Remixing singles, albums and catalogs became a standard part of major label marketing plans for pop stars in the ‘90s and 2000s. While the business practice is currently seeing resurgence, remix culture — the celebration of remixing as a true craft — has been continually appreciated on dancefloors worldwide.

Case in point: Michael Jackson’s Blood on the Dance Floor: HIStory in the Mix. The 1997 remix album isn’t regularly referenced as a highlight in the late entertainer’s vast catalog — or even as one of the best examples of the remix format. But, more than 25 years after it was released, Jackson’s platinum-certified collection remains the biggest selling remix album of all time.

"That’s an amazing fact," English producer/remixer Terry Farley tells GRAMMY.com when informed of Jackson’s standing achievement. Under the name Fire Island, Farley remixed Jackson’s "Money" for Blood on the Dance Floor with his frequent collaborator Pete Heller. Although the duo didn’t have any contact with Jackson during the project, they were compensated well enough to be able to hire musicians to record new elements for remixes. That’s something Farley says is now only afforded to the top one percent of remixers.

"Some labels don’t even offer studio time money," Farley says of the current climate for commissioning remixes. "Most labels and DJs seem okay with this situation. It’s sad because back in the day, the better the desk, the better the sound."

Remix albums, like Dua Lipa’s Club Future Nostalgia, made a comeback during the pandemic. Club Future Nostalgia features remixes by a roster of in-demand international touring DJs/producers like The Blessed Madonna, Kaytranada (who won two GRAMMY Awards in 2021), Masters At Work, Dmitri From Paris, Mr. Fingers and Moodymann, plus cameos from the actual Madonna, Missy Elliott and Jamiroquai.

"It was the perfect opportunity to create something like this," Dua Lipa told GRAMMY.com in August 2020. "I had what felt like all the time in the world, and everyone's at home. It doesn't really happen so often that you get the opportunity to collaborate with all these incredible producers and artists. I think it was of-the-moment that I was able to snap everyone up, especially The Blessed Madonna, who would've been on tour by [that] time. This album really came to be because of the current climate."

A Connection To The Past

Remix albums can be a way to introduce younger listeners to unfamiliar genres as well as artists who have passed away, such as with the 2021 release of Nina Simone’s Feeling Good: Her Greatest Hits and Remixes on Verve Records. The collection is an extension of the classic jazz label’s Verve Remixed album series, which features remixes of songs by Billie Holiday, Ella Fitzgerald, Dinah Washington, Dizzy Gillespie, Sarah Vaughn, Count Basie, Louis Armstrong and other dearly departed stars.

Verve Remixed was created by Dahlia Ambach-Caplin, who was Verve’s international publicist at the time, and it remains the longest-running remix album series in America. Now, Ambach-Caplin is the SVP A&R for Verve, Verve Forecast and Impulse.

"We concocted the idea by witnessing the growing group of electronic producers who were using jazz in their music and [feeling that] we could bring songs of the catalog to a brand new audience," she tells GRAMMY.com. "The whole idea was to leave the songs as recognizable as possible so people would be drawn to hear the originals. We always released a companion album of originals in the same order and it sold well too. Everyone at the label was super open to keep revitalizing the catalog and electronic music was an area of growth with producers excited to jump in."

"When this series started the remix was still an ode to a vibrant culture – DJs, electronic and hip-hop," says Todd Roberts, Head of Music Publishing Creative at MNRK and Executive Producer of Verve Remixed with Ambach-Caplin from 2005-2013. "Now, I think 'remix culture' is unfortunately being led by lazy marketing executives looking to capture peripheral new trends in music."

Though there’s a lot of mediocrity to wade through in general, Roberts points to the remix work of artists like Kaytranada, DJ Koze and Moodymann as proof that there are still producers who view remix culture as a craft and a tradition to build on further. 

The concept of a big budget remix album will be back in the mainstream music spotlight with the August 19 release of Madonna’s Finally Enough Love: 50 Number Ones. The album contains 50 of her remixes that have topped the Billboard Dance Club Songs chart — a feat that hasn’t been replicated by any other recording artist on any Billboard chart —  some of which also appeared on her first remix album, 1987’s You Can Dance.

Finally Enough Love features a generationally and stylistically varied lineup of producers, including early remixers like Shep Pettibone, Junior Vasquez and David Morales, transgender house music producer Honey Dijon and the late Swedish DJ Avicii. Madonna’s last album, 2019’s Madame X, failed to go gold, but the nostalgic and career-spanning selection of Finally Enough Love coupled with the release coinciding with a host of 40th anniversary Madonna reissues might give it a better chance at earning higher sales. 

"Classics from Madonna’s catalog of remixes are always going to track better than her new music, I think," says Roberts. "Remarketing is free money for the labels essentially, whereas breaking new songs from an older artist is usually gonna be more work."

The Material Girl may already be on the way to having a summer blockbuster. A representative for Rhino Records told GRAMMY.com that pre-sales of the vinyl version of Finally Enough Love: 50 Number Ones sold out in less than 48 hours.

