RIP CLARENCE AVANT: THE POWER BROKER

The record executive and political activist died today at age 92

CLARENCE AVANT (1931 - 2023)

When I was black music editor at Billboard magazine in the 1980s Clarence Avant was, on paper, just a successful record label owner. His Tabu Records was home base for the SOS Band, Cherrelle and, a personal favorite of mine, Alexander O’Neal. In the early ‘70s he’d operated Sussex Records, which released Bill Withers’ many classic songs. But I could tell there was more to Avant’s role in the biz than just music released on vinyl. It seemed like he was advising every black executive I met in negotiations with their bosses. Quincy Jones mentioned to me during an interview that, “Clarence (Avant) invest my money in off shore oil.” There was an aura of omnipresence about the man’s name, like he was everywhere, but always just slightly out of sight.

When I finally met Avant, he didn’t fit your Hollywood version of a power broker. He wasn’t an erudite, elegant dude with a masters in the latest Harvard Business school jargon and he wasn’t white. In fact, he was the exact opposite. He was a compact, brown skinned man without even a high school degree and a gruff manner, who seemed most skilled in saying “motherfucker” with multiple infections. However, that tough, dismissive exterior camouflaged a deeply sentimental heart and a keen intelligence. One of his favorite sayings suggested a pose of amused cynicism: “Life is all about numbers. You start with a number and you end with a number. What’s love got to do with it?” Yet the large number of people I’d met who considered him a father figure made clear there was love behind his facade.

Over the years bits and pieces of Avant's life had come into focus. But not until I worked as a producer on ‘The Black Godfather,’ a Reggie Hudlin directed Netflix documentary about Avant did I get a more comprehensive, though hardly complete, vision of his life. The list of people who Avant impacted is as impressive as it is immense: athletes (Hank Aaron, Jim Brown), politicians (Andrew Young, Bill Clinton, Barack Obama, Kamala Harris, Tom Bradley) and several generations of music makers (Jimmy Smith, Quincy Jones, Babyface, Jimmy Jam & Terry Lewis, Sean Combs, Snoop Dogg, Ludacris.) Avant, who died today at age 92, started his career with an underworld affiliation and then rose above those connections, creating a system of flavors that allowed him to leverage his influence and empower others. While he became known as “the Godfather of black music,” I see him more specifically as a cross generational power broker. For many Avant, and his late wife Jackie, were prime examples of low key black royalty.

Avant was part of the great African-American migration north, arriving in New Jersey from Climax, North Carolina in the 1950s. Like most southern migrants, Avant had come to escape poverty, racism, and violence. He’d acquired the nickname “Sweet Potato” since that’s all his mother could afford to give her large family for school lunch. A friend’s daughter had been raped by a local thug and the father (quite aware white justice would have been chalked it up to “nigger business”) shot the predator dead and Avant was a witness.

So, his migration was driven as much by necessity as the need for opportunity. Avant, who as a teen worked at an North Carolina juke joint, found employment at Teddys, a Newark nightclub owned by well-known black promoter and talent manager Teddy Powell. Avant was a fast learner, first managing Powell’s club and then, briefly, the crooner Little Willie John. One night at Teddy’s Avant got into an argument with the notoriously sharp-tongued singer Dinah Washington. That Avant held his own impressed her manager, a man named Joe Glaser, who embodied the connection between the underworld and the music business, and would empower this young black man.

Glaser was born in 1897 to a family of Russian Jews who’d settled in Chicago. His father was a physician and Glaser was supposed to follow in his father’s footsteps but, at medical school, kept getting ill in the dissecting room and dropped out. He then shifted his focus from healing the sick to profiting off the gullible. As a fight promoter and manager, young Glaser gained a rep for being expert at fixing fights. With the backing Al Capone’s criminal organization, Glaser operated his boxing business out of an office in Chicago’s Loop.

Though it is not clear how close Glaser actually was to the criminal kingpin, he definitely was viewed as an asset by Capone’s organization. During the 1920s he became involved with a several nightclubs that, like much of the Windy City’s nightlife, Capone had a piece of during Prohibition. He managed the Sunset Grill, a “black and tan club,” (meaning it allowed black and white customers to mix), which had a floor show on the main floor and a brothel upstairs.

It was during a June 1926 engagement at the Sunset Grill that he and Louis Armstrong first connected. Armstrong, who’d been around underworld figures since his days as young musician in New Orleans, found a kindred spirit in Glaser. “I always admired Mr. Glaser from the first day I started working for him,” Armstrong wrote. “He just impressed me different than the other Bosses I’ve worked for. He seemed to understand Colored people so much.” Though Armstrong didn’t sign ask Glaser to manage him then, the trumpeter kept him in mind.

