Love to Love You, Baby

How "the diva" Donna Summer forever changed my life

Love to Love You, Baby

“There are divas… and then there’s Donna Summer.”

For the last two weeks of June 1999, those words made me an omnipresent figure on VH1.

That comment not only landed me in the promotional commercial for the Donna Summer episode of the network’s then hugely popular series, Behind the Music, wherein I appeared as a journalist to affirm and discuss her impact on pop culture and the music industry. The crazy part of this scenario was that I appeared in the commercial spot before the lady, herself. I still remember my phone ringing after it aired for the first time.

“Ooh, baby, you did it! Good job! You did me and yourself proud, my love. Now don’t be getting all fierce with yourself, okay? I’m still the real diva around here… and don’t you forget it!”

It was Donna. As we shared a playful laugh and a casual chat about the commercial, my inner teenager was shrieking, “OH MY GOSH, IT’S DONNA FUCKING SUMMER! How is this my actual life?”

If the truth be told, I don’t think I ever got fully used to the fact that Donna and I had become good friends over the years. In my mind, she was the untouchably larger-than-life “Queen of Disco,” and I was an awkwardly shy queer kid from the Bronx. The two do not go together in any way. But they somehow did.

I will forever remember the day I first met the great lady. It was March 3, 1993. I was invited to the plush, high-rise offices of PolyGram Records for a cryptic meeting to discuss a “top-secret project from a legendary artist” that would include an opportunity that I would not refuse. I was intrigued, but highly sceptical. I was the dance music editor at Billboard magazine at the time, and it was the height of the iconic, wildly competitive house music era. It was common for label executives to over-inflate the gravitas of a project to get a magazine endorsement, especially if the magazine was Billboard, which was at the peak of its industry power. I initially turned down the meeting. It felt a little too made-for-television silly to be anything of substance. But the invitation came from Bruce Carbone, who was an industry legend, himself. Despite his typically blustery, Italian-boy-makes-good bravado, this felt different. I decided that I had to find out what was going on when I got a rare call at home from Bruce, during which he solemnly said “paisan to paisan, I’m telling you to trust me… and don’t blow this, because it’s fuckin’ BIG. See you tomorrow at 3 sharp.”

When I showed up at the designated time, I was led into a massive conference room with a breathtaking view of Hudson River. The walls, carpet, and window blinds were pristine white, as were the over-stuffed leather chairs that dotted around a dauntingly large, clear glass table. As the assistant left me to wait alone in the room, I quietly stood in a corner, nervously fearing that I would somehow soil or break something. After about 15 seemingly interminable minutes, the door finally opened. In walked Donna, clad in black leather, oversized sunglasses, and piles of lush black curly hair. She swept through the room with big smile and an urgent stride, making a strikingly brilliant visual contrast to our pure white surroundings.

I stood there in stunned silence as she moved toward me, pulled off her shades, and gently said, “We finally meet. I’m Donna.”

One of my notable personality traits that has made me popular with celebrities and their handlers throughout my career is my well-practiced ability to be wholly unphased by fame and celebrity. It’s a proven secret to conducting an honest and intimate interview, as well as building strong long-term relationships. Under the mentoring wisdom of Tim White, my beloved late editor-in-chief at Billboard, I mastered the art of quickly calculating a flexible equation of low-key reverence, easy-going humor, and you’re-just-like-everyone warmth that set me apart from fans. I’ve only failed at maintaining my cool twice in 40 years; once was with Barry Manilow (a good story for another time), and the other time was with Donna Summer. Not even the intentionally intimidating Madonna has ever knocked me off balance. But the Queen of Disco? I was a trembling mess, and she knew it.

“Oh, baby,” she said with a playful, almost motherly smile as she moved closer to me. “Come give the diva a hug.”

I would later learn that frequently referring to herself as “the diva” was her tried and true method of knocking down the wall between her and everyone else. She always said it with a wink and her tongue placed firmly in cheek, gently deflating the intensity with which people behaved around her.

As we hugged, I could feel myself exhale deeply in her arms, which made her laugh. “I had heard from everyone that you were a no-nonsense tough guy,” she said as our hug ended. “But you’re just a big ol’ teddy bear, aren’t you? I love teddy bears.”

From there, we were sailing. The assignment on offer was, indeed, irresistible. I was commissioned to write line notes for The Donna Summer Anthology, a multi-CD/video career retrospective. Even though Donna had already previously been the subject of a half-dozen greatest hits compilations, this one would be different. It featured a handful of previously unreleased tracks, including “Carry On,” her much-heralded reunion with longtime friend and collaborator Giorgio Moroder. Perhaps most important, Donna had agreed to a rare, wide-ranging conversation about her life and music with the journalist of her choice to support the project.

I still do not know how she came to choose me, but she did. It changed my life and career forever.

Nothing was off-limits, most notably her alleged controversial comments about queer people during a 1983 concert in Atlantic City. “It was Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve,” Donna allegedly said. The Advocate further reported that she said, "I have seen the evils of homosexuality. AIDS is the result of your sins.”

