’

With high school friends, Vandross formed the Shades of Jade, insisting that they each invest $23 on emerald-green patent leather shoes. He performed at the Apollo as part of the vocal harmony act Listen My Brother, and subsequently appeared with the group in the first season of Sesame Street. He dropped out of Western Michigan University so as to pursue his career.

‘I really did not want a Plan B. I said it’s going to be this or I’m going to be 80 trying to do it.’

Gradually Vandross made a name for himself as a backing singer. During the recording of the soul-inflected 1975 album ‘Young Americans’, David Bowie was so impressed with Vandross’ ability to make up vocal parts on the spot, that he asked him to arrange the whole album, and adapted one of Vandross’ songs into ‘Fascination.’  

David Bowie and Luther Vandross

For much of the ‘70s Vandross provided backing vocals for the great talents of the day, including Roberta Flack & Donny Hathaway, Chaka Khan, Bette Midler, Diana Ross, Carly Simon, Barbra Streisand, Donna Summer, Chic and Sister Sledge. He also took lucrative work singing advertising jingles - for brands such as Miller and Lowenbrau beers, Mountain Dew and Juicy Fruit; NBC, KFC and Burger King. When asked to communicate that Gino’s Pizza was sizzling hot, he invented his signature quivering vocal styling.

Throughout this period, Vandross worked hard and earned good money. And yet solo success did not come easily, and his efforts with his own band Luther were unsuccessful.

‘I have a sound in my head, and I want to get it out.’

All started to change when Vandross featured as lead singer on two 1980 hits by the French-Italian studio group Change. ‘The Glow of Love’ and ‘Searching’ were propulsive dance numbers that perfectly showcased his smooth, sensuous vocal delivery. The band wanted him to sign on for a second album, but he resisted.

‘Flower's blooming, morning dew
And the beauty seems to say,
It's a pleasure when you treasure
All that's new and true and gay.
Easy living and we're giving
What we know we're dreaming of.
We are one having fun
Walking in the glow of love.’
Change, '
The Glow of Love' (D Romani / M Malavasi / W K Garfield)

Finally, Roberta Flack, on hearing Vandross conducting a phenomenal sound check for one of her gigs, insisted that he make his own way in the world.

‘Luther Vandross likes to say that I fired him. But I never really fired him. What I did was encourage him to believe in his own ability to produce his first album.’
Roberta Flack

At last Vandross broke through on his own terms. He recorded a succession of stunningly good modern soul albums, channelling the sophisticated spirit of the Philadelphia sound. These records featured irresistible floor-fillers and heart-rending romantic ballads: ‘Never Too Much’, ‘I Wanted Your Love’, ‘I’ll Let You Slide’, '’Til My Baby Comes Home.’

Vandross then set about organising his legendary touring act. Wearing sequinned sports jackets and spangly shirts, silk bow ties and flamboyant pocket handkerchiefs; with carefully choreographed dance routines from glamorously attired backing singers, he put on a show. In the pursuit of excellence, he could be a hard taskmaster.

‘Excuse me. I’m not playing the lottery. Get it right!’

In the documentary Vandross’ long-term bassist and writing partner, Marcus Miller, observes that Vandross kept his musicians in check too. 

‘There’s one point in the song [‘Superstar'] where he goes: ‘Keep it right there. Keep it right there.’ …He was telling me and the rest of the guys who like to play jazz: Don’t jazz this thing up. Keep it right there. Play it easy.’
Marcus Miller

Luther’s second album

'Long ago
And oh so far away,
I fell In love with you
Before the second show.
And your guitar
And you sound so sweet and clear,
But you're not really here.
It's just the radio.’
Superstar' (L Russell, B Bramlett)

Vandross was a master of the cover version, recording distinctive interpretations of the Temptations’ ‘Since I Lost My Baby’, The Carpenters’ ‘Superstar’, Brenda Russell’s ‘If Only for One Night,’ and Dionne Warwick’s ‘Anyone Who Has a Heart.’  

