Spinnin' Out of Control

PAST IS PROLOGUE

April 10, 2023, Early AM: There I was, sat up in my bed staring at my phone screen with a potent brew of anger, confusion, and disbelief roiling within me. Not even a year into my tenure as The Spinners first-ever in-house publicist, branding strategist, and social media manager, I’d grown accustomed to such slights. While I was not shocked to see the headline on a popular classic soul music news site — “Henry Fambrough, the last original member of The Spinners, retires” — I was perturbed.

As the group’s publicist, I felt blindsided and professionally disrespected. I had nothing to do with this sudden, uncontemplated announcement of Mr. Fambrough’s retirement. The headline, which Chris Rizik later changed at my behest, read like a death announcement; potentially creating a jump-scare for fans. I asked myself: when did we ever discuss Henry’s official retirement, much less have a conversation agreeing to give that exclusive news to a niche music blog, albeit an esteemed one, to make such an announcement?

A little over two months earlier on February 1, the Spinners had been announced as one of the nominees for induction into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. The good news thrust The Spinners back into the forefront of the pop cultural zeitgeist in a meaningful way and marked the commencement of my first ever For Your Consideration campaign as a music publicist. As the professional tasked with cultivating the group’s public image, the significance of precise execution under this newfound spotlight was not lost on me. My beloved mother succumbed to cancer later that afternoon— this FYC campaign was primed to be my distraction from otherwise crippling grief for the next several months. I welcomed the challenge!

I’d floated the idea to Heather Fambrough Williams — Henry’s daughter and majordomo of Spinners Performing Arts, L.L.C. (SPA) — and Toby Ludwig (the group’s current manager) about potentially making the formal announcement of Henry’s retirement and passing of the torch to its current members at the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony should the group be so lucky as to finally join the ranks of peers like the Temptations, Four Tops, and Aretha Franklin on the fourth try. However, we weren’t quite ready to have a fulsome discussion about the possibility just yet — Class of 2023 Inductees wouldn’t be announced until May 3.

We were squandering what could have been a retirement announcement imbued with the grandeur and spectacle befitting the last living original member of one of classic soul’s quintessential vocal groups. This haphazard announcement felt anathema to the enthusiasm with which Heather initially received my vision for a retirement announcement taking place at the RRHOF induction ceremony that fall. I had not yet come to realize that her word was about as reliable and consistent as a gust of wind in Death Valley — more on that later. Even though her flightiness didn’t make for great business leadership, I’d learned to take it in stride and navigate around it enough that it didn’t pose an impediment to my workflow. Nevertheless, it was par for the course at this point — just eight months into a three-year tenure — for me to be left out of important conversations.

I sipped my coffee as I pondered how best to handle this latest unforced error. I presumed that a decision had been made to announce Henry’s retirement in this manner without my involvement? My first instinct was to close ranks and own the story — clearly somebody from The Spinners camp authorized this announcement. I didn’t want this organization to appear disjointed, especially not regarding such consequential news — remember, precise execution under the spotlight at all times, Jackson! Even though the interview constituted a blatant disregard for my role, public relations best practices led me to swallow my indignation and draft a companion social media post lauding the announcement. My phone was illuminated as text messages and DMs started to roll in from classic soul and Motown aficionados, superfans, and insiders: Is this you? Is this real? Soultracks?! the Spinners are up for the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame and you couldn’t find a higher profile publication to make the announcement? Ouchies. That last one stung.

I published a screenshot of the Soultracks article announcing Henry’s retirement on the Spinners official Instagram page that morning (I quietly deleted it from the Spinners Instagram feed a few days later). The like and comment count seemed to jump exponentially every ten minutes — Chris Rizik would later inform me that Soultracks servers nearly crashed from so many people accessing the Henry retirement announcement — the silver lining in a chaotic cloud. The day came and went without word from Heather. That didn’t shock me either. When it came to the fine points of conducting business, Heather was equal parts laissez-faire in her approach and limited in her acumen.