LOUIS ARMSTRONG AND JOE GLASER

Up through Capone’s conviction on tax evasion charges in October 1931 and the end of Prohibition in December 1933, Glaser moved through the changes in entertainment by garnering a portfolio of businesses. Meanwhile, by ’35, Armstrong’s career was in trouble. He had busted lip from playing so many high notes, was harassed by a lawsuit for unpaid “maintenance” from ex-wife Lil Hardin, and had been harassed by mobsters at gun point several uncomfortable times. At thirty-four Armstrong was no longer the hot young phenom from NOLA.  This was the state of Armstrong’s life when he called Glaser and asked him to be his manager.

The business relationship that started between Armstrong and Glaser would go on for thirty-four years. With Glaser having his back Armstrong would become a true international star, one able to land Hollywood movie roles and make TV appearances that eluded other African-American artists and become jazz’s biggest global ambassador. Armstrong’s mastery as a musician, distinctive vocal style, and personal charm made him unique. But it is also true that without a white manager with Glaser’s connections, high and low, it’s unlikely the entertainer would have been as successful in navigating Jim Crow America.

In 1947 Time magazine put Armstrong on its cover. In the accompanying profile Glaser say, “I’m Louis and Louis me. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him.” Less politic but likely more revealing of his character was Glaser’s way of introducing himself to people: “You don’t know me, but you know two things about me. I have a terrible temper and I always keep my word.” After cementing his reputation by breaking Armstrong, Glaser started Associated Booking Corporation in 1940 with Armstrong announced as Glaser’s partner. By the mid-50s ABC was a major force in jazz and blues, with Billie Holiday, Duke Ellington, Jimmy Smith and Lionel Hampton among the many black stars on its roster. (It was not until after Glaser’s death in 1969 that it was revealed mob lawyer Sidney Korshak was the controlling, silent partner in ABC and that Armstrong owned nothing.)

When Avant met Glaser the man was a force in the entertainment business deeply involved with jazz, blues and rhythm & blues. Avant became Glaser’s first major black employee and mentee. The two formed a genuine friendship with Avant regularly accompanying Glaser to Yankee games where the businessman had seats behind the New York dugout. More importantly Glaser taught Avant many lessons about music, business and, most importantly, about power and how to accumulate it. Glaser donated to many politicians and urged the young man to do likewise, teaching him how to leverage money into influence. Though Avant has always described Glaser “as a businessman,” Glaser’s underworld pedigree would allow Avant to move into spaces where other blacks were barred, to know the deals behind the deals, and build alliances across racial lines.

But A journey this singular wasn’t without risk.

In the mid-60s popular R&B DJ Del Shields of WWRL was beaten in New York. Whether the beating was over a record not getting airplay or Shields’ being an outspoken advocate for black control in the music business, Avant believed the assault was ordered by Nat McCalla’s boss Morris Levy. Without consulting Glaser, Avant stormed into Levy’s midtown Manhattan office to raise hell, a bold move both a courageous and dangerous. Reputedly Levy just smiled as Avant cursed at him before having associates (perhaps including McCalla) toss him out. Messing with Levy was not something that happened without serious consequences. That night Avant received an ominous call from Glaser: Meet Levy and myself tomorrow morning at Jack Dempsey’s Times Square restaurant at 9. Be on time.

At the sit-down Glaser ordered Avant to apologize to Levy. He did. Then Glaser told Levy that if anything happened to Avant he would be held responsible. Moreover, Levy was told that whoever beat up Shields should be delivered to Avant. A week later two men arrived at Avant’s apartment — one white, one black. The black man confessed that he roughed up Shields and he apologized to Avant. The end of result of all these apologies was that it got around the industry that Avant was “protected,” a reputation that helped him negotiate a business where strong arm tactics and intimidation were regular obstacles.

It was at Glaser’s suggestion that Avant took on Argentinian pianist/arranger Lalo Schifrin as a client and took him to Los Angeles to seek work composing film scores. Schifrin would go on to compose iconic scores for movies and TV shows throughout the ‘60s and ‘70s (‘Mission Impossible’, ‘Enter the Dragon’.) In the process of securing work for Schifrin, Avant became known as the only black manager with access to decision makers in Hollywood.

When Glaser passed away in ’69 whatever obligations Avant had to him did as well. Avant still knew “businessmen,” but was free to pursue his own path, one informed both what he learned from Glaser and his own vision of black entrepreneurship. By early ‘70s Avant expanded into a dizzying number of areas of endeavors, including purchasing KAGB, an Los Angeles AM radio station.