From Tools To Tracks

From slashing to clicking, the tools of remixing have evolved dramatically alongside technology. Today’s remixes are largely made by using software to manipulate digital audio files — a far cry from the razorblade-to-reel editing of the '70s and '80s, which could draw actual blood alongside the sweat and tears. The Latin Rascals (Albert Cabrera and Tony Moran) exemplified the stuttering, stop-and-go style of razor editing in the mid-80s. Highlights include the extended drum breaks in their reconstructions of songs like Bauhaus lead singer Peter Murphy’s solo song "Final Solution," Aretha Franklin’s "Freeway of Love" and their "Version Latina" of Pet Shop Boys’ "Opportunities."

The '90s level of remixing that Farley recalled often included recording entirely new musical elements and arrangements to lay on top of an existing work. This was exemplified by the first two winners of the GRAMMY Award for Remixer of the Year, Non-Classical (later changed to Best Remixed Recording, Non-Classical): house music pioneers and long time Def Mix business partners Frankie Knuckles and David Morales.

Knuckles, who passed away in 2014, was widely known as the "Godfather of House" and was a prolific remixer in addition to a producer of his own music. Then and now, Frankie Knuckles remixes stand out as elaborate new studio arrangements of songs, often with the addition of live piano and new supporting vocals. In the year leading up to his 1998 GRAMMY Remixer of the Year, Non-Classical win for his "Franktidrama Club Mix" of Toni Braxton’s "Un-Break My Heart," Knuckles crafted elaborate new arrangements of songs  by Michael Jackson ("You Are Not Alone," for Blood on the Dance Floor), Janet Jackson, Chaka Khan and Mary J. Blige.

Morales — who won the golden gramophone for Remixer of the Year, Non-Classical in 1999 for his work with Mariah Carey — maintained an equally busy schedule of remixing. Carey was particularly hands-on in the remix process with Morales, who also won Album Of The Year in 1996 as a producer on Carey’s Daydream.

"When it came to remixing Mariah Carey's songs, we usually went in and re-sang the song," Morales told the Recording Academy in 2016. 

For Carey’s "Fantasy," for example, Morales disregarded the downtempo instrumentation of the original. Instead, he went into her studio to build a fresh club-ready backing song on her studio’s Sony digital multitrack machines.

"‘Fantasy’ was almost 80 tracks [of new sounds]," he noted. "I programmed my drums on drum machines and Satoshi Tomiie programmed keyboards on Vision software. Terry Burrus played live piano. First, I had to create the music for the remix, which really had nothing to do with the original version. Once that’s done then Mariah comes in and does what Mariah does: she vibes to the track and makes it happen. I did a couple of different versions of the remix so there's something special about all of them."

Back To The Edit

Since the Jamaican practice of making new versions and dubs of songs dates back at least to the '60s, Sean Combs drew international side eyes when he named his 2002 Bad Boy Records remix compilation We Invented The Remix. But the trend-savvy businessman then known as P. Diddy also sold enough copies for the collection to be certified platinum, opening the door to even more hip-hop and R&B remixes to follow.

"Remix culture is Jamaican soundsystem culture," Roberts says. "While I think any genre being remixed can qualify, it is an art and not easy."

Years later, even country music has a place in the current remix conversation. It’s a popular category for BPM Supreme, a Los Angeles company that offers a "record pool" of digital remixes and edits of songs for DJs and employs a network of remixers around the world. Country also serves as a remixing muse for buzzing groups such as England’s Flying Mojito Bros, who fashion old songs by country acts like Ronnie Milsap and Crosby, Stills and Nash into cosmic disco dance floor heaters.

The practice of remixing hasn’t slowed down, but in 2022, a shopper on a DJ-centric music site such as Beatport might find more tracks labeled as edits than remixes — though this refers to edits made on a computer instead of with a razorblade. 

That shift in terminology is perhaps fitting for the general effort and relative lack of larger investment that’s currently put into this craft. Though the era of big budget business-minded remixes may be past, remix culture will continue whether it’s within or outside of the gaze of the music business.

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When Greg Gonzalez sat down to start writing the next Cigarettes After Sex album, the dream pop frontman relied equally on memories of heartbreak and the ballads of the Material Girl. "‘90s Madonna was a big influence on this record," he tells GRAMMY.com with a soft smile. 

Though the end result won’t be mistaken for anything off of Ray of Light, that timeless, almost mystic cloud of emotionally resonant pop carries a distinct familiarity on Cigarettes After Sex's new album, X’s.

Cigarettes After Sex has championed that sweet and sour dreaminess since their 2017 debut. Two years after that self-titled record earned rave reviews and was certified gold, the El Paso, Texas-based outfit reached even deeper for Cry. And while those records cataloged Gonzalez's heartbreaks and intimacies in sensual detail, Gonzalez knew he could reach deeper on the band’s third LP: "These songs are just exactly as memory happened." 

Arriving July 12, X’s fuses Cigarettes After Sex's dream pop strengths with ‘90s pop warmth and ‘70s dance floor glow. Always one to bring listeners into the moment, Gonzalez imbues the record with a lyrical specificity that gives the taste of pink lemonade and the tension of a deteriorating relationship equal weight. On X’s, the listener can feel the immediate joy and lingering pain in equal measure.

"This is specific to me and what I'm going through, but then I go out and talk to people on tour, and they’re like, 'Oh, yeah, I went through the exact same thing,'" Gonzalez says.

Leading up to the release of X’s, Gonzalez spoke with GRAMMY.com about the appeal of ‘90s Madonna, finding a way to dance through tears, and his potential future in film scoring.