‘I try to do songs that I think I can do differently, that I think fit me. Sort of like when somebody chooses what to wear when they are going to go to the Academy Awards or something. They choose that special thing.’

At the 1987 NAACP Image Awards, Vandross performed an extraordinary rendition of the Bacharach and David song ‘A House Is Not a Home’ - with Dionne Warwick, who originally made the number famous, present in the audience. On film you can see her joy as Vandross puts his own individual stamp on the classic number. Finally, overwhelmed, she wipes a tear from her eye.

‘What I loved more than anything else about hearing the songs that he decided he wanted to record of mine, was that he made them his own.’
Dionne Warwick

I was quite struck by Warwick’s observation. In the world of commercial creativity, we often inherit other people’s concepts. We are asked to reinvent or reinvigorate an incumbent campaign, to breathe new life into a tired brand. We have to pick up where others have left off. Vandross teaches us that we should always seek to stamp our work with our own identity, enhancing it with our own ideas and interpretations. We should strive to make it our own.

A chair is still a chair, even when there's no one sitting there.
But a chair is not a house, and a house is not a home,
When there's no one there to hold you tight,
And no one there you can kiss goodnight.
A room is still a room, even when there's nothing there but gloom.
But a room is not a house and a house is not a home,
When the two of us are far apart
And one of us has a broken heart.’
A House Is Not a Home’ (B Bacharach / H David)

 

Every year from 1981 to 1994, Vandross achieved at least one top 10 R&B hit, and he went on to achieve hitherto elusive crossover success. He worked with his heroes - Dionne Warwick, Aretha Franklin, Diana Ross, Stevie Wonder - and collaborated with the next generation of female R&B singers - Whitney Houston, Mariah Carey and Janet Jackson. 

‘Fame and fortune… Fortune is cool, fame is not always so cool.’
Marcus Miller

And yet Vandross was a troubled man. He was unlucky in love and uncomfortable discussing his sexuality. He revealed that his most personal lyric was in his song ‘Any Love.’

‘I speak to myself sometimes, and I say, "Oh my,
In a lot of ways, you're a lucky guy,
And now all you need is a chance to try any love."
In my heart there's a need to shout,
Dying, screaming, crying “Let me out”,
Are all those feelings that want to touch
Any love?’
Any Love'

From an early age Vandross struggled with his weight, and periodically he went on crash diets. The media speculated endlessly about his sexuality and his see-sawing waistline. 

‘I was an emotional eater. If the music wasn’t sounding right, I ate to cope. Any excuse I could use, I would use to eat.’

Suffering from diabetes and hypertension, in 2003 Vandross had a severe stroke and fell into a coma for nearly two months. He died from a heart attack in 2005, at the age of 54.

Luther Vandross was a luminous talent, whose work still provides the soundtrack to our romances, celebrations and heartbreaks. His songs lift our spirits, gladden our hearts, and sustain us through tough times. He coaches us to be determined in pursuing a vision, to be agile in delivering a strategy; to be distinctive in execution. But there is another lesson to be taken from his life: we should appreciate people’s privacy; rein in our prurient curiosity. We should show some respect.

 

'I can't fool myself, I don't want nobody else to ever love me.
You are my shining star, my guiding light, my love fantasy.
There's not a minute, hour, day or night that I don't love you.
You're at the top of my list 'cause I'm always thinking of you.
I still remember in the days when I was scared to touch you,
How I spent my daydreaming planning how to say I love you.
You must have known that I had feelings deep enough to swim in.
That's when you opened up your heart, and you told me to come in.
A thousand kisses from you is never too much,
I just don't wanna stop.
Oh, my love
A million days in your arms is never too much.
I just don't wanna stop.
Too much, never too much, never too much, never too much.’
Never Too Much'

No. 520

Nile Rodgers and The Guitar That Wouldn’t Play: Is Your Team Out of Tune?

