The Rhyme Suite

Reckoning with “bad people” who make “good music.”
The lack of accountability, moral standing, and overall care for the afflicted has long-persisted in the entertainment world.

Predators immortalized, survivors ostracized – it’s a tale as old as time.

But I never thought that this common occurrence would apply to the Prince of Soul.

In recent years I went through a deep 70s phase, perusing the discographies of funk and soul legends for both my own pleasure and to curate the perfect playlist for a Soul Train themed party. 

Naturally, Marvin Gaye found his way to my ears multiple times. Particularly, the Soul Prince’s “Come Live With Me Angel,” a song off the classic “I Want You” (1976) album, resonated in a manner I cannot explain.

Blame it on the infectious melodies, or maybe his soulful croons, but the masterclass in sensuality had a hold on me for days.

Yet I am nothing if not a curious listener, the kind of person to dig through Wikipedia entries and Genius annotations and Hall of Fame biographies for the ins and outs of an artist’s career.

My semi-comprehensive searches led me to the realization that my new favorite ballad was likely dedicated to his second wife Jan Gaye. Though they wed when the “Angel” was 20, their courtship began when she was 17 and he was 37.

Though I was appalled, I tried telling myself that it was a different time then, that I could attempt at making a slight pass for a dead legend whose misdeeds took place during a time where accountability looked different.  

But I soon learned that he previously had a son by Denise Gordy, a niece by his first marriage to Anna Gordy. He was 26 at the time, and she was 16. 

The official story is that Denise agreed to have the baby for her aunt and uncle due to Anna’s infertility issues, but she was 16. And this version of the story only came to light after initial claims that the couple conceived their son by traditional means.

Now, a once-favorite song of mine rarely reaches my ears, and if it does, I feel immense guilt.

Musicians are imperfect beings, but stories like these are…different.

Dealing with addiction or being labeled a diva is one thing. But borderline to undeniable pedophilia? Physical and psychological abuse? Immense bigotry?

It’s hard to reconcile such flaws of character because they are more than that. They’re reprehensible behaviors that humans choose to partake in, and you can’t particularly justify it just because someone is human. Or because they make good music.

I could not for the life of me understand how people like Chris Brown, Tory Lanez, Diddy and even R. Kelly could have such staunch defenders in 2025. 

But the reality is that these men are additions to a long legacy of artists whose behavior gets excused because people like their work. 

While it might feel jarring to mention the above names in the same vein as Marvin Gaye, that is kind of the entire point. Dirty laundry is plentiful among the stars. Even Miles Davis, one of the most prolific jazz musicians to touch this earth, was known to have abused his wives.

It’s not even about separating the art from the artist, which is nearly impossible to do if we are honest with ourselves. Great music is not crafted from experiences and emotions foreign to the person creating it. It comes from within. Yet, separation would not make a difference even if it were possible.

Men who have exhibited worse behaviors have been excused for contributing nothing more than their existence, let alone entire bodies of work that inspire people. Men, and people as a whole, don’t have to do much for their behavior to be justified or ignored altogether. 

Part of the problem is that the prospect of “worse behaviors” depends on who you ask. Some people draw the line at a mere accusation of reprehensible behavior, while for others, proof of literal human trafficking is not enough to remove someone from their pedestal. 

To an extent, it almost makes me feel sorry for those individuals, not because I believe they deserve grace or forgiveness but because operating with such little accountability sounds like a horrendous way to live. If people thought so little of you that they didn’t bother to hold you to some standard of good, you are essentially free to roam off whatever cliff you’d like, destroying your own life and the lives of those around you. And then you die someday. 

That’s a tough and tragic existence.

Everyday, we watch once-loved stars edge closer and closer to that cliff, yet we refuse to pull them back because of parasocial attachments to who they once were, or who we thought they were. We’re often too blind to even notice that the differences between deadly cliffs and the shiny pedestals we place them on are miniscule.

Though we can’t necessarily atone for the past sins of stars like Marvin, Miles and the like, we can certainly work to keep such misdeeds from remaining the norm.

This starts with accountability for the beloved and for our own selves as we reckon with our consumption of their art. 

We can’t help what songs sound good to us, but we can help what we actively choose to listen to. And we certainly gain nothing by going so hard for people who wouldn’t know us from a can of paint– especially when they have exhibited odd, deranged, or otherwise “bad” behavior. 

With that in mind, I challenge all readers to start with one song.

Start with that one song that has had you in a chokehold for some days or weeks or years. If you can’t talk about the artist’s legacy without adding in a “but,” I challenge you to skip that song when it comes on. If you’re feeling bold, maybe you can even delete it from your playlist. Over time, you might up the ante to two or three songs, and eventually, you might find that you don’t care to listen to that artist at all anymore. 

But start with one song. 

It’s more than likely it only took one moment for that individual to change the entire trajectory of an unwilling participant’s life.

We can all afford to give up one song.