Jeff Minton

Published in the April 2012 issue

I was thinking I might be a priest. To make a long story short, I joined the Commodores, and one girl screamed from the front row, "Sing it, baby!" Afterward, I called up the ministers and said, "I don't think I'm going to be priest material."

But you've got to understand. Look all the way through. After "We Are the World," I got a letter from one of the ministers that said, "Congratulations. Your ministry is doing quite well."

Who's got the words? That's the key. If "You Are the Sunshine of My Life" weren't the words, that song just ain't the same.

I wrote real-life stuff. I didn't write around some fantasy. I wrote stuff like "Easy Like Sunday Morning." What year? Any year. "All Night Long" is all night long.

If what's happening now in America had happened in the sixties, we would have protests like you've never seen before. But in 2011, people can name every player on the football team, but they can't tell you how badly they're being taken advantage of and by whom. They know what Gaga's doing, but they don't know what the government's doing. Everyone's on Facebook and Myspace and Yourspace and Theirspace and Twitter and Tweeter. Great, fantastic! But anybody paying attention?

After "We Are the World," those three or four jets filled with food looked really huge when they were taking off. And then you get down on the ground and see what malnutrition looks like. When you can't swallow anymore because you're dehydrated. I'm standing there with the food and we can't feed you because you've lost the ability to swallow. You're going to die looking at me with a plate full of food.

I was born and raised in a community where if somebody can't eat, the whole town goes to feed him. Therefore the community survives. You know when cancer is serious? When it strikes someone in your family. You know when hunger is serious? When it strikes someone in your family. You know when homelessness is serious? When it strikes someone in your family.

I don't care if I just left the king's palace. I don't care if I'm the poorest guy in the world. I want to come home, sit on my couch, and like my couch. I want to like my refrigerator. Follow me? I want the thrill of waking up in the morning and walking from the bedroom all the way to the kitchen and back to the bedroom. Ah! I forgot to get dressed. That's happiness. It's not how many people are calling you "Mr. Richie." Do you like your kids? Yes. More importantly, do they like you?

When I was a boy, about to leave my dad with my friends, my dad would go, "Hey boy, where you goin'? You forgot something." Oh, Jesus Christ, Dad. I've got to kiss you in front of my guys? Yeah, you do. Then one day, a guy says to me, "You kiss your dad?" And I say, "Yeah. Yeah, I kiss my dad." And the guy said, "I'm not allowed to kiss my dad. My dad only wants me to shake hands." And that's when I realized how lucky I was.

I was raised by the whole village. The Tuskegee Airmen were on the campus. I was raised by the Tuskegee Airmen. The entire mantra to my life was "Failure is not an option." They'd look you straight in the face. "Failure is not an option, young man."

Growing up in Tuskegee, Alabama, was the bubble. In the bubble, I learned no limitations. My grandmother's a classical pianist. Country music is outside the community. R&B is in the community and the gospel choir is on the campus. Jazz. It was all just music to me. And once they explained the rules, I said, Well, I'm not going anywhere near that. It's the same when your mother says you can play in every room in the house except that one. Well, that's where I'm going.

A guy wants to be able to take his kid fishing. A guy wants to be able to play a little softball. He wants his kid to love him. Everybody else wants the same thing, in every different language possible, around the world.

Someone said, "Mr. Richie, the show's at eight. We've got a plane waiting." And my dad says, "Son, I want to see you upstairs before you leave." All right, Dad. I walk upstairs and he says, "I'm worried about you. Everybody loves you. Every time you go out the door, there's babes." He says, "If you lost it all tomorrow, would you still be the guy you are today?" He says, "You haven't been tested, son. And I'm worried about that." I had no idea what he was talking about. What test? Now, segue. I just lost my dad. I just lost my marriage. And the most important asset I have, which is my voice, the doctors can't guarantee. When you're vocally silent for four weeks — after the surgery, you can't talk to anybody — you have time to think and listen to yourself. When I open my mouth, who am I going to be? I could wake up and make rasping noises, which means I'm not a singer anymore. And that's when the strength of that moment with my dad came to me. I'm going to find out who I am.

I don't write records for L.A. and New York. I write for between them. That's where it is. Especially when you listen to those country songs. All of a sudden the guy on the radio says, "The number-one record this week is 'I Love My Truck.'" I'm sitting there telling myself, I'm thinking too deep. "Me and my red pickup..." God, man. Just want to drink some beer. I love it. That's real.

I'm never on time, but always in time.

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