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Palm trees, beaches, flashing lights, the Hollywood sign, Sunset Strip, The Hollywood Walk Of Fame, “Hollywood”, and simply the “Music Industry” itself, drew me in like a kid in a candy store. Through my young naive eyes, I had made it. I was in Los Angeles! This is the place where dreams would come true, or at least that’s what the TV told me. I would come to find out that it was a place where dreams may come true, and they might not. What they don’t show is the price tag attached to some of those dreams. I recall driving near the 101 freeway at night, and this is after I had been in LA for some time, and I saw a woman’s license plate and it said broken dreams. It stood out to me, and my heart sank a little. Unbeknownst to me I would come to surely find out what she meant. I would come close to so much, yet so far at the same time.
After being in Los Angeles for a while I had found a vocal coach. I’ll call him Mr. J., a former member of a band that was popular in the eighties. I won’t say the name. The J should really be for Jerk. Anyway, he would do weird stuff like comment on my clothes, and how it would make him feel when he looked at me… Although he was married. I certainly changed my attire. No, I wasn’t dressed scantily, but it was hot in LA so my garments reflected the weather. I eventually stopped taking lessons with Mr. J. for many reasons. He lied about a demo price, and my mom was trying to help me pay for it, but we couldn’t afford the price change. I was in college, trying to pay bills, and I wasn’t my mom’s only kid she was trying to help. He was overall disgusting, and dishonest. He even tried to blame me for a friend of his touching me inappropriately.
Quick backstory, this guy who I came to know through Mr. J., told me that he helped Janet Jackson. So he told me he could help me as well, and that I would intern for him. This guy had me show up at some cheap apartment with boxes everywhere, and a giant king size bed all in one room. That was a red flag for me. I was frightened. I stayed and sorted the papers, hoping it put me closer to seeing my music dreams come to pass. However, when it was time for me to leave, he hugged me so tightly, and so strangely. I just stood there stiff, with my arms by my side. I knew if I returned there, I would be harmed. I got home, called my mom and she told me what I already knew, not to return to his place again. I was simply a young girl with a big dream, great home training (from my mom of course), and full of naivety. I eventually found a wonderful vocal coach by the name of Stephanie Spruill, an amazing mom like figure for me to look up to, and help guide me through the uncertainties of Los Angeles.
I truly thank The Most High Yah for getting me out of many situations unscathed. Once I was in a nail shop located off Venice Boulevard near Sepulveda right between a laundromat, and a 7-11. In walks this entourage of black men, so of course I was intrigued. I recall one of them talking to me, and telling me that he worked at Black Ground Records, and then he threw out the singer Aliyah’s name. I’m not sure if he really did work with her, or at the record company, and I never found out. Moreover, I was super excited that a “real” music executive was conversing with me, and I thought I was about to level up. I had believed there was an open door for me to live my dream. Maybe, I was going to get signed. Now I was going to prove my dad wrong. Yes, I April Patrice Cason was really going places now for sure! LOL! Anyway, I received a call a few days after meeting him, and it was very late at night. He was talking about how he wanted to come over, and asked me where I live. He obviously thought I was one of those eager young ladies, that would do anything to be famous. In today’s terms he thought I was a thirsty 304. It is so vivid in my mind like yesterday, I still see myself standing off of my small kitchen, in my dining room. I told him, apparently you have the wrong girl, and that’s not happening. I used to live in West LA off of Venice off of Midvale street, not too far from the nail shop that I always frequented. I couldn’t have been more grateful for the things my mom taught me like respecting myself. I couldn’t begin to imagine what horrors that would’ve befell me. And I never had to find out. Thankfully, I had not given that man my address, and said yes, to him coming over. I can almost guarantee, he wasn’t coming alone, and even if he was, trying to get signed wasn't worth potentially being harmed.
Stay tuned for part 4, and more LA stories…Until the next post, thanks for reading!
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