Avant was a contributor and fund raiser for Tom Bradley’s successful 1973 Los Angeles Mayoral campaign, which put a black man in charge of America’s second largest city.He was the force behind getting artists from soul music’s big three labels (Stax, Atlantic, Motown) to perform at Jesse Jackson’s PUSH Expo in Chicago in 1972, which at the time was unprecedented, particularly since many in the industry were wary of the highly political event. Avant was able to get around the blockages and made the benefit concert happen. (A rarely seen film of this event, ‘Save the Children,’ exists as well as a soundtrack album.) Avant would get NFL football legend Jim Brown get his first acting role in the World War II action movie ‘The Dirty Dozen.’ When Hank Aaron was on his way to breaking Babe Ruth’s major league baseball home run record it was Avant who called him, set up a meeting with Coca Cola, and got the slugger a long running, lucrative endorsement deal.

Probably Avant’s first legendary piece of business activism relates to Soul Train. When Don Cornelius moved Soul Train from Chicago to LA in 1971 Avant became a lifelong advisor to the TV host/producer. “My relationship with Clarence started almost the day I hit Los Angeles to start doing Soul Train,” Cornelius recalled before his death in 2012. American Bandstand’s producer/host Dick Clark started a show, ‘Soul Unlimited,’ to undercut ‘Soul Train’ and offered Avant money to support his new venture (and betray his friend.) “I knew Dick Clark a little bit,” Avant told me in 2013. “One of the ABC execs set up the meeting. Dick Clark wanted my okay. He wanted me to endorse his idea. I freaked out. ‘If you do this there’s no Don Cornelius,’ I told him. We had just gotten free enough to have something on TV. I told Dick Clark no — I would not endorse his show.”

Not only did Avant turn Clark down, but met with Leonard Goldenson, the head of ABC, to stop ‘Soul Unlimited.’ Though Jesse Jackson had called for a black boycott of ABC, it was Avant who got the private sit down to plead his case. Whatever Avant said made an impact and, after only a few episodes in 1973, ‘Soul Unlimited’ was cancelled. ‘Soul Train’ went on to become one of the longest running shows in TV history.

CLARENCE AVANT WITH BILL WITHERS, WHO HAD MOST OF HIS ICONIC HITS ON AVANT’S SUSSEX LABEL.

During this same early ‘70s period Avant launched two ambitious ventures: Sussex Records and LA radio station KAGB. The label, whose name was a combination of “sex” and “success,” enjoyed some huge hits, primarily composed and sung by Avant signee Bill Withers. “Lean On Me,” “Grandma’s Hands,” “Ain’t No Sunshine” and the brilliant “Lean On Me” are among the classics found on Withers’ first two Sussex albums Just As I Am and Still Bill. Along with Withers’ the Sussex roster featured an eclectic collection of white pop acts, singer songwriters, and self-contained bands. My favorite Sussex release was by white Detroit guitarist Dennis Coffey whose double sided single “Scorpio’ b/w “Sad Angel” was on regular rotation on my family’s turntable.

Unfortunately, the purchase of KAGB wasn’t a success. Owning a relatively low powered AM station just as FM was becoming the preferred radio signal for music was bad timing. But the station’s inability to attract major advertising from Madison Avenue agencies was typical of black radio’s historic challenges. To buy the station Avant had borrowed $200,000 from a consortium called Urban National. But those businessmen quickly became disenchanted with Avant, who felt his inexperience in radio ownership was costing them money.

When Urban National ordered Avant to fire his staff he refused. In retaliation they called in his loan. This set off a chain reaction of bad financial news that led to bankruptcy proceedings in 1975. The IRS shuttered KAGB and Sussex, putting Avant in such serious financial jeopardy that he almost lost his home. But Avant’s friendships with others in the record industry saved him. Close friends like Jerry Moss (the M in A&M records) loaned him cash to pay off the IRS. Walter Yentnikoft, president of the CBS Records group, admired Avant and signed his new label, Tabu, to a distribution deal.

This fresh start began the next phrase of Avant’s career, where he evolved from music man to deal making guru. Tabu had already scored a major pop hit with the S.O.S. Band’s “Take Your Time (Do It Right)” when Avant had a meeting with young producer/writers Jimmy ‘Jam’ Harris and Terry Lewis. Prince had just fired the two from the Time for producing acts without his permission. (They missed a flight back from L.A. where they’d producing Solar records’ act Klymmaxx for Dick Griffey.)