I awakened at my usual early-bird time to find text messages from Heather — sent to me and Toby at 3:44 AM Pacific the following morning — a link to the offending Soultracks article (link here, accessed January 18, 2025: ) and a message expressing her anger about the article. As she explained:

“This guy [Chris Rizik, owner of Soultracks] called Paul Mathis. Paul didn’t call me or Toby, he called my mother and my mother handed the phone to my father. That is how this interview happened. This is a major announcement that we should have owned. So I was further disappointed to see the Soul Tracks article on the Spinners IG page….”

And yes, you read that right. That bolded portion of the quote is in fact Heather subtly dressing me down for my attempt to — checks notes — own the major announcement after this latest crisis proximately caused by her lackadaisical stewardship of The Spinners’ legacy. When I discussed this matter with Henry’s wife in the days following the Soultracks retirement announcement, she confirmed that Paul asked her to put Henry on the phone because a “friend” of his wanted to speak to him. Never did Paul mention to his cousins that this “friend” was a journalist. I shuddered. This Paul character was clearly not above robbing his elderly cousin of his autonomy by bamboozling him into a “drive-by” exclusive interview. Mr. Fambrough, believing he was having an off-the-cuff conversation with his cousin’s friend, spoke candidly to Chris Rizik, sharing that he was in fact leaving the concert stage for good. I recognized Paul’s exploitative interloping as a violation of his fiduciary duty as The Spinners legal counsel, not to mention pisspoor behavior toward a cousin, to put it crudely.

ENTER PAUL MATHIS

Paul Mathis was a troublesome figure in the Spinners’ universe — Henry’s officious and prickly younger cousin, the group’s in-house counsel, as well as the group’s most recent manager prior to Ludwig assuming the role in late 2022. Prior to my own interactions with him, I had been warned by Heather and her mother that since I joined the organization, he had a strange fixation about me. Mr. Mathis was nowhere on my radar, other than the four words that came to mind upon learning of the many hats he wore within The Spinners’ organization: flagrant conflict of interest.

My first substantive contact with Paul came on March 11, when word leaked in Detroit of my plan to reconnect The Spinners with its Motown legacy at a special event scheduled to take place at the Motown Museum in May as part of its annual Founders Day event. Paul had reached out to Toby and his underling Will Whitney to find out more about this Spinners Motown event he’d caught wind of in the Detroit streets. This was a project fully under my aegis, so Will directed him to me. I responded to the three gentlemen — Toby, Will, and Paul — with a tersely worded facts-only email response:

Good morning, all: Details to come within the next two weeks. Artifact donation ceremony co-produced by me and the Motown Museum. Event likely to be invite only (Motown alumni associated with the Spinners, Detroit luminaries, families, Etc.) with about 50-100 tickets for the public. Heavy media coverage.

TLJ

Eleven days later, on March 22, Paul reached out to me again via email, declaring that he’d like to help me with the event. I politely declined, advising him that I and my team had the end-to-end production covered, but he would most certainly be on the guest list as Henry’s cousin and SPA counsel. Undaunted, Paul continued with his unwelcome attempts to insinuate himself into this Motown Museum collaboration. At first he started with offers to help (Do you have the heir addresses and contact information. [sic]) and sharing highlights from his resume (“I lived there. I served as outside counsel for the city. I did the development of Virginia Park…. Your call of course, to use or take a pass.”). I kindly but firmly let him know that all necessary information was in my possession and his engagement was not required; but if he had any names that I should consider for the guest list, he could forward them to me. He made a spectacle of being cooperative with his last email that day, reassuring me that he’ll “be guided by my decisions.”

