Mr. Ohga’s assistant was a woman who was very kind to me and helped me throughout the trip. We remained friendly for years after. Mr. Ohga spoke English, but there was always an interpreter present. I had been to Japan several times and was somewhat familiar with their cultural norms, particularly with regard to showing respect and never losing face. What was more difficult to navigate were the cultural expectations around gender. Mr. Ohga was very old school, and I’m sure being confronted by a young woman was startling to him, even if that young woman was the best-selling artist on his label. And honestly, I don’t even think he knew that I was mixed race, so he didn’t know a young Black woman was coming to his headquarters, petitioning for her freedom. It was a ballsy move, but I had the numbers to back me up. Back then it wasn’t about streaming numbers. Sales were physical objects, things that people had to go out and buy—a hundred million albums, DVDs, CDs, VHS tapes! They bought products and posters. After all, I was “the Franchise.” To this day I still don’t know how much money I made for Sony. I’ve been told it’s billions.
Like the man himself, Mr. Ohga’s office was serious and elegant, dimly lit with a large, traditional black lacquered table as its centerpiece. Mr. Ohga was formal and laser focused. I wasn’t quite prepared for the extent of his formality, honestly. I hadn’t consulted with a prep team or advisers. So there was no preparation, but I did have a clear purpose. My intention for the meeting was for us to decide on an exit strategy. We would need to figure out the terms of a deal, and I wanted to make sure there would be marketing support from Sony for the work I would deliver. Despite how badly I wanted to get off of Sony, I knew my fans deserved the highest-quality music I could make, and I would give them nothing less. I wanted Sony to know that I would work hard and promote tirelessly. I wanted to be seen and heard; I wanted them to know that I was here, I was paying attention, I was serious, and I was willing to speak up for myself.
I had to be sure that if I fulfilled my end of the bargain with these new albums, they wouldn’t cheat me by failing to support them. If I was going to put my heart and soul into this work, I needed to have their word that they would throw everything they had behind it as they used to do. It was a brief meeting that would have long-lasting impact.
Tommy himself had once gone straight to the Japanese executives to oust Walter Yetnikoff, a former mentor turned rival. These powerful men were not only well versed in these kinds of cutthroat business dealings, they were encouraged to stand up for themselves. Though I wasn’t a male artist and I had no parental support or lawyer in the room, I was stronger now, and I wasn’t going to let myself be played ever again.
I may have had big boss energy, but I was also deeply saddened by the whole process. I wanted to stay on at Sony, but I didn’t know how to move forward in the midst of my marriage to its CEO coming to an end. Deep down I was hoping they’d just fire him so I could stay. It wasn’t the first time he had caused problems—there was a lawsuit with George Michael, and Michael Jackson eventually launched a campaign against exploitation of Black artists, explicitly aimed at Tommy, with Reverend Al Sharpton at the National Action Network’s Harlem headquarters.
Mr. Ohga may not have agreed to fire Tommy the very next day, but when I went to Japan, people took notice. They were now listening. My music had made an impact in that culture, in that country, and in that company. Going to Japan was a stretch for me, but it changed my life. I took a stand, by myself and for myself. I had made it happen, and soon I would be free.
Though I expected to have more time and a more in-depth meeting, ultimately I was grateful Mr. Ohga respected me enough to take that meeting and make a deal with me; it’s why years later I was able to return to the company with Caution, which interestingly enough is my most critically acclaimed album. When I got back home to deal with the powers that be in America, we arrived at a final deal that included four albums to be delivered over the next five years: #1’s, Rainbow, Greatest Hits, and The Remixes. #1’s, which I had conceptualized and proposed to Columbia, would be the first to come out, in 1998.
I was reluctant to rerelease old music, so in addition to the thirteen number-one hits I’d had by then, I added four brand-new tracks to the album. Brian McKnight and I recorded a totally new duet version of “Whenever You Call,” from Butterfly. I also did a duet with Jermaine, a cover of Rainy Davis’s “Sweetheart.” I did a cover of “I Still Believe.” Last, but certainly not least, #1’s included my duet with Whitney Houston from The Prince of Egypt, “When You Believe.”
The recording of that song was interesting. Jeffrey Katzenberg, from DreamWorks, brought me the song and asked if I would consider recording it for the soundtrack for an animated film. The soundtrack was heavily laden with R & B and gospel influences and featured K-Ci & JoJo and
