January 20, '01
Twiggy's POV
January 27, 2001
Twiggy POV
I was gettin' tight, staring furiously at my slim leather Cartier watch, tryna get the time to stop. But one more minute went by and I hit Sean up, steady ready to cut up on his ass.
He answered on the first ring: "Yeah?"
"Yo, bro, where the fuck you at? We got 10 minutes to get inside before they change their fuckin' minds."
"Dude, chill out, okay? Listen, we can walk in there an hour late and they'll still give us a meeting. You've got somethin' that they've got MIT assholes tryna figure out right now."
"I know what the fuck I got. I got a meeting at 6 pm with niggas from Apple and Sony. I got a business they can choose to take a part of or sue my ass for. Don't tell me what I got. Get the fuck here, with a fuckin' contract. I'm goin' inside. When you get in, apologize for your untimeliness. And don't fuckin' smile."
I hung up on his ass, just about ready to crush my Nokia in my hands before taking a few breaths and heading inside the big old building: 11 Penn Plaza.
***
"Good evening Mr. Jackson," a skinny white guy, maybe five years older than me, stood up to greet me. "I'm Clyde Barlowe, one of the many Senior Vice Presidents at Apple. We spoke on the phone, I believe."
Firmly grabbin' a hold of ole dude's hand, I shook it, saying, "Barlowe, of course."
He gestured at another man, an older, shorter dude, still white, with liver spots on his bald head. "This is Doug Morris, one of the top executives at Universal Music Group since '96."
"How's it goin', Jackson?," Doug said, shakin' my hand. He spoke wit a rough, old school, Brooklyn accent.
"Doin' good, Morris." I was gettin' a good vibe out of him. An honest one.
Gesturing at the only guy left, a tall, lanky, white man, with a Jay Leno chin, Barlowe said, "This is Michael Lynton. He's a chairman at Sony Music Entertainment, but he's pretty much on his way to being chief exec. In fact, he says locking this deal in is all he needs for a guaranteed promotion by the end of the month."
Michael Lynton smiled and outstretched his hands towards me, "You look like a reasonable guy, Mr. Jackson. I'm sure we'll come to a deal by the end of the hour."
I shook his hand firmly. "I am pretty reasonable. I hope we're all reasonable here," I said steadily, holding eye contact with him.
Now him, I didn't like. He was givin' off a bad vibe; I'd have to keep my guard up around him, fasho'.
"Well, please, have a seat Mr. Jackson. Is it fine if we call you Michael?," Clyde asked me.
"If I can call you Clyde, Doug and Michael, then sure," I answered evenly.
Doug let out a big bellied laugh, saying, "He was the Other Michael before you stepped into the room, kid. Or Chin. Chin works too. "
Glancing at Chin, I saw his nose flare up a bit as he let out a forced chuckle. He reminded me of those overachieving white dudes who think they don't get enough recognition and end up selling out their respective companies or embezzlin' cash from them.
We all took a seat before Chin said, "So, I heard you were expected along with your manager?"
"Yeah, no, he's on his way as we speak," I replied. Fuckin' Sean, I thought to myself.
"Well, while we wait for him, I'm sure we can discuss a few things," Clyde announced. He continued, "I want to talk about your music recommendation algorithm, because, let's be honest, it's the only reason why you're here."
"Sure," I shrugged. The beatdown. Sean told me to expect this. They'll knock my shit off before offering the lowest price, a basic ass tactic that wasn't boutta fly wit me.
"Well, you should know that I specialize in machine learning and AI strategy. I've spent a few minutes on your website before finding a backdoor, so I gotta say: I'm simply unimpressed with your security system," Clyde continued.
"Oh, wow. You don't say?," I sighed, shaking my head in exaggeration. "Welp, that's prolly why I'm not selling my security system here, huh?"
Doug choked on a chuckle across from me while Clyde reddened just a lil'. Chin stayed ... chinny.
"That's a good point. I just wonder how excellent your algorithm is, if anyone can hack into your website. Wouldn't they be able to run away with it?," Clyde pressed on.
