American Entertainment 1978: New York Night Fever

Chapter 109 Music Sweatshop

After some conversation, Zeke learned that Victor Willis, before being discovered by Jacques Morali and joining the Villagers, was one of the main actors in the Broadway musical *The Wizard of Oz*. He was a Broadway veteran, intimately familiar with the show, having played almost every role imaginable: Uncle Henry, the Royal Gatekeeper, a senior subordinate, the Tin Man, the Scarecrow, the Cowardly Lion, the Wizard—he had played virtually every character imaginable.

"Victor, Michael needs some stage performance experience for this play, and I thought you might be able to give him some pointers." Diana became serious as she said this.

Victor glanced at Michael, who was silent but focused beside him, nodded, and said decisively, "No problem, Diana, I'd be happy to."

Having received Victor's affirmative reply, Michael quickly and sincerely thanked him. Diana smiled contentedly, then squinted at Zeke, sizing him up: "By the way, Zeke, you're a local. Michael will be staying in New York for the next few months filming, and this kid is usually only on stage or film set, hardly having any chance to experience the outside world—could you do him a favor and take him out for a stroll when you have time, instead of letting him always be cooped up in the hotel? He's about your age, and he needs a friend his own age to talk to."

Zeke shrugged, thinking to himself that not only Italians and Jews, but all ethnic groups in America take care of each other. Diana cared for Michael almost as much as she would her own son.

However, it was really no trouble for him. He had already planned to invite a few classmates from his French school to visit New York during the summer vacation, both to solidify their campus relationships and to build connections for the future. Bringing Michael along would be like making a friend in the industry, and he could also see how they make movies. Maybe he could even snag a clip from Apocalypse. He had given them a movie clip before and then nothing happened, so he was quite looking forward to it.

"No problem, Michael. I'll be on summer vacation soon too, and I'll take you around Brooklyn then. Coney Island is definitely worth a visit." Zeke patted him on the back, behaving like a warm host.

"Thank you, Zeke." Michael smiled shyly again, this time a little more naturally.

"Don't be shy, being so shy won't get you any attention from the girls in Brooklyn. You used to live in Los Angeles, right? The girls there are much more outgoing than you—" Zeke teased, trying to lighten the mood.

"My father is very strict—" Michael's face turned red, like a child who had done something wrong.

"Michael, let me introduce you to a few more people—" Diana intervened at the right moment and pulled him away.

After they separated, Tino leaned close to Zeke's ear, pursed his lips, and whispered, "Don't let Diana's seemingly respectable appearance fool you; she's a real womanizer behind the scenes. She's Motown's boss, Berry Gordy's mistress, and even had a child with him. While she was dating Berry Gordy, she was also having an affair with Motown's music director, Silberstein. That unlucky guy married Diana when she was pregnant and raised Gordy's child as his own. They divorced last year."

"Wow, this is amazing? So America has its own suckers too—" Zeke was so thrilled by this juicy gossip that even the melon in his hand tasted sweeter.

"A sucker? Ha, that's quite a fitting term." Tino laughed, then pointed to a middle-aged black man with a thick beard who was being surrounded by a group of people. "That's Berry Gordy, the old lecher who can't control himself, having a bunch of extramarital affairs with six or seven women and fathering a whole bunch of kids."

"Tsk tsk, can he afford to raise so many kids?"

"Ha, Motown is a golden goose, and the kind that lays the most golden eggs. He's one of the most ruthless exploiters of his artists in the industry."

"That's true, he must have made a lot of money." Remembering the money he'd snatched back from Jacques, Zeke nodded. "But then again, if they were so ruthless, why didn't those people run away? Someone of Michael's caliber has no trouble finding clients, right?"

"Run? You think we don't want to run? The question is, where do we run to?" Tino let out a short, cold laugh. "You think this is our Italian neighborhood, where you can go work at the restaurant across the street if you're unhappy with your boss, or grit your teeth and become a smart guy? The rules of this business are set by white people."

