It was 1983: I was 26 and I had just been hired by Elektra Records as their new A&R guy. I saw an ad in the Village Voice for Nina Simone in concert at the Irving Plaza, four shows over two nights, and I thought: “I must go!”

‘Sugar lips,’ she said, ‘I know you’re gay, but I think it’s time!’

She didn’t have a record deal at the time, so I somehow found her brother Sam Waymon’s phone number, and I gave him a call to tell him I was an executive at Elektra and that I loved his sister and that I had to come to all four shows.

The day of the show, I got a call from Sam and he said: “We’re at Irving Plaza doing a sound check. Would you like to come?” My knees buckled and I grabbed my coat.

I was a nervous wreck standing at the back of the room, and there she was: Nina Simone on stage mid-sound check, and I was the only other person in there.

She noticed there was somebody else in the room and said: “Who is there and what do you want?” My first thought was: “No, no, no... It can’t go this way!” I nervously walked up to the stage and introduced myself – and she started laughing at me. She said: “Young man, how old are you?” I told her that I was 26 and she added, “and you’re an A&R man? Do you have any money?” Before I could respond, she asked me if I’d like to come sit next to her at the piano.

We spent a couple of hours together and I went back to the office and told my chairman that I wanted to sign her – no one was into the idea at the time. I hadn’t proven myself yet and everybody felt she was “washed up” and “difficult”.

By the early 90s I had established myself. I’d signed and had wild success with Metallica and the first Tracy Chapman record. I’d been so relentless about Nina over the years with my chairman that he said: “I know how much you love her. Just do it.”

Nina and I remained firm friends until the end of her life, 12 years later. The last time I saw her was in 1999. Nick Cave was programming the Meltdown Festival and had asked Nina to play. I flew to London on the day of the show and went straight to her hotel with a bottle of champagne and two dozen white roses – her favourites. The room was full of people, she was having her hair done and it was all hectic.

Nina shouted: “Everybody out, except Michael!” and suddenly we were alone. “Sugar lips,” she said, “I know you’re gay, but I think it’s time for a bubble bath!” So the next thing I knew, she’d stripped down, I was in my boxer shorts, and we were in a tub full of bubbles drinking champagne and laughing like teenagers. And that’s how I will always remember her. •

Who the F**k Is That Guy? The Fabulous Journey of Michael Alago is now on Netflix