Tell me about the production process for this record. You've always been able to build nostalgic landscapes, but this record feels smoother than before. Were there any new touchpoints you were working with?

That was the thing: trying to make the grooves tighter. It was coming from more of a ‘70s Marvin Gaye kind of place, trying to make it groove like a ‘70s dance floor.

Which is an especially interesting place to be writing from when dealing with that line between love and lust.

Yeah. The stuff we've done before was really based on the late ‘50s, early ‘60s slow dance music. But it was always supposed to be dance music; I always wanted Cigarettes to be music you could dance to, even if it was a slow dance. 

When I think of pop music and I think of songs that really feel powerful, they usually make you want to groove in some way. I love a lot of music that doesn't do that: ambient music or classical or some jazz. But there's so much power to music that makes you want to move. And I found throughout the years that I could just never get enough of the music that makes you want to dance. So I thought, Okay, the music that I make should be really emotional. It should feel like music you could actually cry to, but in the end it should make you want to also move in that way.

It’s the physical necessity of the music, some forward motion to match the emotional journey. I’d imagine that is related in some sense to the fact that you’re writing in a somewhat autobiographical way. Is that a way of not getting stuck in the stories, in the feelings?

I'm writing it for myself. Of course, I can't help but picture the audience in some way. But it's never like I'm writing it for them.

There is an audience that I can visualize that would like the music. [Laughs]. There have been times where we’re recording and I close my eyes to visualize an arena or a stadium to picture the music in that setting. It’s a nice feeling. And that's just based on the music that I love that I thought had similarities. 

Is there any particular music that you love that fills that feeling?

There's so much music that I was obsessed with, but with Cigarettes I narrowed it down. Since I was a kid, I did every kind of style I could do. I was in power pop bands, new wave, electro, metal, really experimental bands. 

But when I finally sat down and said, "Let me make an identity for Cigarettes and make it special," I had to think about what my favorite music was and what music affected me the deepest. And it was stuff like "Blue Light" by Mazzy Star or "Harvest Moon" by Neil Young or "I Love How You Love Me" by the Paris Sisters. And I kind of put all that together and that became the sound of Cigarettes. And now I do that every time I make a record: I'll make a playlist of what I want it to feel like. I mentioned Marvin Gaye. I feel like ‘90s Madonna was a big influence on this record.

Madonna in the ‘90s? No one could touch that era. I don't know when the last time you listened to that music was, but… 

No, I grew up with Madonna and I used to watch the "Like A Prayer" video on repeat. It blew me away. But then I came back and I got into the ‘90s stuff, like "Take A Bow" and that record Something To Remember. It's all of the slower tunes. And that was a big influence, especially songs like "Rain."

You clearly have a diverse musical appetite, but you’ve also highlighted people with such identifiable voices — something that I think is true for Cigarettes as well. Your vocals are so front and center in the identity of the project.

That's great. The singer pretty much makes the song for me, whatever I’m listening to. The entire spirit comes down to the vocals. I'll hear a song like "Take A Bow" and be like, This feels so special. What if I made something that felt like this? If I told someone this [record] was based on Marvin Gaye and ‘90s Madonna, I don’t know if they would think it really sounded like that. It's more just trying to capture the spirit of what those records feel like.

That's what's cool about it too: You can remember those songs that were filling the air back in the ‘90s and what those feelings were, what you were up to, and draw a line between that and whatever's happening now that I wrote about. 

You don’t seem like the type of person to avoid negative feelings when you come up against them in that process either. The songs feel like you just embrace it, even if it's really painful.

I've always felt that's the best way for me to go through things, to face it head on. It's supposed to be painful. You have all these really great moments with somebody and all these great memories, and then when it ends, honestly, that's the way it goes, right? That's the trade off. 

Yeah, but not everybody goes through a breakup and then makes an album about it. Isn’t that like returning to the scene of the crime? How does it feel to deal with it in that way?

That's funny. The thing was, I was writing a lot of this stuff while I was still in a relationship. It took so long to finish it. 

Finish the album or finish the relationship? [Laughs.]

Actually both. But yeah, the record is mostly about that one relationship, but there are little diversions with some of the songs. A lot of the key images and songs are based on that romance and little memories that I took from it.

I like that I have all those moments kind of set in stone. It’s hard to listen to this record too because I'll just really see these moments, all these memories, and it can be a bit much to flash back to all that stuff and see it so vividly. But I love that I have it. Those memories meant so much and I’m glad that they're collected and displayed in this way.

And you were able to collect them when it was happening as opposed to having some time between, which could warp those memories. Writing and recording when you’re as raw as possible makes sense, so what you capture is really honest.

That's why I like to write these songs that are as honest as possible or as autobiographical as possible, with a lot of details. If I'm writing a song and someone heard it, they would know it was about them just based on all the imagery that's in that song. It's like a little letter to them. It could be like a secret little letter to someone. 

That makes me think of "Holding You, Holding Me," which is so lovely and feels as immediate as anything you’ve done. 

It was the pandemic, and then the other girlfriend I had at that time, we were living in downtown L.A. and just wanted to get out of the house and stay somewhere nicer for a while. And we went to this AirBnb that was in Beverly Hills with this beautiful backyard. The song was meant to be kind of Fleetwood Mac-ish, like "Gypsy" or "Sara", that nice ‘70s country pop feel.

