My Dinners and Debates With Andre Harrell

Over more than 30 years of friendship, I saw a man trying to do it all — and succeeding

Taken at Moomba sometime in the ’90s. Pictured (L-R): Andre Harrell, Nelson George, Selwyn Hinds, Steve Stoute, Carol Kirkendall, Mya, and Darryl Brooks. Photo courtesy of the author.

I put on GUY’s self-titled first album before I wrote this piece — crying like a baby during “I Like” and “Piece of My Love,” listening to Aaron Hall sing, thankful for the culture Andre Harrell fostered, and sad as hell that he’s gone. If you have no idea who GUY is then you probably should stop reading this now. Anyway.

It’s a Saturday afternoon. It could be 1986 or 1989 or 1991. We meet at the Eastern Athletic Club in Brooklyn Heights or Chelsea Piers gym in Manhattan for full-court basketball. The core group was me, promotion man Gary Harris, Def Jam president Russell Simmons, and Andre Harrell, the Uptown Records honcho who was always late. Over time, the posse grew with young, aggressive dudes from the music business coming to network and ball. The quality of play varied, but what was consistent was trash talk, crazy shots, the odd near-fight, and a smattering of defense as we brought ghetto swag to upscale health clubs.

Afterwards we’d hit the steam room and plot the next move. If we were in Brooklyn it was an Italian spot on Montague Street. In the city, it was Lucky Strike on Grand Street, Coffee Shop on Union Square, or Time Café on Lafayette. Once we got seated nobody…