Read Online After the Dance: My Life With Marvin Gaye by Jan Gaye - Free Book Online

old-school Motown—Berry Gordy and Hal Davis were the producers. Marvin made two demands—that he receive producer royalties and that his name appear before Diana’s. Both were summarily rejected. His job was to simply come to the studio and sing. Ultimately that’s what he did. To his ears, the results sounded dated—a sixties-style record out of step with the seventies, and sales of Diana and Marvin would be less than spectacular. Marvin would never do another album like it again.
    He told me how the incident further fueled the tension between him and Anna. It was Anna and Berry who had connected Marvin with the William Morris Agency in the hopes of landing film roles. He was cast in two small films— The Ballad of Andy Crocker and Chrome and Hot Leather —but the parts were insubstantial and led to nothing bigger.
    Now I could understand why Marvin saw his connection to Anna—and, in turn, her connection to Berry—as an impediment to his freedom.
    “This Bentley is Anna’s car, not mine,” Marvin told me during the drive. “She loans it to me to remind me of her elegance and her power.”
    I felt a knot of fear forming in my stomach. As Marvin drove in the direction of the studio, I stayed silent.
    “What’s wrong?” he finally asked.
    “You’ve never picked me up in this car before. I’m just not comfortable being driven around in Anna’s car.”
    “Why?”
    I was afraid of displeasing Marvin, but at the same time, I needed to speak my mind.
    “It’s strange,” I said. “And also a little creepy. What’s the point of picking me up in a car that belongs to your wife? What are you trying to say? What are you trying to prove?”
    Marvin offered only the slightest of smiles.
    For the first time I saw how he derived some perverse pleasure in creating discomfort, for himself as well as for others.
    The relief was always the music.
    When we finally arrived at the Motown studio in West Hollywood, it was Marvin’s music that softened my discomfort. In Marvin’s world, his music made everyone and everything all right. His music consisted of many voices. Overdubbing those voices—stacking the vocals—was a technique he mastered while recording What’s Going On . He called it a spiritual exercise in harmony. Each of these voices was unique—a sweet falsetto, a tender midrange, a sexual growl, a bottommost plea. Each emanated from his heart, yet each represented a different part of his one-of-a-kind musical mind. Each contained pain. Each contained hope. If he could blend these different voices with such ease and grace in his music, surely he could blend the differences in his own personality.
    “You look happy,” Ed Townsend told me when Marvin had left the studio to take a phone call in the office. “I see he’s in a good place. I hope he stays there.”
    “He will,” I said.
    “You’re doing a good job of making him happy.”
    “Thanks a lot, Dad ,” I said with heavy sarcasm. “Anything to keep him satisfied.”
    “Some people can’t handle happiness, so they find a way to fuck it up.”
    “Maybe he just hasn’t found the right person to make him happy,” I said.
    “Maybe you’re right, baby. I hope so. If anyone can keep him satisfied, I know it’s you.”
    I thought about that word, satisfied . It came up in the title of the song that Marvin was tweaking that day: “Just to Keep You Satisfied,” the final cut on the album Let’s Get It On . As beautiful as it was, the song didn’t feel like it belonged on the record. It pointed to another story, another time, and another character.
    “Just to Keep You Satisfied” was about Marvin and Anna. The lyrics were explicit: Anna was his wife; she represented his hopes and dreams; he endured her jealousy even as he cherished their lovemaking; his deepest desire was to satisfy her; but it wasn’t meant to be. Mental strain tore them apart. Differences could not be reconciled. They tried over and over again, but it was too late. Much