I was not reassured, and I’d soon realize why. The following weekend, I received a call from one of the group’s members stating that Mr. Mathis had reached out to them sharing details of the Motown event (he was never privy to the planning of this event), including the fact that Henry would be in attendance. It was a detail that I wanted to come as a surprise to the principal members, to create a poignant moment of reunion between the newly retired “Chief” and the young men with whom he’d most recently shared the stage. In light of Paul’s unsolicited discussions with the group members, I reached out to him once more on March 24 asking that he stand down and allow me to convey all necessary information to all parties regarding the Motown event. I informed him that when I am in event production mode, I prefer not to communicate any information until it has been finalized. Mr. Mathis responded by telling me how to do my job, making a veiled threat, belittling the significance of Motown to the Spinners’ legacy, and calling himself giving me a lesson in soul music history in a message replete with irregularly deployed commas and other syntactical quirks. He was clearly afflicted with a sudden onset of amnesia that caused him to forget how eager he had been to involve himself as soon as he heard that such an epic collaboration with the Motown Museum was in the offing.

I liken the preproduction phase of any major live event to the takeoff phase of flight — it’s a time when we want to rapidly ascend to cruising altitude, and yet there is very little margin of error. I wasn’t used to conducting this critical phase with a bull lying in wait to stampede all over the proverbial china shop.

After receiving this asinine email from Paul, I reached out to Heather for advice on how to handle this delicate matter. Her words of advice were unambiguous in her March 25, 3:44 AM email to me: Throw civility out the window! Tell him to back off! This has nothing to do with family…. You know how to handle a bully. She sent me multiple emails in rapid succession; I was pleased to see that she recognized the deleterious nature of Paul’s harassment. Her words would prove ironically prescient, especially considering that her advice is what led me to write this post. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

The Motown event imbroglio, along with his little cousin’s frank assessment, gave me the appropriate lens through which to understand Paul’s motivation. He was the younger cousin who looked up to his famous, cool older cousin. He finagled his way into serving as The Spinners’ in-house counsel, despite the glaring conflict of interest. To wit, Bobbie Smith, the group’s longest-serving lead singer and original member passed on March 16, 2013. Ten months later, on January 14, 2014, The Spinners Performing Arts L.L.C. was registered in Michigan, wholly owned by the Fambrough family to the exclusion of any of the other “Core Four” Spinners (Fambrough, Smith, Billy Henderson, and Pervis Jackson) or their heirs. It became clear to me that Paul viewed the Spinners as belonging to him as much as, if not more than, the men who founded the group and/or performed alongside his cousin. He viewed his position with the Spinners as a source of his own aggrandizement, and he was going to guard it like Gollum with the One Ring. Through that distorted lens, I could see how Paul viewed me as an unwanted interlocutor stealing his thunder, provoking the constant attacks from him to which I’d be subjected for the rest of my tenure with the group.

After I stood up for myself, per the advice of his cousin’s daughter, Paul made it his business to antagonize and sabotage me at every turn. For my part, I became more opaque about my PR and Branding initiatives for the group once I realized my work was susceptible to friendly fire from within the organization. I understood his backchannel effort to unilaterally effectuate Henry Fambrough’s retirement announcement as an attack on my authority as the group’s publicist — retribution for my refusal to work with him on the Motown event. It’s as if he was attempting to assert his relevance through his obnoxious behavior — Norma Desmond, if she were a quixotic Black, middle-aged real estate attorney confusing his proximity to the fast-paced excitement of the music industry with his proficiency therein.

If to be forewarned is to be forearmed, I had all the artillery I needed for Paul’s next major plot. It would prove inadequate, for I’d be outnumbered and far outgunned next time.

IT’S A SHAME: THE SMOKING GUN

February 27, 2024: 2023 was a whirlwind year in which I accomplished my pet project of reuniting the Spinners with Motown after a 50-year estrangement and led the successful FYC campaign resulting in the group’s induction into the RRHOF at long last. In the early days of 2024, I was preoccupied with how best to commemorate the 70th anniversary of the Spinners’ founding, piggybacking on the momentum of the banner year the group had just enjoyed. My ambitions for the year were doomed to fall by the wayside that spring.

On February 6 — one day before Mr. Fambrough joined his fellow founding members in eternity — I received a portentous email from Faith Newman, EVP of A&R at Reservoir Media:

Hi Tanisha! Hope you’re well. Are you involved in the release of the new Spinners’ album? I’ve been talking to Paul Mathis and it occurred to me that I should reach out to you as well. Please let me know and thanks so much.

