Y'ALL I READ THIS ARTICLE IN THE LATEST ISSUE OF VIBE AND WAS BLOWN AWAY...FIRST OF ALL I ALWAYS THOUGHT THE DEBARGE FAM. WAS HISPANIC...HENCE THE NAMES, CHICO AND EL (EL BY THE WAY IS SHORT FOR ELDRA)...BUT TO MY SURPRISE (AND DON'T SAY I'M THE ONLY ONE) THEY ARE BI-RACIAL (BLACK AND WHITE)...ALSO I DIDN'T KNOW THEIR MOTHER HAD A SONG AND A MYSPACE PAGE...SHE'S IN HER 70'S. THE FATHER WAS ABUSIVE, BOTH SEXUALLY AND PHYSICALLY AND TO BOTH HIS SONS AND DAUGHTERS...THE DEBARGE FAMILY STRUGGLED WITH DRUG ADDICTION, DRUG CONVICTIONS AND SADLY AIDS...THEY HAVE DEALT WITH A LOT, AND MOST RECENTLY IN LOS ANGELES (Aug. 30) - EL WAS ARRESTED FOR AN INVESTIGATION INTO DOMESTIC VIOLENCE. READ THE PARTIAL ARTICLE COURTESY OF VIBE.COM BELOW...
The DeBarge family - El, Marty, Randy, Bunny and James, not to mention Thomas, Bobby, and baby brother Chico - were supposed to be Motown's follow-up to the Jacksons. But after a trail of dazzling '80s hits, behind-the-scenes drama threatened to bring the family down. From dating Latoya and Janet Jackson to allegations of sexual abuse and drug addiction - the DeBarge family has dealt with everything from prison time to AIDS. But even now, their music is still sampled by the likes of Diddy and Polow Da Don, and some of the DeBarges are trying resurrect their careers. Is it too late, though, to pick up the pieces? A story in four parts, from our October 2007 issue. Episode 4 - the conclusion.
Much was expected of Eldra. Like Bobby, El simply had it. Aside from his vocal talents, El was also a keyboardist and producer who seemed destined to run in the same company as Michael Jackson and Prince. But at his core, El was more tortured balladeer than mammoth pop star. "I've seen him get to a special place while performing, and he'd just start crying on stage," says friend/collaborator David "DJ Quik" Blake from his Southern California home. "That's how powerful his music is." Legendary producer Kenneth "Babyface" Edmonds, who did some production work on El's Heart, Mind and Soul, fondly remembers the days when his old group the Deele - which included drummer-turned-Island-Def-Jam-chairman Antonio "L.A." Reid - and DeBarge opened for Luther Vandross. "I was in awe of El back then," says Babyface, "and learned much about songwriting and performance from studying him." El's solo track record is frustratingly short. Motown released his self-titled solo debut in 1986, featuring the lighthearted pop hit "Who's Johnny." A second solo album Gemini, was dropped (to moderate fanfare) in 1989. In 1992, he laced Quincy Jones' majestic "The Secret Garden (Sweet Seduction Suite)." El's first post-Motown disc, In the Storm (Warner Brothers, 1992), featured underrated collaborations with Earth, Wind & Fire leader Maurice White, a duet with Chante Moore ("You Know What I Like") and a chilling remake of Marvin Gaye's "After the Dance" with Fourplay. And while that stellar track was a hit on urban radio, the disc was a commercial disappointment. In 1995, Warner Bros. dropped El from the label. With the exception of supplying keyboards and background vocals on Chico's strong post-prison disc, Long Time No See (1997), and DJ Quik's 1999 Rhythm-Al-Ism, El hasn't recorded anything for public consumption in more than a decade. So, what happened? "Drugs happened," blurts Etterlene. "It's painful to talk about, but when El got into drugs, it just paralyzed him." The drug abuse masked deeper scars. "El was lonely without his brother [Bobby]," his mother continues. "He just couldn't deal with all the people in the music industry. He couldn't deal with their fakeness and people ripping him off. Motown had taken all his publishing, and they're still making money from those songs." His own financial needs were just the tip of the iceberg. According to Bunny, El sired as many as 10 children, starting from the time he was 14. He could do little more than to put all this stress into his music, but then one day the music stopped. "Is this going to be a cover story?" El asked in measured tones the one time VIBE spoke to him for this article, in April 2007. The most accessible DeBarge brother, Chico, who was recording new material in a Times Square studio, had gotten him to the phone, if only for a minute. "Not my decision," this writer replied. "Well, call me on Monday," El said. "We can talk then." After weeks of repeated phone calls that seemed to be ringing inside a black hole, it was obvious that El had no intention of talking to anyone. But there may yet be another chapter to El's story. The reclusive soul man has recently been spending time in a California recording studio with Babyface. Williams holds out hope for El's redemption, but a full-length interview is another matter. "Most of the time I can't even get a hold of him," says Williams, CEO of Switch Entertainment, who is also acting as El's manager. "But the voice is still there. El still has that gift."
Along with older brothers Bobby and El, the suffering "soul man" strain can still be heard in Chico's music as well. While Switch, DeBarge, and El may enjoy top billing in the DeBarge family's musical hierarchy, Chico's Long Time No See is a conceptual gem that recalls Marvin Gaye's 1978 Here, My Dear (Motown). When he signed to Kedar Entertainment, home of songbird Erykah Badu, Chico wasn't aware that he was creating such a memorable project. "Coming out of prison," he says, sipping a Grey Goose and cranberry in a Brooklyn restaurant, "my goal was to make music that would get me to the other side of the pain."
After the release of Chico's 1999 follow-up album, The Game, he and Massenberg parted company. "We both have very strong opinions," says Massenberg. "His ideas for The Game were corny; Chico wanted to be more bling and mainstream. We did manage to make one classic album, but sometimes Chico can be his own worst enemy." It's 2 a.m. one Saturday in Times Square, and perfectionist Chico has spent the night working at Quad Recording Studios. Dressed in a fly sweatsuit and sneakers, he's just finished recording a new track called "Make You Feel Good" featuring rappers Jim Jones and Young Nic, which he plans to release on his own Innovator label as part of his new album, Lessons. The heartbreak in Bobby, El, and Chico's music may have many sources, but part of it stems from having to always prove themselves worthy. The Jacksons are constantly namechecked as the first family of R&B. But when it comes time to define the canon, the artistry and rich contributions of the DeBarge family has been unfairly kicked to the curb. Slightly buzzed from a vodka cocktail, Chico glances out of the studio window and watches a taxi zoom down Broadway. "You know what us being in the studio tonight means?" he asks of no one in particular. "It means that the DeBarge story is not over. What my brothers and sister gave me was a beautiful musical legacy that has already been written in stone," he says. "Honestly, nobody can change that history." And that's a story, no matter how painful, that Chico intends to carry on. But his mother takes a very different view of this latest DeBarge comeback attempt. "If I had to do it again, I would never allow my kids to be in the music industry," says a somber Mama DeBarge, who recently put a bunch of Chico's keyboards and recording equipment up for sale on eBay. "There are a lot of snakes out there," she observes. "And they bite real hard."
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