Over the years I’ve noticed you frequently use taste as a sensory link in your songs, which really creates an evocative moment — I’m thinking about references to candy bars and lemonade on this album. What is it about that sense that sticks out to you?

If I'm going back to memory, then that's just what really happened. We went to the store to go buy wine and candy because that was the vibe that night. "Let’s watch movies and get red wine and some candy bars." And it was just a big memory that we walked outside and it started raining. I think too, what's nice about using objects is that it gives you so much mood in a song. You can tell what the feeling is of that moment when you put those things together.

And it can have an almost universal understanding. People will understand what it means to have a "candy bar night."

That's the craziest thing. It's almost like you're trained to write universally, meaning generically. Like, "Oh, this is a song that everyone can like and the lyrics can be really simple." But I’ve found that the songs that are really detailed and were more personal stories, a song like "K." from Cigarettes After Sex, those are the songs that everyone really loves, the ones that take up being really specific.

I suppose that's pop's way of being a doorway. When you're talking about your personal experiences, somebody is going to enter into it and feel like you're singing about theirs. 

You realize that we're all in the same boat. This is specific to me and what I'm going through, but then I go out and talk to people on tour, and they’re like, "Oh, yeah, I went through the exact same thing." I feel very lucky that most people I talk to that love [our] music are always saying that. It’s so special.

It makes me trust my instincts. That's the hard thing when you're writing. You're wondering, Is this too much to disclose? Is this too much information? [Laughs.] That instinct is really important to know, to trust it. That's the tough one. That's what's also therapeutic about it too. You want to share things that feel really personal because then you can process them. You can really start to unpack what those moments meant and what they can mean going forward. It gives me more confidence when I hear that kind of stuff from people.

What then is it like when you sing it for a crowd? You’re performing, but you can’t fully separate the emotion that inspired that song. 

That's tough because, ideally, if I did my job well enough writing the song, then it should be hard to sing live — especially if I really see those moments when I'm singing it. It could bring me to tears, honestly, because it should feel that intense. And it's even worse if I look in the crowd and someone's crying. I can't even look at them. And that happens very often. If I started crying, my voice will stop.

That brings a real cinematic feeling to your music too, which makes me think you’d be good at scoring a film. Is that something you’d tackle?

I'm definitely obsessed with film and have been since I was a kid. The idea that I keep saying — and I almost feel like I'm going to jinx it because I keep saying it too much — is that I really want to direct and write something. And I've written some ideas down for screenplays and things. It seems like it's hard to transition from musician to filmmaker and really make it stick. But that would be something I want to do in the next 10 years. I'm giving myself 10 years. [Laughs.]

Nearly 15 years since its release, it’s still wrenching to watch the documentary Michael Jackson’s This Is It — a glimpse of one of the greatest concerts that never happened.

Revisiting behind-the-scenes footage of the planned residency at London’s O2 Arena, it’s clear Michael Jackson was at the top of his game. The Kenny Ortega-directed film takes us through rehearsals, dancer auditions, costume design, and more, as the run of 50 shows loomed.

Despite any personal or medical issues the embattled King of Pop faced, he danced and sang terrifically. All 50 dates had sold out; after more than a decade off the road, This Is It was bound to be a momentous pop event.

But the residency would never happen, for the most tragic reason possible: on June 25, 2009, after returning home from a past-midnight rehearsal, Jackson passed away from acute propofol intoxication, administered by his personal physician, Conrad Murray. Jackson was 50.

The news rattled the world, causing major internet platforms including Google, AOL Instant Messenger, Twitter, and Wikipedia to be pushed to the breaking point with significant traffic spikes. The following year, Murray was convicted of involuntary manslaughter, and sentenced to four years in prison. (He was released after serving nearly two years, due in part to good behavior.)

“Our beloved son, brother, uncle and father of three children has gone so unexpectedly, in such a tragic way and much too soon,” read a statement from the Jackson family. “It leaves us, his family, speechless and devastated to a point, where communication with the outside world seems almost impossible at times.”

As Jackson's music sales spiked, Jackson’s memorial service was held on July 7, 2009, at the Staples Center. Berry Gordy, Brooke Shields, and Smokey Robinson offered eulogies, and an all-star lineup — including Mariah Carey, Stevie Wonder, Lionel Richie, and others — performed Jackson’s iconic songs.

Of course, true legends never die — but a world without the King of Pop has been a little dimmer. On this day in music, crank up Thriller or Bad, and remember one of the greatest entertainers who ever lived.

Remembering Michael Jackson's Record-Setting Music Career

Of the many reviews of "The Wiz" over the years, one of the most famous comes from none other than Broadway legend Stephen Sondheim.

When asked what his favorite Broadway show is (besides his own), Sondheim named "The Wiz" and said it’s because, "it's the one show which makes you feel better when you come out of it than you did when you walked in." 

The original production of "The Wiz" had its pre-Broadway tryout in 1974, with a Broadway premiere in January 1975. In the decades since, it's remained beloved among musical theatre fans, as well as a staple of community theatre. Not only does "The Wiz" boast a 50 year legacy and the distinction of being one of the first shows with an all-Black cast, but the musical itself stands the test of time because of the strength of the music and the message behind it. To accompany a tour and Broadway revival at the Marquis Theatre, the 2024 revival cast recording comes out on June 14, paving the yellow brick road for a new generation of fans to ease on down and enjoy the journey.

