and me.
Neither of those records could have happened without "I Want You Back." We were adding and subtracting ideas in
the arrangements from that one mother lode of a song, but the public seemed to want everything we were doing. We
later made two more records in the vein, "Mama's Pearl" and "Sugar Daddy," which reminded me of my own schoolyard days: "While I'm giving you the candy, he's getting all your love!" We added one new wrinkle when
Jermaine and I sang harmony together, which always got an enthusiastic response when we did it from the same
mike on stage.
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The pros have told us that no group had a better start than we did. Ever. "I'll Be There" was our real breakthrough song; it was the one that said, "We're here to stay." It was number one for five weeks, which is very unusual. That's a long time for a song and the song was one of my favorites of all the songs we've ever done. How I loved the words:
"You and I must make a pact, we must bring salvation back . . ." Willie Hutch and Berry Gordy didn't seem like
people who'd write like that. They were always kidding around with us when we weren't in the studio. But that song
grabbed me from the moment I heard the demo. I didn't even know what a harpsichord was until that record's
opening notes were played for us. The song was produced thanks to the genius of Hal Davis, assisted by Suzy Ikeda,
my other half who stood next to me song after song, making sure I put the right emotion and feeling and heart into
the composition. It was a serious song, but we threw in a fun part when I sang "Just look over your shoulder, honey!"
Without the honey, that's right out of the Four Tops' great song "Reach Out, I'll Be There." So we were feeling more and more like a part of Motown's history as well as its future.
Originally the plan was for me to sing all the bouncy stuff and Jermaine to do the ballads. But though Jermaine's
voice at seventeen was more mature, ballads were more my love, if not really my style - yet. That was our fourth
straight number one as a group, and a lot of people liked Jermaine's song "I Found That Girl," the B-side of "The Love You Save," just as much as the hits.
We worked those songs into one big medley, with plenty of room for dancing, and we went back to that medley when
we performed on all kinds of TV shows. For instance, we played on "The Ed Sullivan Show" three different times.
Motown always told us what to say in interviews back then, but Mr. Sullivan was one of the people who drew us out
and made us feel comfortable. Looking back, I wouldn't say Motown was putting us in any kind of straitjacket or
turning us into robots, even though I wouldn't have done it that way myself; and if I had children, I wouldn't tell them
what to say. The Motown people were doing something with us that hadn't been done before, and who was to say
what was the right way to handle that sort of stuff?
Reporters would ask us all kinds of questions, and the Motown people would be standing by to help us out or
monitor the questions if need be. We wouldn't have dreamed of trying anything that would embarrass them. I guess
they were worried about the possibility of our sounding militant the way people were often doing in those days.
Maybe they were worried after they gave us those Afros that they had created little Frankensteins. Once a reporter
asked a Black Power question and the Motown person told him we didn't think about that stuff because we were a
"commercial product." It sounded weird, but we winked and gave the power salute when we left, which seemed to
thrill the guy.
We even had a reunion with don Cornelius on his "Soul Train" show. He had been a local disc jockey during our
Chicago days, so we all knew one another from that time. We enjoyed watching his show and picked up ideas from
those dancers who were from our part of the country.
The crazy days of the big Jackson 5 tours began right after the successes we had with our records. It started with a
big arena tour in the fall of 1970; we played huge halls like Madison Square Garden and the Los Angeles Forum.
When "Never Can Say Goodbye" was a big hit in 1971, we played forty-five cities that summer, followed by fifty
more cities later that year.
I recall most of that time as a period of extreme closeness with my brothers. We have always been a very loyal and
affectionate group. We clowned around, goofed off a lot together, and played outrageous pranks on each other and
the people who worked with us. We never got too rowdy - no TV's sailed out of our hotel windows, but a lot of water
was spilled on various heads. We were mostly trying to conquer the boredom we felt from being so long on the road.
When you're bored on tour, you tend to do anything to cheer yourself up. Here we were, cramped up in these hotel
rooms, unable to go anywhere because of the mobs of screaming girls outside, and we wanted to have some fun. I
wish we could have captured some of the stuff we did on film, especially some of the wild pranks. We'd all wait until
our security manager, Bill Bray, was asleep. Then we'd stage insane fast-walk races in the hallways, pillow fights,
tag-team wrestling matches, shaving cream wars, you name it. We were nuts. We'd drop balloons and paper bags full
of water off hotel balconies and watch them explode. Then we'd die laughing. We threw stuff at each other and spent
hours on the phone making fake calls and ordering immense room service meals that were delivered to the rooms of
strangers. Anyone who walked into one of our bedrooms had a ninety percent chance of being drenched by a bucket
of water propped over the doors.
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When we'd arrive in a new city, we'd try to do all the sightseeing we could. We traveled with a wonderful tutor, Rose
Fine, who taught us a great deal and made sure we did our lessons. It was Rose who instilled in me a love of books
and literature that sustains me today. I read everything I could get my hands on. New cities meant new places to
shop. We loved to shop, especially in bookstores and department stores, but as our fame spread our fans transformed
casual shopping trips into hand-to-hand combat. Being mobbed by near hysterical girls was one of the most terrifying experiences for me in those days. I mean, it was rough . We'd decide to run into some department store to
see what they had, and the fans would find out we were there and would demolish the place, just tear it up. Counters
would get knocked over, glass would break, the cash registers would be toppled. All we had wanted to do was look at
some clothes! When those mob scenes broke out, all the craziness and adulation and notoriety became more than we
could handle. If you haven't witnessed a scene like that, you can't imagine what it's like. Those girls were serious .
They still are. They don't realize they might hurt you because they're acting out of love. They mean well, but I can
testify that it hurts be mobbed. You feel as if you're going to suffocate or be dismembered. There are a thousand
hands grabbing at you. One girl is twisting your wrist this way while another girl is pulling your watch off. They
grab your hair and pull it hard, and it hurts like fire. You fall against things and the scrapes are horrible. I still wear the scars, and I can remember in which city I got each of them. Early on, I learned how to run through crowds of
thrashing girls outside of theaters, hotels, and airports. It's important to remember to shield your eyes with your
hands because girls can forget they have nails during such emotional confrontations. I know the fans mean well and I
love them for their enthusiasm and support, but crowd scenes are scary.
The wildest mob scene I ever witnessed happened the first time we went to England. We were in the air over the