Impressed with their producing and songwriting gifts, and feeling they weren’t being propertly represented, Avant advised them to ask for more money, keep ownership of their masters, and look to start their own label. For a time Jam & Lewis were Tabu’s in house producers with Avant serving as their manager. Eventually they opened Flyte Tyme, both a label and studio in Minneapolis, creating iconic hits for Cherelle and Alexander O’Neal before moving into their historic collaboration with Janet Jackson.

Avant’s guidance of Jam & Lewis attracted the attention of Antonio ‘LA’ Reid and Kenny ‘Babyface’ Edmonds, already successful producer/writers, who sought guidance starting their own label. Avant brokered their deal with Arista’s Clive Davis, resulting in the founding of LaFace records, the first major record label based out of Atlanta’s burgeoning black metropolis. Under the LaFace banner the female trio TLC, and the innovative hip hop duo Outkast had massive sales with hooky, innovative fusions of R&B and hip hop.

By the mid-80s Avant was in full black Godfather mode and, as I said earlier, seemed to have either made the deals for every black executive in the industry or, at least, been consulted on their character by white executives who hired them. It’s said that he basically put MCA records in the black music business in the ‘80s via his contacts. It didn’t matter what label it was or whether the executive was black or white, Avant was someone everyone listened to.

What’s most surprising about Avant’s ubiquity is that the man didn’t send a bill for his services. Some people sent him a check for his help. Others sent an expensive gift. But making money off his consultation wasn’t Avant’s only goal. His real currency was flavors. Executives he’d mentored would receive a phone call from Avant, asking them to donate to a candidate or hold a fund raiser for a Mayoral, Congressional, Senate or even Presidential candidate, who were usually black and Democratic (though not always.) In this way Avant created a fund-raising network that supported candidates from Andy Young running for Congress in Georgia in 1972 to Kamala Harris running for Senate in California the ‘00s. From a table at the Four Seasons in Beverly Hills, Avant would greet a stream of visitors for breakfast for tough love, a stream of curse words and advice on how to resolve their issue.

Despite his mainstream access Avant remained connected to the streets by embracing the emerging generation of hip-hop young entrepreneurs. His longtime assistant Tamika Woods would marry Eazy E and Avant sat down and advised the gangsta rap pioneer on a couple of occasions. Avant has often advised Woods on her stewardship of Eazy’s Ruthless catalog. Ludacris and his young managers, Shaka Zulu and Jeff Dixon, relied on Avant’s advice when a huge deal with Pepsi fell apart following an attack on Luda’s lyrics by Fox’s Bill O’Reilly.

Despite having disagreements with Andre Harrell during the rap mogul’s brief mid-90s tenure as Motown’s president, Avant made sure Harrell received a generous settlement package commiserate with that of a white executive when he exited the label. When Snoop Dogg was considering a violent reaction to threats from Suge Knight after leaving Death Row, Avant convinced him retaliation would be fruitless. Because he was open to this new wave of young people in the music business, Avant’s OG status just grew more powerful.

Whether it was an MC trying to escape a hit squad, an R&B singer who needed a stint in rehab or a President of the United States worried about a breaking scandal, Avant was the recipient of countless late night phone calls from the ‘80s until his retirement.

It’s been said that for Avant trouble was a mathematical equation. Who needed help + who or what was the obstacle + who Avant knew who could impact the situation = the solution. He’d draw a graph on a sheet of paper between the person in need of help on one end and their goal at the other. In between them he’d write the names of people who stood between them. He’d then connect the dots. Sometimes the key to the solution wasn’t people he knew intimately, but a person who was two steps removed from him. Years of relationships in multiple spheres of influence helped Avant find solutions others could not.

QUINCY JONES AND CLARENCE AVANT, LONG TIME FRIENDS AND BUSINESS ASSOCIATES.

At the end of ‘The Black Godfather,’ Reggie asked multiple people who would be “the next Clarence Avant.” It was a question some were appalled by. The very idea that Avant wouldn’t be around scared them. Others said simply he was unreplaceable. He has many disciples. Taught many lessons. Yet no single person had the same level of respect and influence.

In this essay I just listed a few stories that I know. But there are legion that have never been told. Even when interviewed for ‘The Black Godfather’ there were things Avant wouldn’t talk about (he apparently played a behind the scenes role in the making of the blaxploitation hit ‘Shaft’) or forgot about (after the doc aired in Netflix I was told he played a role in the founding of the historic Negro Ensemble Company in New York.)

The truth is the current Clarence Avant is probably someone keeping a very low profile, helping people make deals, quietly connecting folks, and mostly staying off social media. If they are truly following ‘The Black Godfather’ playbook, they are making their important moves quietly, away from headlines and today’s “Look at me” excess.