I sat forward and looked Clyde straight in the eye before tellin' him, straight up, "Since we bein' honest here, you couldn't run away wit my algorithm if I gave it to you. You wouldn't know what to do wit it. Came here witcho' music big boys and showed me how small you stay thinkin'. Lemme tell you some'. This algorithm can be applied to music, movies, dating websites, shopping websites, whatever. Anywhere people show a preference or anywhere data can be collected and then exploited, is an opportunity. Stop talkin' 'bout my security, man."
The room was quiet for a moment. An ambulance passed by and the siren played out until it faded.
Clyde looked down at the binder he brought with him. I'll bet he had a few things listed to talk about but they all seemed irrelevant now.
Chin was lookin' at me with big ass eyes, freaked out that a nigga would have the nerve.
And Doug, he just sat quietly, rubbin' his hands like Birdman, assessin' me carefully in his mind.
Just then, Sean came rushin' to the glass door of our meeting room. He was red as hell in the face and out of breath, holding a stack of fat booklets in one hand and a briefcase in the other. The contract. His timing wasn't it, but when you gave the guy a job, he got that shit done.
Comin' into the room, he rushed out quickly, "Good evening and please, excuse the tardiness. I'm Sean Taylor, Mr. Jackson's manager. Pleasure to meet you all." He went around the room and shook every man's hands as well as handing them each a contract.
"I'm currently passing around Mr. Jackson's contract. It's been drafted by yours truly but edited and revised by an exceptional contract attorney. This contract is what Mr. Jackson calls 'the standard'. Meet it. We won't go lower, so it's a deal or no deal."
He paused before lookin' at Clyde and adding, "Please, do keep in mind, we have a 10 figure written offer from Apple's biggest competitor: Microsoft."
At that point, I think the room got too quiet for Doug. He let out the loudest laugh of the night, before saying, "These two. They've got chutzpa. For sure. I love it." He picked up the contract and started leafing through it as he urged Sean to "please, have a seat". Sean sat to my right, dappin' me up below the table before grinnin' like The Grinch.
The others followed his lead, humming in some areas, frowning at others. There was a short and dry ass laugh from Chin at some point, but I wasn't trippin'. Doug and Clyde were the big shots at the table and in a power grab contest, my money was on Doug, who, for the most part, hasn't been a problem.
Chin was the first to speak, of course. "So, I'll tell you straight up, Michael. This is a load of bullshit. I need to see your company's financial history and, I guess, remind you that many of us at Sony still believe that we can sue you for copyright infringement.We're choosing not to, because, well, like I said, we think you're a reasonable guy. This contract isn't reasonable."
Shit. I slipped Sean a look, praying he had thought to bring what Chin was askin' for, cuz I didn't. And my son came through; pullin' out financial records for Vibesload from his briefcase, along with multiple copyright licenses I had to pay for over the years.
"I've never infringed on copyright laws," I let out slowly. "Have I streamed music before it belonged to Sony or music in the process of belonging to Sony? Yeah, sure. But any lawyer could tell you, as they've told me, that copyright infringement is a hard case to make for that. Sean just passed you our financial records. Make what you want of it."
Chin looked over the multiple papers carefully documenting VibesLoad consistent growth over the years, as well as future projections. He made a few notes, asked a few questions, before handing it over to Clyde who did the same before handing them to Doug.
"Look kid," Doug started, "I like you. I like your buddy. I don't even think $540 million is an issue here. I think, and I think I speak for everyone when I say that, we don't like the royalty proposition. We don't like the request for a seat at the board of any of the three companies, let alone each. We don't like the proposal to license out VibesLoad algorithm for a limited time, just so you can go and license it to someone else. Why don't we just give you the 540 mill, maybe a little more, and we take VibesLoad and do whatever you wanted to do with it for you. It's not a bad retirement package for you. You'll be richer than all the people you know combined."
He finished and awaited my answer, watching me as I stared at a classy lamp from the corner of the room.
"Nah," I said finally.
"Why not?," Doug asked.
"Yeah, why not?," Clyde chimed.
"Cuz you're wrong Doug. You guys don't like a lot of things about the contract, things worth less than $540 million right now. No, you just don't like that I'm smart. I didn't come here to name a price and disappear with $540 million dollars, which, after federal, state, and local tax is what? 170 something million? Man c'mon. Microsoft wants to pay more, but I have yet to sit with them. Connections, power, and respect. That's what I want."