Nile Rodgers is one of those people you’d just like to thank: for Chic and Sister Sledge; for combining uptown style with downtown rhythms; for swooning strings and relentless ‘chucking’ guitar patterns; for ‘High Society,’ ‘My Forbidden Lover’ and ‘Get Lucky’; for the renaissance of Diana Ross; for the pause in ‘I Want Your Love’; for the chassis to ‘Rapper’s Delight’; for getting ‘lost in music, caught in a trap, no turning back’; for sheer rapture on the dance floor; for the ‘Good Times.’

‘If you left it up to me,
Every day would be Saturday.
People party through the week,
They’d be laughing.

I just can’t wait ‘til Saturday.
I just can’t wait ‘til Saturday.’

Saturday,’ Norma Jean (Bernard Edwards, Nile Rodgers, Bobby Carter)

Rodgers’ excellent autobiography ‘Le Freak’ is a rollercoaster ride of joy and pain, of triumph over adversity; a story told with wisdom, warmth and good humour. He grew up amongst bohemians and drug users in New York and LA. He suffered insomnia and chronic asthma. His early life involved encounters with Thelonius Monk, Timothy Leary and assorted Black Panthers; with Andy Warhol, Jimi Hendrix and Sesame Street. Eventually he met Bernard Edwards, formed Chic, and together they created the blueprint for sophisticated modern dance music. He went on to confer his distinctive production dazzle on the likes of David Bowie, Duran Duran and Madonna. This is a life fully lived.

Rodgers’ natural musical gift was first expressed through the clarinet he was taught at school. At 15 he convinced his mother and stepfather to buy him a guitar. He set about learning his new instrument from his clarinet etudes and a Beatles songbook. But, however hard he tried, he couldn’t coax anything approaching a proper melody from the guitar. How frustrating! One day his stepfather came across him practising and took the instrument in his hands: ’Wow, this is way out of tune.’ The young Nile hadn’t been aware of the need to tune the guitar.

‘Sir Edmond Hillary, reaching the summit of Mount Everest, must have felt something similar to what I felt at that moment. This was more blissful than anything I’d ever experienced. I played the next chord and it sounded like the right chord in the progression. I started the song again. With utter confidence I sang, ‘I read the news today, oh boy,’ then strummed an E minor and dropped to the seventh, ‘About a lucky man who made the grade.’ There are no words to accurately describe what this felt like.’

I was touched by this story. It spoke of joy unconfined, pure youthful creative liberation.

In a completely different context, Nile Rodgers’ out-of-tune guitar made me wonder about the commercial world. How often does a business have the right strings, on the right instrument, being plucked in exactly the right way, without producing any meaningful music? How often is a business ill at ease with itself, out of tune, with no sense of where the problem lies?

We may think of leaders nowadays as people who hire and fire, replace and reconfigure. But the truest test of good leaders is their ability to realise the potential of the talent already at their disposal. Can they allocate roles and responsibilities, tasks and objectives in such a way as to create a genuine sense of collective purpose? Can they galvanise disparate skills and personalities into a supportive, happy team? Can they motivate them, direct them, inspire them to play in tune, to sing in harmony?

‘Everyone can see we’re together,
As we walk on by.
And we fly just like birds of a feather
I won’t tell no lie.

We are family
I got all my sisters with me.’

‘We Are Family,’ Sister Sledge (Bernard Edwards, Nile Rodgers)

Great leaders set the rhythm of a business, get it dancing in step, as one. I’ve witnessed this kind of leadership. It’s a rare instinctive thing, a wonder to behold. It requires humility and empathy; charisma and vision, in equal measure. It requires a positive engagement with people, life and circumstances.

These are qualities that I’m sure Rodgers himself has in abundance. At the start of his book, he quotes an old saying:

‘Life isn’t about surviving the storm; it’s about learning how to dance in the rain.’