While many people remember the 1978 Diana Ross film The Wiz (which also starred a young Michael Jackson), it was a critical and box office flop. The Broadway show, meanwhile, had more success. The show won seven Tony Awards including Best Musical. The original cast recording is the 30th highest selling cast album of all time. In 2017, the original Broadway cast recording of "The Wiz" was selected for preservation in the National Recording Registry by the Library of Congress as being "culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant." 

The tale of Dorothoy's arrival in and travels through Oz has been in the cultural lexicon for over 100 years. "The Wonderful Wizard of Oz" was written in 1900 and, 39 years later, the Technicolor Judy Garland movie cemented the iconic story. While "The Wiz" (full title "The Wiz: The Supersoul Musical ‘Wizard of Oz'") is still primarily set in the magical land of Oz, the creators and production team made significant, conscious choices to place "The Wiz" among Black culture of the time. The new production, with an updated book by Amber Ruffin, strives to do the same. 

Of "The Wiz," the Smithsonian — which displays costumes from the original production in their National Museum of African American History and Culture — says it is "a tale that celebrates African American street style as a unique subculture and unapologetically American way of life. The song lyrics, script, sets, and costumes all reference and champion the struggles and triumphs of African Americans." 

Analysis of the original cast album cites influences from popular music of the time, along with jargon. Most notably, however, and what Sondheim responded to, is that all the songs in "The Wiz" have a message and emotional core that moves the story forward both literally and within each characters’ arc. Instead of the repetitive "Follow the Yellow Brick Road" from the film, "The Wiz’s" "Ease on Down the Road" encourages the characters and then the audience to keep on keeping on with their goals. Lyrics such as "Cause there may be times/ When you think you lost your mind/ And the steps you're takin'/ Leave you three, four steps behind/ But the road you're walking/ Might be long sometimes/ You just keep on truckin'/ And you'll just be fine, yeah," can be applied to anyone’s life problems — not just Dorothy and Company on their fantastical journey. 

After vanquishing the Wicked Witch, Evilene, the principals and ensemble sing, "Everybody Rejoice/ Brand New Day," a celebratory song that exudes joy. They sing, "We always knew that we'd be free somehow," which, when placed in American theatre and sung by an all Black ensemble, holds more historical significance than a simple song about escaping capture. Glinda appears and doesn’t just tell Dororthy to click her heels; she tells her to "Believe in Yourself" not only that she can go home, but that she should believe in her own feelings and power inside her heart.

Finally, "Home," which some say takes the place of the classic "Somewhere Over the Rainbow," speaks to a broader character arc and feels more like a pop anthem than a musical theatre song. It has been released as a single throughout the show’s history, including last year by Brandi Carlile to go with the "Ted Lasso" finale. While Garland’s Dorothy learns in the end, "There’s no place like home," "The Wiz’s" Dorothy sings, "And I've learned that we must look/ Inside our hearts to find/ A world full of love/ Like yours, like mine/ Like home." 

The original Broadway cast recording is hard to find. It can be purchased on streaming services like Apple, but on Spotify, only the single version of "Home" is playable. "The Wiz: Live!," a well-received televised version, does have a readily streamable soundtrack, but a new Broadway cast album is very welcome. The cast features Nichelle Lewis as Dorothy and television and Broadway veteran Wayne Brady as the titular role; the stage production updates both script and set to feel more more contemporary. Meanwhile, the score has been lightly "refurbished" with additional songs. 

"The original ‘Wiz’ was a definitive product of the 1970s in its glam and excess," Brady told the New York Times. "Ours is of this time: We have this place and can just be. From the queerness onstage to the costumes, the musicality, light and bricks. I think instead of fighting to be seen, this ‘Wiz’ is, ‘Oh, you see us.’"

Sondheim’s praise of "The Wiz" is particularly magnanimous because Sondheim’s own show "Gypsy" had a revival in 1974, the same year as the original production of "The Wiz," which meant the two shows battled it out both in box office and awards. A revival of "Gypsy" starring Audra McDonald and directed by George C. Wolfe has just been announced, so both "The Wiz" and "Gypsy" will again be on Broadway. This time, both shows will be led by Black actors and directors. 

Broadway has struggled post-pandemic, and America has a lot to learn about love when it comes to race, but, with the release of "The Wiz" back into the world, we get a much-needed infusion of joy. Throughout the last 50 years, there have been many stories and real events that point to a world that is anything but full of love, but, through it all, "The Wiz" holds onto hope. 

New Broadway Musicals To See This Spring: "Hell's Kitchen," "The Wiz" & More

GRAMMY-nominated singer/songwriter, producer and percussionist Sheila E. has certainly had a glamorous life — and has done a lot with it. 

The child of percussionist Pete Escovedo and goddaughter of legendary timbalero Tito Puente, Sheila Escovedo has been energizing stages for most of her life. First performing as a child, Sheila was one of few female percussionists in the 1970s and '80s, and rose to the upper echelons of the music industry — performing alongside Marvin Gaye, Michael Jackson, Lionel Richie, Herbie Hancock and Diana Ross. Whether in session or onstage, her dynamism and inventiveness continually made Sheila the star of the show. 