Best,

Faith

I told her I’d known nothing about the album and would need to discuss it with the group’s management team. Days later on February 12, just five days after Mr. Fambrough’s passing, I received a follow-up text from Faith asking for the official Spinners logo in anticipation of this new album she was working on with Paul. Reservoir had acquired the Spinners catalog the previous June, and I’d been keen to explore how best to collaborate with such an esteemed new stakeholder in The Spinners’ legacy to keep it fresh and vibrant for years to come. Without implicating Ms. Newman, who had no reason to know of the improvident nature of Mr. Mathis’ endeavors, I was shocked once more. Mr. Fambrough hadn’t even been buried yet and already his meddlesome cousin was looking to capitalize on his death.

I responded to Faith by letting her know that I wasn’t certain that the group’s manager (Toby Ludwig) was looped in, and that it was my understanding that Paul Mathis was not the appropriate contact for any Spinners business outside of legal matters.

Nevertheless, I found it noteworthy that Paul obviously failed to inform her that Toby was his successor as the group’s manager; raising the distinct possibility that he may have been representing and warranting himself as still inhabiting the position he’d been ousted from a year prior. But I digress. I promptly reached out to Toby’s underling, Will, to ask whether they were aware of an imminent album release. Will articulated that the album in question was one that Toby did not approve for release. He sent me a link that day to listen to the album. I recognized some of the tracks from when Spinners lead singer C.J. Jefferson suggested them as a potential direction for the Sons of Motown (a shelved project involving the musically inclined male offspring of several Temptations) back in 2021. I’ve embedded that exclusive video footage below.

On second listen, my professional critique remained unchanged — the songs fell egregiously short of The Spinners legacy and this project needed to be permanently shelved. I tend to be a purist when it comes to soul music legacies, so the idea of a producer aggressively spray-painting over The Spinners harmonic blend with autotune didn’t jibe with my idea of a superior listening experience. I had plans to connect the group with contemporary soul luminary Durand Jones — I thought he had the stature and retro-soul credibility to produce new music that remained true to The Motown-Philly magic The Spinners became known for over the course of their illustrious career. I reached out to Faith articulating the reservations Toby and I shared about the album’s contemplated release. Only one of us stood firm on this position.

On February 27, I was asked to review a trio of contracts (a fully executed Producer and Company Agreement dated January 10, 2024 between SPA, L.L.C. and Bernard Grobman [“Production Agreement”]; an unexecuted Royalty Agreement draft between the principal members of the Spinners vocal group and SPA, L.L.C. [“Royalty Agreement”], with a contemplated effective date of March 1, 2024; and a fully executed Short Form Exclusive Master Distribution Agreement between SPA, L.L.C. and Reservoir Media Management, Inc., dated January 1, 2024 [“Distribution Agreement”] ) to ensure they were legitimate.

That the Production and Distribution Agreements appeared to be signed by Henry Fambrough on behalf of SPA, L.L.C. in January 2024 raised grave concerns. I’d just seen Mr. Fambrough for what turned out to be the last time on January 10 in Las Vegas for the nuptials of Jessie Peck, the most tenured and arguably the most legacy-driven of the Spinners’ current membership, to his longtime love Regina. While The Chief thoroughly enjoyed himself, he was frequently disoriented that evening. It had just been October, in the weeks leading up to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremony, that Heather and Mrs. Fambrough beseeched me to refrain from booking Mr. Fambrough for any further interviews. His condition had become so severe that he could barely make it through an interview. The same man so afflicted by dementia as to preclude his ability to be interviewed should not have been signing major business contracts! Or so I thought. I became even more alarmed when the contracts revealed Paul to be executive producer of the album he was attempting to rush release in a tasteless bid to capitalize on his cousin’s death.

