Flying highInspirational singer or depraved swinger? Either way, everyone from the police and prosecutors to a posse of pop stars wants a piece of R Kelly. Hattie Collins travels to Chicago to meet the troubled star
Before I'm allowed access to R Kelly's expansive wood-built Chicago residence, two surly security guards thrust a paper and a Polaroid camera into my face. "Confidentiality form and picture must be taken," they say. No signature, no interview. I've already submitted my questions in advance, none of which can include mention of any legal-related matters, his wife and brother, nor proteges Aaliyah or Sparkle (see 'Double trouble', below).
Given he's currently up on 14 counts of child pornography, perhaps The R reserves the right to be paranoid. According to prosecutors in February 2001, a 26-minute videotape was posted anonymously to a Chicago newspaper, The Sun-Times. The tape is alleged to show a man bearing a very close resemblance to the singer having sex with a girl who prosecutors claim to have been 14 years old at the time. There's fellatio, plentiful use of the word "daddy" and, for the piece de resistance, he allegedly urinates and masturbates on the girl's face. Nice. On June 5 2002, the multi-platinum selling singer/songwriter/producer was arrested on 21 counts of child pornography, since dropped to 14. His defence maintains the video is a fabrication. Kelly has faced claims of underage sex in the past, twice settling out of court. To date, however, Kelly has yet to be bought to trial.
So I sign the six-clause agreement, walk past the outdoor basketball court, the 14-foot fountain and Kelly's 15-odd cars. I don't go in the front door, but am instead led round the back through the basement, where three yapping Yorkshire terriers greet my arrival. Upstairs, things are no less strange; I'm escorted into Robert's Bar & Grill, a Cheers-style replica pub, complete with fully-stocked bar and three flatscreen TVs.
As a Calista Flockhart flick plays on mute and two guys shoot pool, Robert Sylvester Kelly makes a quiet arrival and sits himself at one of the circular tables. Above his head is a signed Michael Jordan jersey and a pair of autographed Joe Frazier gloves. A Star Wars soundtrack plaque is to his left, a fluffy white cat purrs at his feet.
"I do hate to do interviews because you start off so innocent but somehow, when it gets into that paper, it's twisted," sighs the 6'1 singer of his obvious mistrust of the press. "I hear the words that they quote me as saying, but I know that's not my character."
He's referring to the recent derision he endured after talking to American magazine Hip Hop Soul. "I'm the Ali of today. I'm the Marvin Gaye of today. I'm the Bob Marley of today. I'm the Martin Luther King, or all the other greats that came before us," the magazine quotes him as saying. A frown breaks behind his pitch-black sunglasses. "I'm not saying I'm Martin Luther King. I'm still surprised it got taken out of context like that," he says. "I'm inspired by those people, I want to be like them. There's nothing wrong with dreaming."
If anything, he's the Russ Meyer, Sid James and Hugh Hefner of 2007. Nowhere is this more obvious than on his new ludicrously lascivious album, Double Up, his 14th solo record since 1993's 12 Play. Pure porn on wax, no one does lewd, crude and rude like Kells. It seems somewhat foolhardy to sing so openly about carnality, considering the 14 charges hanging overhead. Yet, the album is stuffed full of fantastical stories that sees him comparing sex with space, (he has a rocket ready to enter the black hole, etc) although the finest moment might be "Girl I promise this will be painless/ We'll take a trip to planet Uranus."
Is he, er, taking the piss? "I sometimes feel like people take what I write a little too seriously, but I have a lot of humour in my music," says the father of three. "I want people to laugh, because it's like I'm a musical comedian on some songs. I believe that's why people listen to, and love, R Kelly's work, because there are a lot of goodies in the lyrics."
Regardless of his racy R&B, and after a slight dip in sales around 2002, R Kelly indeed retains lots of fans. The day after we meet, he invites competition winners from a local radio station to a listening party for Double Up. The 90-strong audience, mainly women in their teens and early 20s, are flush with pheromones. "Forget an autograph," screeches one bling-sided fan. "Can I get an assograph up in this piece?"
Last week, reflecting the enthusiastic playback, the album went to No 1 in the Billboard charts, selling 400,000 in the first week. He may have the Feds after him, yet artists including Kid Rock, Ludacris and Snoop all appear on the new album, while half of pop (including Britney Spears and Celine Dion) are currently queuing up for a piece of his production prowess. "I'm working with Mariah and I want to do a track for Stevie Wonder - Stevie, if you're reading this, get at me," he chuckles.
The support of his fans and peers has obviously been important to Kelly throughout the last five years. "He encouraged me to keep going, keep writing the hits," says Rob of tracksuited soul legend Ron Isley who has just arrived in the "bar". "A lot of times, I was down and I didn't want to continue, but he told me, "Don't worry about what they say.'"
The admiration is mutual. "It's wonderful working with him," Isley tells me at the playback the next day. "I enjoy every minute."
Not everyone is letting R Kelly off the hook, though. Chris Rock mocked: "Motherfucker ... that's you, OK? Your damn Soul Train award is next to the bed." Even Kelly seems to enjoy occasionally make light of things. "Soon as she goes to the bathroom, playa I'm a holla at her," he croons on I'm A Flirt.
Since the charges, he's become incredibly prodigious. "I have four songs going at the same time," he says. In the last year he's featured on remixes, mixtapes, produced for numerous artists, prepared Double Up, and written and filmed the Trapped In The Closet series (parts 1-12) and is currently editing Parts 13-30.
"Honestly," he says, before we wrap up . "I feel like I'm in a media minefield, so I just keep my butt in the studio."
Back at the playback, a fan shouts out to him that Chicago has his back. She also wonders how he handles the pressures.
"I talk to God about my problems and the good thing is, he'll keep your secrets," he says. "I need help. Help to overcome adversity, with myself, in life, as a father, as Robert. As my kids grow up, I want them to be proud of me. If I can be in the game like Ron Isley here, then I'm good." And with that, R Kelly and Ron are off - back to the not-so-serious matter of making music.
Double trouble
Legal: Pretty self-explanatory, Kelly has refused to address the trial for years. The closest he's come to talking about it recently is perhaps on Double Up's The Champ. "I've been through hell, lived in the belly of the beast/ I've confessed my sins but still didn't find peace/ But like MJ and 5 I will succeed."
His Wife: In 2005, she accused her husband of hitting her, resulting in an order of protection.
His brother: Carey Kelly released a low-budget DVD stating brother Robert offered him a record deal, a house and $50,000 to take the rap for the charges. He refused and went on to claim that his brother is bisexual, and has molested other young family members.
Sparkle: A former protege of Kelly's, the pair recorded the hit song Be Careful. After the tapes began circulating on the internet, Sparkle told an LA radio station that the underage girl in the sex tape was her niece.
Aaliyah: Another protege - this one he married. She was 15, he was 27, though the marriage certificate claimed Aaliyah was 18. The actress and singer was killed in a plane crash in 2001.
Trapped In The Closet
"I definitely couldn't tell you what's going to happen," says Kelly of parts 13-30 of his twisted soap-on-a-ropera. It's hard to know what else he can mine out of the human condition that he hasn't already touched on in the first half of TITC. Gay pastors, cheating wives, adulterous husbands, jailbird brothers and midget assassins are just some of the characters embroiled in the 35-minute drama. Badly acted and executed, yet utterly gripping, like his charges, this could run and run for years with no sign of conclusion.