[Chapter 4: Seymour Stein]
It was night in Manhattan.
A steakhouse near Wall Street.
"Mr. Stein, hello. I always saw you in the papers -- they called you a living legend in the record business," Orlando Keller said as he set the Sony Walkman, with a taped demo already loaded, down on the table.
He had actually only heard Seymour Stein's name from Daisy Cuomo earlier that day. But the old guy really did seem like a big deal.
Daisy had said that the superstar Madonna really took off under this man's hand.
"Ha! Kid, I retired years ago. My name hasn't been in the papers for a long time," Seymour laughed. "Don't bother with pleasantries. Ms. Cuomo told me about you. First let me hear what you cooked up."
He snapped on the headphones and squinted as he listened.
"A little rough -- the recording environment sounded pretty bad," he said.
"It was a little rough," Orlando admitted.
The demo had been made after Orlando used the "electric bill" money Daisy gave him to bribe a security guard at a Manhattan high school. He had recorded in the school's instrument room, relying on inspiration to pour into the tracks. The conditions were poor. The demo came out a bit messy.
"Hip-hop mixed with country? Kind of odd, but you've pulled it off in a strangely balanced way."
Orlando was about to explain, but the old man waved him off. "Don't explain yet. The music will tell me."
Two minutes later, Seymour tossed the headphones on the table. "Holy crap! This is not country music -- well, you can't really call it that. It's odd, hypnotic, and... special."
His eyes lit up. "It felt like a bizarre kind of innovation -- hip-hop plus country? Black street cadence mixed with white country twang? Like playing mix-and-match with a cocktail? Strange, very strange..."
Seymour's look toward Orlando grew curious. Orlando could sense the old man's skepticism.
Right then, Seymour wondered whether Daisy had bought the song and handed it to her younger boyfriend to pose as a singer-songwriter. He was even thinking Daisy had been a little reckless -- buying a song rooted in black music and giving it to a white young man.
Orlando kept his face steady. "I'm one-sixth black. I grew up in the Bronx with black friends all around. I heard black hip-hop from a young age."
"You don't look black at all," Seymour said.
"Sometimes ancestry works in mysterious ways. Look, didn't MJ get paler over time?" Orlando replied.
"Hah, Jackson didn't change from ancestry. That was an illness," Seymour shook his head.
Seymour glanced at Daisy Cuomo standing beside Orlando; she gave him a timely smile.
"Very odd, really odd. But it was ear-catching," the old man said, turning back to Orlando and pounding the table with excitement. "A kind of innovation you didn't see on the market. There were lots of innovations, sure, but ones that were melodically fresh, infectious, and brain-washing like this were rare. Right now I felt it could sell big, maybe even hit Billboard!"
He looked at Daisy, probably knowing Orlando couldn't steer the next steps on his own. "Ms. Cuomo, did you have any concrete plans?"
Seymour explained, "I meant, which label Mr. Keller wanted to sign with, the record release plan, marketing and so on."
When Seymour was called over, he had only gone to be polite. He hadn't expected much from Orlando's song. There were too many so-called new artists in the world. Seymour could listen to a hundred songs a day and not tire. Most of them were garbage. Although diamonds eventually showed up, Seymour felt the music business was full of trash.
"I'm not really plugged into the music scene, or the whole entertainment world, honestly. Frank DiLeo is on his way here now," Daisy Cuomo said with a smile.
"Frank DiLeo..." Seymour paused.
"Yes, Frank DiLeo."
The well-off woman smiled. "He's the guy who just split with Michael Jackson. He happened to be shooting a movie in New York, and I have a friend who knew him."
After a beat, Seymour smiled. "You want him to be this young man's manager? DiLeo is a major name."
The old man tipped his hat figuratively. "But if it's Ms. Cuomo asking, he'd probably say yes. Besides, this kid's looks and this song are both pretty impressive."
Seymour examined Orlando. Very young -- the kind of youthful naivete visible at a glance. Handsome enough to stand out in Hollywood. Muscular. Even standing with Daisy Cuomo, they weren't quite a pair.
With his experienced eye, Seymour read the signs. He also thought about the New York socialite he was sitting with -- a widow whose husband had died years ago.
The old man's expression softened. "Too bad I sold my label. Otherwise I'd sign Mr. Keller for sure. Signing new artists is like scratching a lottery ticket... and dear Orlando, I think you'd be the jackpot winner!"
He sliced into his steak with his knife and fork. "I've hit jackpots before. My big one was Madonna. Madonna didn't write songs, her vocal tone was just okay, and her singing was barely passing, but..."
The old man bragged for a bit about the proudest achievement of his life -- breaking out Madonna.
---
The second guest Daisy had invited that night arrived.
Frank DiLeo.
The famed former executive for Michael Jackson.
At MJ's most prolific times, many aspects of his career were handled by DiLeo. DiLeo executive-produced Jackson's well-known film Moonwalker. He also created, produced, and brokered a series of lucrative Pepsi ads for Jackson. In addition, DiLeo had been Jackson's manager for two tours.
Frank DiLeo was a pale-skinned middle-aged white man. He wore a well-tailored dark suit. His hair was slicked with gel and combed perfectly. His nose was sharp with a slight arc, his gaze was sharp and confident. He looked like someone not easy to deal with.
"Ms. Cuomo, good evening. Hi, Mr. Stein, I didn't expect you to be here," Frank's presence was strong but deferential toward Daisy. He showed no weakness even facing Seymour Stein.
"And this should be Mr. Orlando Keller, right?"
*****
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