"We all worked for a seat on the board. How long do you think it took me to work up the ranks? I didn't just waltz into Sony with some tech bullshit and demanded respect. Who the hell do you think you are anyway?," Chin divulged loudly.
"I've spent the last 5 years of my life working on this tech bullshit. Your boss sent your ass here for a reason, Chin."
Clyde quickly chipped in, saying, "Well, I wouldn't call it tech bullshit per se. I think it's a pretty practical way to not only collect data, but to use and apply it consistently. It's not exactly new, but certainly perfected in a way I have yet to see."
He paused before removing his glasses to look me straight in the eyes and say, "I think a board seat is a bit of a reach but, I'd vouch for a Vice President position for you in either a completely new music division, with a 2% perpetual royalty rate, or a Vice President position in my own division, with a 5% royalty rate. Rolling out the new division means a budget, so that's why the royalty rate goes down. We also want licensing rights on the algorithm for a year, to try out. If you fail to meet projected numbers, we kick you out. You'll still get your 180 mill, as a flat rate of sorts. That is the only deal Apple is ready to do at this time."
Doug looked at Clyde curiously and Chin looked at him like he was crazy. Sean nudged me under the table. "That's actually not so bad," he said through his teeth and under his breath.
He was right. It was pretty much what we asked for. Now, we just needed Chin and Doug to make a choice: in or out.
Doug rubbed his eyes a bit before looking back down at the contract and scribbling a few numbers down on a notepad.
"Look," he said, "At UMG, you gotta be in music or in business for a seat at the board. Are you planning on goin' into music?"
"Yeah," I said with indifference.
"Okay. Here's what we're gonna do. You get the board seat if you become a record producer, engineer, or film producer. You get the option to move up as an executive if you deliver, which means you could run the company one day if you wanted to. The licensing period on the algorithm has to be at least 5 years, with the option to buy more time. We're not askin' for exclusive rights, but we'd like to be notified when and if you license out your algorithm to anyone else."
He stopped for water, before adding, "As for royalties, you'll get your licensing fee of 180 million, as well as a 22.5% royalty, tax-free. Here's the catch: If Chin over there makes you a deal, you're caught between two of the biggest music companies in the world. Either you release music with us or with them. If you go with Sony, all and any communication will need to be transparent, and this will be made sure of on legal terms. Frankly, we don't wanna roll out your music because we have a full roster and you might suck, but we don't want any conspiracies either."
I stared at him a moment before saying, "That depends on what Michael has to say."
We all stared expectantly at Chin. He had to do the deal. As much as he may not like me, he wanted chief executive a lot more.
Reluctantly, he concised, "We'll match UGM's deal. You'll have to roll out any and all music with us through a music contract, unless you plan on being a producer/engineer. Then, we'll just do your distribution. Music royalties, publishing rights and copyrights can be discussed at a later time than now. I'm sure you'll be greedy there, too."
"So we all have a deal?," Doug said. "We all pay our respective $180 million, all offered positions in-company, along with our terms and agreements."
I paused a while, runnin' a few numbers through my head, before saying, "We have a deal."
"Mazel," Doug exclaimed aloud, clappin' his hands and laughin'.
We all shook hands and congratulated one another. A 1973 Dom Perignon P3 Champagne Brut was popped and shared among us, in honor of a new and unexpected union.
Sean, who had been jotting down everything that was being said, put down his flute glass and quickly collected all the contracts he'd passed around. Ripping them up, he said, "These are currently null and void. I've recorded this meeting onto this notepad here and on tape. Anyone in opposition, say 'nay'."
When no one answered him, he nodded and said, "All right then. I'll have the new contract as per agreed upon terms faxed to each of you tomorrow morning at 10. Have them signed soon, please and thank you. Y'all have a wonderful evening."
And with that, he signaled me to get ready to leave. I finished my glass and nodded a goodbye to my new business partners before making my way out through the glass door.
***
Once downstairs and out the building, into our brick ass city, Sean dropped the professional act and went crazy.