No. 132

 

 

Murder On The Dance Floor

                        Photograph: Manchester Mirror/mirrorpix

                        Photograph: Manchester Mirror/mirrorpix

I was a bad DJ. I couldn't mix; I couldn't sample; I couldn't scratch. But above all, I couldn't make people dance - or at least, make them dance to my tunes.

The withering glances, the paralysing fear, the creeping self-doubt; it all comes flooding back. Staring out at an empty dancefloor, the only movement the geometric reflections from the mirror ball, the crowds clinging to the walls as if pushed by some centrifugal force.

I’d play one top track after another: D-Train, Fatback, Archie Bell & the Drells… Nothing.

‘It’s a shame,
Sometimes I feel like I’m going insane,
But still I want to stay’
Evelyn ‘Champagne’ King - Shame

Gradually the pressure built. They wanted to dance, but they didn’t want to dance to anything I was playing. The occasional Goth would approach, demanding Southern Death Cult.

Eventually I cracked and reached for The Jackson 5. No sooner had a few bars of ABC chimed out than the floor was filled with jiving students, a mass of ecstatic rhythm and moves.

But no time to enjoy my achievement. I faced another challenge. Once they were on their feet for The Jackson 5, I couldn’t very well give them Melba Moore. So I’d unsheath Earth, Wind & Fire. And then Shalamar. And Chic. ‘And the beat goes on...’

Yes, the floor was packed and pulsating now. A joyous Bacchanalian throng. But at the height of my seeming success, I was filled with self-loathing, because I had, in effect, created a Wedding Disco. I knew the revellers would not go home sated that night. They’d had a bop, but it was the same old stuff they’d always danced to. Nothing to be remembered, respected, revisited. Nothing original, authentic, inspired. Last night a DJ ruined my life…

So why am I telling you this?

Well, as a bad DJ I learned that it’s quite easy to generate a bit of fizz, a quick thrill or momentary buzz. But it’s much more difficult to get people dancing to your own tune, to be credited with it and thanked for it. And once you’ve got people dancing to a populist rhythm, it’s nigh-on impossible to get them off it. I learned that, if I ever wanted to be a good DJ, I’d need a thicker skin.

‘Here’s my chance to dance my way out of my constrictions,
(Feet don’t fail me now),
One nation under a groove, Gettin’ down just for the funk of it’
Funkadelic - One Nation under a Groove

I’d been to enough clubs to recognise a proper DJ. I’d seen them seamlessly blend the familiar with the exotic. I’d seen them coax their public onto the floor, change the tempo, manipulate the mood. I’d seen them insinuate a rhythm that took dancers deep into the heart of darkness. And I’d seen the joy unconfined of a real dancehall crowd moving as one.

I think marketers can learn from dance. Dance is about individual fulfilment found through collective action, private passions explored together – not unlike brands. Marketers could learn from DJs, too – the experts who create, catalyse and control the dancefloor, the magicians who manufacture social success. What advice would a good DJ give a brand manager? Well perhaps...

1. Read the crowd. Feel the mood of the masses. It’s about your own, instinctive judgement, not someone else’s.
2. Live in the moment. Be spontaneous, intuitive, impromptu. Don’t plan for a future you can’t predict.
3. Mix sugar and spice, the familiar with the unknown. It may be counterintuitive, but no one will thank you if you play only what they want, know or expect.
4. Surprise them with the arcane, the forgotten and absurd when they least expect it. Don’t let consistency become predictability.
5. Create one seamless journey, contoured with its own highs and lows. Take the whole dancefloor on that journey and don’t get lost in segmentation, tailoring and targeting.

Great brands set a rhythm that unites consumers, propels them onto the dancefloor of life and inspires them to express their truest feelings, together. In the age of the empowered, atomised consumer, we should never forget that, fundamentally, brands are shared beliefs. I have always believed in a brand that seeks to lead opinion rather than follow it. I guess I believe in the Brand as DJ.

Or as Soul II Soul might put it: ‘A happy face, a thumpin’ bass, for a lovin’ race’…

First published: Marketing 06/09/2013

No. 31