"I think outside the box," Sheila E. tells GRAMMY.com. "You just come up with ideas and it doesn't have to be traditional. It just has to be from your heart, a feeling that makes sense, that compliments whatever song it may be." 

Sheila's energy and unique approach to playing drums, timbale, and percussion caught the attention of Prince, a unique artist in his own right. The two spent decades as creative partners – Sheila acting as the Purple One's drummer, producer, musical director and, for a time, romantic partner; Prince shepherded her 1984 solo debut, A Glamorous Life, into being — and worked together until his death. Among her lasting contributions to their musical legacy, Sheila performed on the Purple Rain sessions and toured the album, and her vocals appear on "Erotic City." The two duetted on Sheila's 1986 single "A Love Bizarre" and, fittingly, got engaged in the middle of a performance.

In addition to her list of impressive accomplishments (which include co-founding the educational nonprofit Elevate Oakland), Sheila E has released eight albums as a solo artist. Her ninth, Bailar, finds the one avenue Sheila had yet to pursue: salsa. 

Recorded in Miami with a cast of local musicians, the 10-track record features originals and covers in both Spanish and English, and its lead single — an energetic cover of Celia Cruz's "Bemba Colorá featuring Gloria Estefan & Mimy Succar — fittingly has Sheila playing percussion, timbale and singing. 

"This is the best record I've ever done. I feel that good about it," she says. Ahead of Bailar's April 5 release, Sheila E. spoke with GRAMMY.com about creating music in a new idiom, the importance of collaboration, and finding space in music. 

This interview has been edited for clarity.

You've been working in the funk, R&B and pop space for years. What brought you to salsa now?

I've wanted to do a salsa record for a long time. My bucket list is extensive, and then I met [GRAMMY-winning producer and timbale player] Tony Succar in 2015… he did a project and took Michael Jackson songs and flipped them into salsa. I said, "Man, if I ever do my salsa record, we have to do it together because you understand."

I'm bringing that Oakland vibe to salsa. My dad was a Latin jazz artist — that's the foundation of who I am —  however, he also played salsa music in the house. I grew up listening to Tito Puente, Mongo Santamaria, Ray Barretto, Eddie Palmieri, Celia Cruz and Tito Rodriguez, and the Fania All-Stars.  Our whole family loves salsa dancing.

There was music that I had written for an R&B album that I didn't release, and I said we can take some of this and flip it into salsa. This is another side of me that I'm excited about sharing with the people. 

Bailar sounds like something you would hear in New York or Miami, but there's something slightly different about it. What are you bringing to this record that might be different from another salsa band?

Salsa is very demanding. It's specific and traditional; there are things that are supposed to be played in specific sections of a song — whether it's a conga rhythm, a timbal rhythm, a cowbell rhythm. The element of the Bay Area and the Latin jazz with a little bit of funk, that was me [adding something new]. 

I always wanted to do "Bemba Colorá." I did a rumba in front of it and took a conga solo, and when I got to the half-time of that song, I said, "I want to take a drum solo." I don't think anyone has taken a drum solo or have even played drums on this song…especially a woman. Just adding different elements like that, as well as the way that I mix: where I place the horns and where I place the percussion and where the bells are and where the drums are. 

Tony Succar and I produced this record together. I did a couple of arrangements [and] co-wrote seven of the 10 songs. The songs that I had already written were arranged, but then we wanted to flip them into salsa. 

Are there any other songs on this record that you're particularly proud of?

All of them. Every one is a different story. The only woman that I could think of to call [for "Bemba Colorá"] was Gloria Estefan; she's like my sister. Mimi Succar is a new and upcoming artist, so we had her to sing as well, and the three of us just had a blast. 

[Also] playing "Anacaona," which is a song I used to hear [by] Fania All-Stars and Cheo Feliciano. My dream was to have Rubén Blades sing on my record; he sang that song and I started crying. I was just overwhelmed. 

["El Rey del Timbal"] was one song that I had played with Tito [Puente] and my dad many times. When Tony sent me the demo, I listened to it and was like, "We got to go way faster than that. If Tito was playing it, he would've played it this way, and I know because I've played it with him."  So I started taking a solo, banging my legs while I was listening to it through the phone, and I just kept going faster, and then Tony's like, "Are you serious? This is 200-something BPMs." 

It was perfect for me taking the timbale solo, but when I had to then overdub and play all the parts on the bells and everything, it was so fast, I was like, What was I thinking? The horn section had it worse. A trumpet player yelled on the track  — "Ahh!" —  and I boosted him yelling [on the final mix], because that's real stuff.  It took everything for them. 

I'd love to hear a little bit about your relationship with Tito Puente and any important musical lessons he taught you, especially now that you're coming out with an album that's very much influenced by his work.

He was such an influence. He was amazing. He did so much for us as a family, musically, as well as being our friend and growing up listening to him. He and my dad met when they were 18, and having him around the house when I was growing up, I didn't even know he was.  