"You fuckin' got it man! What the fuck! What the fuck! Yoooo!," he yelled out mad loud, shaking my shoulder and huggin' the shit out of me.
"I knew you would, cuz you're the fuckin' man, but that shit was solid. Dude, they were all over your shit man. Your shit was crack to the Oprah in them. Solid, bro," he continued, puffing into his bare hands.
"Yeah, yeah, you was solid too, bro. Late as fuck, but you got in there and played yo role well. 'Preciate it," I told him.
And it was true. Sean gave me a bit of credibility in there, bringin' in a serious contract and VibesLoad financial records, something I'd completely forgot. With a white guy on my side, I was fuckin' unstoppable. And now I had 3.
"Word? So, am I gettin' the 20% for real?," he asked me, alluding to the promise I'd made him when I first hired him outta NYU: 20% of Vibesload if he helped me secure a 9 figure licensing deal for the algorithm.
"Yeah, bro," I told him. "Get the paperwork ready and welcome to Vibesload, partner."
"That's what I'm talkin' about," he yelled out, punching my arm.
We walked and talked about Chin for a bit, agreeing that he was gonna cause future trouble so we'd keep an eye on him. A muthafucka like him was gonna sabotage me in the long run, but not unless I stayed ahead.
"Today was an all around good day," Sean let out easily.
"Yeah, you stay comin' late to joints but havin' good days and shit," I said, side eyin' him.
"Bro, I drafted my first fucking contract today. In 4 hours. Then it took an hour for some lawyer to revise and edit that shit. I got so lucky at the library, seriously."
"You found the lawyer at the library?"
"Yeah, man. I was like, 'Yo, who's a lawyer and can write a contract in an hour?' in the middle of the fuckin' room. One of 'em got up and did it for a hundred bucks, straight up, y'know?"
"Oh, nah dass crazy," I laughed a little. One thing about Sean, he stayed solving problems. He was a problem solver. Simple.
"And you know what? I woulda taken a lot longer just finding some guidance if it weren't for this chick. When I tell you God loves me... man," he said shakin' his head and runnin' his hands through his hair.
"She was bad?," I asked him.
"Yo, bad is like, a 5 for her. She was off the fuckin' charts, man. Pretty as hell. Hair for days. She's workin' as the librarian and I'm like, 'yo, you work here?' and she said somethin' sarcastic, so I was like 'ha ha' but I ask her for help anyways. So, she comes out from behind the counter and-," he paused, puffin' into his hands again. For a white dude, he sure got cold in the wintertime.
"I was like, marry me please. She had the jatty. Just there, sittin' pretty on her back, big as hell. You know those round heart shaped ones? Not the Beyoncé bubble butt, the Scarlett Johansson meets J. Lo meets Ashanti kind. More Ashanti, though, than anything else."
I stopped and stood still a moment in the cold, before asking him, "Was she Black?"
"Yup."
"Man, you stay tryna get wit any bitch that ain't white. What's wrong witchu'?," I chuckled out loud.
He loved him a Black or Mexican or Asian chick over a white girl anyday. He liked them too, but a big butt and a pretty face was a must in his book. Scratch that, our book.
"Hey, I like what I like. Anyways, I got this date with her on Saturday, so we're good on this side."
"Ain't you with that Giselle girl?," I said, distinctly recalling that he had a broad.
"Giselle's just a kill these days. I hit here and there. Relationship-wise, she's just too fuckin' crazy."
"Is she crazy cuz you trippin' or..?"
"Nah man, it's her. I was sleepin', mindin' my business, and this bitch calls me at 4 a.m. 4 a.m. Who the fuck does that? She was like, 'I know you're wit that ghetto bitch from the Bronx, fuckface. Or maybe you're with the gringa from the Upper East Side?' Like, what? She's out her damn mind, all paranoid and shit."
Shakin' my head, laughing, I said, "I swear to God, you out here white as hell but Kryptonite to all these chicks who ain't."
"Man, fuck it. Maybe so, but you've got breesh. You, my man, got the deal today," he said, laughing.
All I could say was 'deadass', before thinkin' about the many plans to come. Ion know 'bout no atheists, but lately, God's been good to me.
***