March 1, 2024: I received another of Heather’s early AM missives, aiming yet again to wield authority where she didn’t have a clue. This time, my peace was disturbed at 4:03 AM, when she asked me succinctly: Did you contact Reservoir about The Spinners new album? The question was jarringly accusatory — as the group’s publicist why would it be verboten for me to reach out to the label about said group’s new album? I apprised her of my email and text exchanges with Faith Newman about the album and forwarded her the email correspondence an hour later. We later spoke by phone, and she advised me to let Toby handle the matter going forward; I was all too happy to oblige. The album would be 86’ed and we could course correct, I figured. This was getting messy.

True to the pattern that I’d clocked, Heather heaped effusive praise on me once she realized that I simply executed my duties with care and consideration yet again, and that she was barking up the wrong tree. The undue scrutiny was beginning to rankle my spirit, particularly since I’d achieved major accomplishments for the group while simultaneously grieving my mother. I suppressed this feeling — but it was difficult to interpret Heather’s pattern of behavior toward me as anything other than her attempting to hide my light under the proverbial bushel.

Fast forward to April 19, 2024 — I noticed several fans and friends of the Spinners sharing what appeared to be an ad on Facebook for a new Spinners album, entitled Full Circle. The album’s cover art looked like a drab, poorly designed funeral program. Yet again, I had no prior knowledge about and nothing to do with this major initiative despite carrying the title of the group’s publicist. Yet again, I was stunned — Toby purported to be against the album’s release, I expressed my well-founded reservations to the label rep, and we (Heather, Toby, and myself) were seemingly of one accord that Paul was not to intervene outside of strictly legal matters. Despite all of that, I was the odd woman out yet again. When Heather conveyed that Toby would handle the album earlier, I assumed she meant he would ensure that it wouldn’t be released. Instead, I came to find that plans were underway for a music video to accompany a contemplated first single from an already ill-advised album. The train had already left the station, and everyone knew of its scheduled departure but me. It was as if I had all aggravation and no authority to accompany the fancy title.

The questionable paperwork underlying the album’s release coupled with my awareness of Toby’s stated misgivings caused me to register shock when I learned that the label was moving forward with Paul’s pet project with the full endorsement and participation of Toby and his underling Will. We’d just had robust conversation at the beginning of the year about how that album did not meet the high bar set by the Spinners’ legendary recordings, and now suddenly I was the lone voice on the outside looking in; the Buzzkill Menace threatening the release of this mediocre album.

In the end, the album was released over my objection. I became committed to ensuring that the video was as excellent as possible (never mind the fact that the terms of my employment with SPA, L.L.C. granted me a right of first refusal to direct any of the group’s music videos as consideration for performing two jobs for one consolidated salary, story for another time). My hope was that the novelty of The Spinners releasing its first-ever video in the group’s 70-year history would eclipse the middling quality of the music. As production manager, I worked closely with the video’s music director, the brilliant Azzie Scott, to ensure that the video was polished, elevated, and gave The Spinners a chance to shine. Stalwart fans of classic soul groups tend to respond with enthusiasm when their favorites have a portion of the spotlight typically reserved for younger acts. My impulse proved correct — fans tempered their negative feedback of the album with the irrepressible excitement of seeing “the guys” on a video, just like the contemporary artists who enjoy the benefit of robust promotional budgets.

The relative success of the video was a Pyrrhic victory for me. I still felt squeamish about the fact that as an organization we were facilitating one man’s exploitation of his cousin for his own selfish goals, to the detriment of The Spinners legacy. A legacy of musical excellence was now tarnished by a half-baked album of songs that even the Backstreet Boys would have passed on.

Yet my colleagues celebrated as though this album carried the same gravitational pull as June 11, 1970: the day that their breakthrough hit, “It’s A Shame,” was released on Motown’s V.I.P. subsidiary. The song’s tale of woe, featuring the group’s last man standing, G.C. Cameron with a pitch-perfect lead vocal, was an all-too-accurate channel of my feelings as I watched a mighty legacy brought low by needless internal conflict curated by one of the group’s resident chaos agents.

This is the first part of an ongoing series. Stay tuned for more… The Oracle Speaks!