The biggest thing was we would go to New York, my dad and I, and we would sit in with Tito at the Palladium and the Corso. And back then, you'd have four bands playing in one night until 6 in the morning. And they would jump from one club to the other. It was the most stressful time because, as jazz artists, we didn't hardly sit in with salsa bands. I was like, "But papa, I don't know the clave, I don't understand what bell pattern or what conga pattern to play." He goes, "Don't worry about it. You don't listen to those guys. You just go play you."

So he kept encouraging [me]: it doesn't matter, you have the heart to go ahead. And my pops would say the same thing: We might not understand it technically, but we play it from our heart. [Tito] always encouraged me, and I got to play with Celia, Tito and [bassist] Cachao [Lopez] at the same time.

What a dream come true. Tito introduced me to all of these musicians as well, but really just telling everybody, "You be quiet and just let Sheila play."

Read more: Celebrating Tito Puente's Centennial: 10 Essential Songs By The Mambo King

Bailar is a bit more celebratory than your last album, 2017's Iconic: Message 4 America, which was heavily political. Obviously we continue to live in increasingly fraught times; why was it important for you to put more positive messages out into the world? One of your tracks is even called "Possibilities."

We are living in hard times, and it's challenging. Things are changing every single day. And everyone is going through something every single day.  One of the things that has been such a blessing to me is the gift of music. I don't take it for granted. To be able to share music and at least make people happy for the five minutes that you listen to this song or the entire record…is healing.

Many times in my shows, people end up crying. It's emotional, and music brings joy. It lifts you up. It brings you to a place of happiness and love, and we just want you to have a good time. But the joy that I get to be able to do this, it heals me too. And I just thought it was important.

Your work and relationship with Prince is so extensive and deep. What would you consider the peak of your creative partnership?

I don't think there ever was. We continued to grow and just kept experimenting on different sounds, and recording and jamming. We first jammed together in 1977 when he came to my house. We either recorded or played together [on] so many songs. There's still tons of stuff in the vault…I counted at least 200 songs I played on that I haven't even heard yet.

We were always jamming, coming up with something, or recording. A lot of times I would engineer for him as well; it's just he and I [in the room] most of the time. I taught myself some engineering when I was growing up; I saved all my money and started buying recording gear so I could learn how to write and produce myself when I was in my teens. 

So when I started to record with [Prince], I had already recorded songs on tape before. Being in the studio with him, we would see who could stay up the longest, who's going to fall asleep first. We would catch each other [falling asleep] almost at the same time. 

*You also worked with Prince on your debut album, 1984's The Glamorous Life. You'd been working so much as a musician up to that point already that it's interesting to think of it as your debut. How did you work on that project together?*

We had already been jamming and playing together before we did all that. And I had been out on tour with so many artists beforehand; when we first met, I was already touring with George Duke in the mid-'70s. [Prince was] like, "I've been watching you and I'm following your career, and maybe one day we could do something together." 

He started doing all these albums, and then he becomes the Prince that we all know. He changed every record, which was amazing musically. At the time [we recorded Glamorous Life], he was at Sunset Sound [recording studio and] he had all the rooms going at the same time. We just went in and started recording.

Prince was very involved in getting me the deal with Warner Brothers. He just one day said, "You want to do the record now?" And I was like, "Yeah, I think I'm ready. Let's do it." It was that simple. We went into the studio and we were pretty much done with my record, from top to bottom, in a week.

We just stayed in there, literally no sleep. We were so excited. We had so much fun.

Back then, I wasn't really playing drums a lot. I wanted to make sure that my percussion was in the forefront, and he knew that too. That's how Glamorous Life came about, to showcase me in a light that I wasn't really a singer. I was a percussion player leading my band, playing timbales, which no one really understood because, in pop culture, no one had done that. 

So it took even a minute for [Warner Brothers] to understand releasing the record. They wanted to release "Belle of St. Mark" first as the single and not "Glamorous Life"; I had to fight them on it because I said, "'Glamorous Life' is a song that is important to me, and it showcases me as a percussionist and a singer. If I do 'Belle of St. Mark,' it's only me singing. I'm not even playing percussion."

I would love to hear about other musical collaborators who are a big part of your story.

I've been able to play with so many people: George Duke and my dad, and [drummer] Billy Cobham, [bassist] Alfonso Johnson, and it went on. Then [jazz guitarist] Lee Ritenour and [jazz pianist] Patrice Rushen and all of these other artists; Herbie Hancock…. Then you go switch over to Marvin Gaye, and then you go to Brooks & Dunn. I just hopped all over the place with Con Funk Shun and sitting in with so many people and recording. When we do these events, you get to sit and play with Phil Collins and Elton John; I'll just play percussion, I'll be the backup. I don't need to be in the front. Part of what I love is I get to be on both sides.

I can be a team player and play with a group, which is so exciting. Or if you want to feature me, that's fine. That's kind of what had happened throughout my life; anyone that I performed with would just say, "Sheila, you just go out in the front." They would push me out there. Marvin Gaye is like, "Sheila, you take over. I'm going to go back and change." He made it a part of his show. And then same thing with Lionel Richie. Everyone would just feature me, it became that thing. Everyone has influenced me in some sort of way.

You're out there being featured and just putting so much into your performances. You have this incredible amount of energy. What powers you?

God's given me the gift and point-blank. I am forever grateful to be able to do what I get to do because of that gift. I don't take it for granted. 