On the day of our conversation, I looked her in the eye and implored her to please tell me the truth… even if that meant going off-the-record, just between us. I promised that I would not judge her, nor would I hold contempt toward her if the reports were true. “We all deserve forgiveness in life, and we do better when we know better,” I told her. But I needed to know, if only for myself.

After a long pause, her eyes filled with tears, as she held my hand. “I didn’t,” she said quietly but firmly. “I promise. I will admit to not being well informed about HIV and AIDS back then. But, no, I didn’t say it. I cannot be with God and live in judgement of others – especially when my own life has not always been exemplary. I have made so many mistakes, and I have seen saved and forgiven because I have admitted them. The only way forward with your life is to live in full honesty and transparency. I hope you believe me.”

I did. In that moment, it wasn’t about basking in the gaze of a famous person. For those minutes, she didn’t look like a celebrity to me. She looked like someone who was in despair over the belief of others that she might willingly hurt a legion of people who adored her. My gut has rarely led me astray, and my gut told me that I could and should believe Donna. So, I did.

There, of course, was still the origin of those reports to address. In the pre-smartphone world, there will never be indisputable proof of other side’s claim. It’s hard to fathom how a light-hearted show of disco tunes would include a diatribe about the evils of gay sex, even if it is certainly possible. It’s equally plausible that a community of men who have historically had, at best, a fraught and aggrieved relationship with Christianity would feel betrayed by one of their beloved stars suddenly announcing that she has been born-again – thus leading to all kind of innuendo and fictional scenarios.

I’ve wrestled with the question of what really happened that night, and I have landed at the same place each time. I believe Donna. Not just based on her impassioned words to me, but also based on her actions. Donna never recoiled or retreated from the queer community, as did several disco era artists once they either embraced God or found the ravages of AIDS too difficult to address. She also never retrofitted her classic songs to suit her faith, much in the way that Gloria Gaynor infamously did with “I Will Survive.” Rather, she forged forward with positive energy and good will, eventually proving to be a valued and active fundraising ally in the community’s battle against the HIV health crisis.

For me, that was – and will always be – enough.

The months that followed that conversation were fascinating. The piece had gone what we would now call “viral.” It was quoted and dissected everywhere. Her diehard fans were thrilled to see Donna treated with respect that allowed her to offer her side of the story. My editor was pleased that I asked the tough questions, while her label was delighted that we talked extensively about the art behind the hits. Perhaps most colorful were her detractors, who aggressively branded me a self-loathing sell-out. I still smile at the memory of getting an emotional call from Donna the day our conversation went public. “I will always feel blessed by the dignity and grace you have shown me,” she said. “I will be there for you always.”

And she was. During the years that followed, we forged a deep and enduring friendship that was rooted in trust and loyalty. There were countless laughs and silly stories. There were also extraordinary acts of kindness and support from her for my career. “Baby, you are far too shy for your own good,” she once told me. “We need to fix that.”

Her way of “fixing that” was insisting that I appear in her edition of Behind the Music. In the days leading up to the interview, she had a television producer call to coach me. “You’ve got to speak in small bites. Be catchy and cute… and let your eyes help tell the story.”

It worked. Not only did I get into the commercial, but I was also all over the show spewing pithy bon mots about “the diva.” Unfortunately, I took the note of letting my eyes tell the story a little too literally. By the end of the episode, my eyebrows were flexing and dancing around as if they had a will all their own. It still makes me cringe and laugh with humility – especially when I recall Donna teasingly saying “child, those eyebrows were dancing to the beat of their own drum.”

Regardless, Donna’s mission was accomplished. Within a week of the show airing, I was bombarded with opportunities to appear on television. She was gleeful when I first appeared on Access Hollywood. “Now, this is more like it,” she said. “My man is a star!”

When she wasn’t offering me career advice, Donna shared insight into her non-disco endeavors. As much as she loved singing those hits, she always craved more. Her voice was magnificent, and it only improved with time. She relentlessly strived to widen the parameters of what the world would accept from her. She spoke of wanting to make a country album or an old-school soul record. As she happily gave the world the disco it wanted, she channelled her creativity into painting and other art forms. In the end, she would pour her heart into writing a stage piece about her life called Ordinary Girl. It was a monumental task that would only see the light of fruition in small pieces that included beautifully recorded songs and a published libretto that showed enormous promise. “I will never give up on this,” was one of the last things she ever said to me.

In addition to my relationship with Donna, I was lucky to forge a strong and still vibrant relationship with her husband, Bruce Sudano, a man who is the undisputable definition of loyalty. In addition to being a brilliant performer and a skilled songwriter in his own right, he was the gatekeeper of access to “the diva,” a role he took very seriously. “I will always gladly protect her with my life,” he often told me.

Part of that protection would later include shielding Donna from the world as she fought and eventually succumbed to a battle with cancer. In the months that led to her passing on May 17, 2012, at the age of 63, all contact with “the diva” stopped. They were replaced by more frequent chats with Bruce that never indicated that there was a problem. He would later tell me that it was Donna’s wish to spare the world her suffering and leave people with a healthy and robust memory of who she was. It was a simple and fair wish.

I am forever heartbroken that I didn’t get to properly say goodbye and thank-you to “the diva” that changed my life. But I am always warmed by the fact that she wafted into my life like an angel.