Back then, aside from Motown, which mainstream white label was willing to give Black artists a second glance? RCA and Columbia Records, they only wanted to keep Black music in the corners of the slums, offering no resources or national promotion.

"But in Motown, Berry Gordy could at least get them on The Ed Sullivan Show and have records playing on white kids' radios. The price was to skin them alive."

"Take Michael's brothers as examples. How popular were they back in the day with Jackson 5? Like 'I Want You Back'."

ABC is a money-printing machine. Do you know what their contracts are like?

Zik raised an eyebrow: "They can't be worse than the villagers, can they? They're not even entertainers."

"Not far off." Tino held up three fingers. "Less than three percent of the wholesale price. And it has to be split among five people. A record sells for several dollars, but each of these five kids gets less than half a cent. All the money, the royalties, the publishing rights, all go into the pockets of Gordy's different companies. The recording goes to one company, the copyright to another, and the agent takes another cut."

"And when they left?" Zeke pressed.

"It's a terrible sight." Tino shrugged. "When they wanted to leave, they still owed the company hundreds of thousands of dollars."

Because the production costs of those unreleased, discarded songs, plus the water drunk and pizza eaten in the recording studio, were all charged to them.

"Tsk tsk, isn't this like working for free and even losing money? So it's a good thing that he can leave Motown, this music sweatshop."

"Zike clicked his tongue."

“Exactly,” Tino took a sip of his drink. “These kids are all set now, able to join Epic Records. But for most Black musicians who aren’t quite famous yet, they have no choice but Motown. That’s the most insidious thing about Berry Gordy—using the guise of ‘standing up for our own people’ to leech off Black people.”

"What's even more ironic is that even though they've signed with a new company, the one who continues to leech off them is their father, Joe Jackson. That guy hoards the kids' hard-earned money, while he keeps mistresses, has illegitimate children, and buys mansions. These kids even have to beg for pocket money to buy a bus ticket."

He glanced back at the shy boy in the distance, who was fidgeting with the hem of his clothes. Who would have thought that the boy had amassed enough wealth to buy a small town, while he himself had to ask for permission to buy a hamburger?

"Are you full? I'll introduce you to a few people."

Zik nodded, and was then led by Tino to socialize with some industry insiders he knew, exchanging business cards, shaking hands, and exchanging fake smiles and pleasantries.

He felt it was all ineffective socializing, but since he had nothing else to do, he just used it to pass the time.

Soon, Larry Harris and several men emerged from a door leading to the basement. One was Bill Wadlow, the editor-in-chief of Billboard, who had returned to New York with them. The other two, Tino introduced to Zick, were Steve Rubel and Ian Schlager, the owners of Club 54.

"No wonder Larry was nowhere to be seen earlier; he was in the basement," Zeke said knowingly.

The movie screening began, guests took their seats, all the lights went out, and the screen lit up. Unlike traditional cinemas, audiences could continue drinking during the film and even sway gently to the music in the aisles, making it feel like an all-night party.

Friday Night Fever—Zek feels like an expensive and tedious dub from Casablanca Records. The plot is weak, the acting is stiff, and it's full of disco scenes that feel like product placements for the sake of product placement.

"It looks a bit shoddy—what do you think?" he asked Tino in a low voice.

Tino frowned, watching the exaggerated dance moves on the screen: "I think so too. But after all, it only cost 100 million to film, what can you expect—"

Zeke chuckled; it seemed most of the film's budget had been spent on the renovation of that fictional disco.

He had to admit that the film's depiction of the disco was indeed enticing: the sprawling multi-level club had everything from an arcade to an ice cave to a series of secluded booths, all surrounding the dance floor; an egg-shaped DJ booth suspended above the stage, full of design flair.

His favorite was the elevator operated by staff dressed as gorillas; that idea was really interesting.

"That's true. Although the movie wasn't great, the music was pretty good. And with such a low budget, it shouldn't be a loss," Zik commented.