You have musical directed the Obama's Festival Latina, the Recording Academy's Tribute to Prince, and of course, you were his musical director for many years. Does that work require a special set of musical muscles?

When it comes to music and just being an artist, whatever you put into it is what you get out. I would always do the homework that was needed to play with an artist — learn all the music — so when I walked into a situation, I would walk in with confidence. I wasn't a great reader at all; it was really all by ear. That preparation is everything. 

Putting together my first ever band during that time in the early '80s, I knew what I wanted. [Today] I'm able to put together projects and put the right people together. For some people, it's just a gig and for me, it's more than that. It's a lifestyle and it's family and it's trust and it's respect. 

How did you choose the music for "Let's Go Crazy: The GRAMMY Tribute To Prince"?

Some of the songs they already had, some of the other songs I suggested. Almost everything that they were going to play, I knew and I had a lot of the original music. I had a lot of the samples; I had Prince's vocals. There were things that I had that could help in some of the arrangements, and a lot of the arrangements I used from my show. 

You try to adjust to make sure that [the artists] shine and that they feel comfortable, because everyone was really nervous. I had many conversations with people making sure, "Is this a good key for you?" Making sure that "You don't have to sing it like Prince. This is your representation of who you are and you happen to be doing a Prince song and no one's going to judge you for it." 

Speaking of collaborative efforts, The Greatest Night in Pop music doc came out recently. What do you remember from recording "We Are the World"? 

I kind of didn't want to do it because, initially, we were on the Purple Rain tour [and] we were exhausted. At some point I thought,  Do I even belong in that caliber of people? 

[At the "We Are The World" session,] everyone was hanging out, everybody was really cool. No one had a huge entourage. I was excited to meet people I hadn't met before. One of the people I was excited about meeting was Cyndi Lauper. I loved her. I wanted to meet Bruce Springsteen, the boss. 

In that moment of being in that room with everyone, and it was just amazing to [think], Wow, we're going to do something incredible to be able to raise money for people who are starving.  Then you just take a breath and you do what you do, and then things happen.

Do you think that you have changed or contributed to the sound of percussion in R&B and pop music?

My style is my style. Different artists from the Bay — Sly and the Family Stone, Carlos Santana, my dad's band [Azteca], Grateful Dead, Tower Of Power, of course, Pointer Sisters — listening to all those bands and being able to watch their rehearsals when I was a teenager influenced me. 

The key was being adaptable to what needed to be for that specific song. You have to make up your own beats, because being a percussion player is like [working on] a beautiful painting that's already painted and they're asking you to put one color in there or you see a space — what would you put in that space? 

It's not about playing all over the place and playing something that doesn't belong. You have to figure out those spaces and, to me, the most important part of music is space. That space is what allows a song to breathe.

I would use different things even in the studios; I didn't use all of the right mics all the time. I would bite on an apple and sample it and put that sound on top of the snare. I just experimented. I started on pots and pans, and I used keys, and I used a spray bottle can that blows out air to clean your computer as a high hat. Everything can be musical. 

One of the biggest things is Michael Jackson's "Don't Stop 'Till You Get Enough." Quincy [Jones] had called me and said, "Michael wants this kind of sound, I don't know what it is, bring all your toys." I brought everything. I ended up getting two bottles and I poured water in it, and I used the holder to play the triangle on the sides of the bottle. So "Don't Stop 'Till You Get Enough" has those bottles.  

You just come up with ideas and it doesn't have to be traditional. It just has to be from your heart, a feeling that makes sense, that compliments whatever song it may be.

Are there any other female percussionists out there right now that you see carrying the torch that you lit?

Oh my God. There are so many drummers right now. I go on social media frequently throughout the week, and I try to find at least someone new and DM them and say, "You're amazing. God bless you. Thank you for your gift. Keep doing what you're doing," and people freak out. 

That's part of my job, to continue to encourage the young people to keep playing. 

You've mentioned in previous interviews that you've dealt with a lot of harassment throughout your career as a woman playing an instrument that women don't traditionally play. I'd like to know how you continued to move forward and own your vision in an industry, and in an era, where women are often belittled or posited as like sex objects.

When I first started, I didn't know it was a big deal that I was one of few — or one of one — that was doing what I was doing. In the Bay Area, you see a lot of women playing percussion. In Berkeley, we all go and hang out at the park and everyone plays and it's like 20 or 30 of us and whoever brings their instrument, they just jam with us.

Coming to L.A. and recording with other artists, when I walked into a room, the drummer would say, "Can you get me a cup of coffee?" And I'm like, "I'll get it for you but I'm not the receptionist or anything. I'm the percussion player." They would freak out. 

When that first started happening and things were being said that were really rude and bad, I would go back to my parents. They would just say, "You just keep doing what you're doing. They're jealous or they're mad because you're there, or they've never seen anyone like you. You have a gift and you just go ahead. You learn the music, know what you have to do, so when you walk in with confidence, it's not an issue." A lot of the time, those musicians were not prepared, and I was, and they hated me even more because I knew everything. 

I got so much joy out of performing. And even with all the nos and the nastiness and the stuff that was being said [like], "Hey, if you sleep with me," all of these other things. It just made me stronger. You keep pushing through; you just keep playing. 

When you find your passion and that's your purpose, no one can stop you.  I stand on that word.

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