It’s smooth o’clock, and Ne-Yo is comfortable, conversational and
spunky as he and the rest of his crew — his management, his dancers,
his chief of security — are traveling towards the next tour stop. Last
night, Constitution Hall in Washington, D.C. Tonight, Baltimore’s Lyric
Opera House. At 29, Ne-Yo (born Shaffer Chimere Smith) still speaks and
sounds like an excited teenager who could tell you more about the
trials, tribulations and sailing the high seas of hormones and puberty
than sold-out tours, astronomical celebrity status or his role as an
international R&B superstar with nearly a trio of decades under his
leather belt — a belt that perfectly matches the upholstery of his tour
bus.
“I’m not the dude who needs all the luxuries,” says Ne-Yo, his upbeat
demeanor infectious even via phone. “We’ve got the leather seats, but I
don’t know anything about chandeliers. See, I’m not going to spend a
whole bunch of money on something that don’t make no sense. What do you
need a chandelier on a tour bus for? What would be the reason? That
doesn’t make any sense! However, leather
seating looks really, really
nice … so we’ll spend the money on that.”
While Ne-Yo may keep things simplistic instead of plush and lush while
on tour, the man does know how to treat himself when the tickets are
sold, the lights fade and the curtains close. “I’ve become an old
school car fanatic,” he admits, a ’79 Corvette his chief of security
built for him from scratch as a birthday gift occupying the driveway of
one of his many residences; possibly his recently purchased penthouse
in downtown Atlanta. “I’ve got the whole 26th floor, so it’s all very
sensible. I’m not going to go buy diamonds when I could use that money
on something that benefits me. Not to say that I don’t have a diamond
chain here and there, but those were bought with leftover money. It’s
not, ‘Oh, I got some money. Let me run straight to the jeweler.’”
After his parents split, Ne-Yo moved with his sister and mother to Las
Vegas, where his mother worked four jobs to put food on the table,
making sure “her children never needed anything” to the best of her
ability, recalls Ne-Yo. “We weren’t poverty-stricken, but I definitely
did not come from money. My mom raised us to not even worry about wants
because wants are trivial. What happens? You get something that you
want so bad and a week later, you don’t want it no more. It’s old to
you now. It depreciates the second you touch it. However, things that
you need never get old — food never gets old, shelter never gets old.
Honestly, what I came to find is that if you focus on the things you
need, the things you want … start to fall into place.”
Judging by the sincerity dripping from his voice, it’s hard not to
believe the man. His mother had instilled a mentality of a man into a
boy’s mind — a mentality that stuck, still sticks and resonates loudly
with Ne-Yo’s perception of the entertainment industry.
“I was never the guy that cared for diamonds,” reiterates Ne-Yo, his
choice of words swapped out, but the message of fostering humbleness in
the light of fame, wealth and celebrity remaining. “L.A. Reid” — as
acting Chairman of Island Def Jam Records, declared “the most powerful
black man in the music business” by Ebony Magazine — “had to twist my
arm and make me go buy a diamond chain. Because I’m in the business, I
have to look the part. I had to have something that regular people
can’t have. You have to be something that they can’t be, and that chain
with the diamonds is just one small way of letting it be known. People
don’t expect me to drive down the street in anything but the latest …
but I personally don’t care about that, you know? It’s bullshit,
really.”
When asked about the pressures of large sums of money being dumped on
a young man, Ne-Yo replaces “you” with “I.” While such a blatant
disassociation may escape some, it’s clear that his tales of close
friendships turned corrupt and relationships gone awry is closer to
home than one may initially gather … until his façade briefly falters.
“All of a sudden, you’ve got brand new cousins and uncles you’ve never
met before, but back in the day, they were ‘your favorite!’” exclaims
Ne-Yo, a calm conviction rising from within his throat. “Friends that
are not in as good of a position as you all of a sudden start feeling
like they are entitled because they’ve been your friends for so long.
They’ll try and say that you’ve changed. You know what? I have changed.
I’ve grown up, you know? It’s kind of something that needs to happen in
order to get to the next level of manhood. [But] it really hurts to
have to turn away from people that you spent years with because that’s
something no one can ever prepare you for.”
But isn’t this all about the music? Are we forgetting that the plights
of the music industry are weeds in pure black soil, surrounding the
blossoming, dew-soaked, beautiful nature of successfully pursuing your
dreams but never fully choking the roots of simply wanting to share
your artistic craft with the world? Considering Ne-Yo’s entry into the
entertainment industry — a songwriter who penned tracks for Mary J.
Blige and Faith Evans; his launching pad to a solo career arriving from
another product of his pen, R&B crooner Mario’s number one single,
“Let Me Love You” — it would seem his passion would be naturally
tainted from seeing the inner-workings of a studio rather than the
monetary momentum and the unexpected intangibles that come along with
celebrity and wealth.
“There is something about music that speaks to [my] heart, and speaks
to [my] soul,” says Ne-Yo. “Even after seeing how the music industry
works, I’m still a stickler for a lyric. That magic was never lost for
me. There are some people who can write things and just make you feel
it. It’s just a vibe-oriented process that there is really no way to
lose that magic.”
