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Taking a drive through Detroit and life

He carried me along for the ride. Cruising around the streets of Detroit in his mother's 1995 Honda Civic listening to D'Angelo, to those on the outside we just looked like two brothas chillin', not necessarily looking for anything or heading anywhere. But within the vehicle's confines I was interviewing a man, only months older than me, yet whose story made him seem much more ... the word eludes me. He was just much more.

by black people."
I'm riding with DeAndre Boldon. I'd ask you to remember the name, but you probably won't. If you weren't reading this story, you'd probably never hear of him. But that's OK; for reasons only he comprehends, he seems to prefer it that way.

Twenty-year-old DeAndre is in many ways typical. He grew up in Detroit, sang in the church choir as a kid, and graduated from Cass Technical High School. He originally attended Wayne State as a harp-performance major. He later switched to business because he "wanted a degree with a greater expanse of possibilities. I didn't want to graduate from college limited to being a harp teacher."

DeAndre has typical bachelor-life enjoyments. "I love to clean my apartment. I love to take rides along Belle Isle and play Super Nintendo, NBA Jams mostly," he said. With a pair of ears that could easily rival Martin Lawrence's, a pair of large, round, innocent-looking eyes set into a face complete with a boyishly-jolly smile and naturally curly faded hairstyle, DeAndre looks like your typical 'round-the-way guy.

So why write about him? Although he may be young, DeAndre's attitude projects him as one much older, wiser and mature. Although he may seem completely typical, he is, in his own way, different. Yet in the end, regardless of all he does, you will never hear from or about him again.

And he prefers it that way.

DeAndre Boldon is a black-music college representative for PolyGram Group Distribution, a company that owns such well-known record labels as Motown, Mercury, London, A&M, Perspective and 50 percent of Def Jam, among others. He is responsible for promoting artists and LPs on college campuses throughout Michigan, Ohio, Indiana, Kentucky and parts of New York. A full-time student, DeAndre contributes well over 40 hours per week to PGD alone even though he's only paid $6 per hour.

There's a good chance you've enjoyed his work. If you attended Bronze Elegance or the Kappa Alpha Psi talent show last year you probably saw recording artists Joya or Black Sheep. DeAndre organized these appearances. Working with the Wayne State chapter of the historically black Alpha Phi Alpha fraternity, he brought Red Man and Method Man there last year as well. He's done giveaways and worked with everyone from Boyz II Men to Public Enemy to CeCe Peniston. DeAndre has a voice within the music industry. "I get to work with extraordinary artists," he said. "People take me seriously; they take my point of view seriously. They listen to what I say; they're interested in what I'm saying."

"Here we see New Bethel Baptist Church," DeAndre said, breaking from the interview to once again revel at another great historical site. I look up at the imposing gray building on West Grand Boulevard, and I begin to understand the awe DeAndre feels even after having seen this building many times before. "Here's where Florence Ballard's funeral services were held on February 27, 1976. Know who the pastor was then? Aretha Franklin's father, Rev. C.L. Franklin."

DeAndre was chosen as the first ever recipient of the "PGD College Representative for Black Music of the Year" award; he recently received the award, as well as a large bonus check, in New York City. "Technically, the award is for PGD, but really it's for everybody in the world," he gloated. "PolyGram is the No. 1 music distributor and the No. 1 distributor of black music.

"I don't feel any different receiving this award. But it does add to the pressure. It's a prestigious title. It'll take an immense amount of additional hard work just to maintain that status. Everything I do from now on will be seen not just on a regional basis, but on a national basis."

As we continued our drive, I wished I could see the city from his eyes. I wanted to better understand the intermixing of hope and despair that filled every word uttered from his mouth. He took me to Barry Gordy's splendorous mansion, then took me to the next block to show me the run-down buildings that lined the next street.

"I just drive around sometimes and thing about how short life is. How this city could go from being a Mecca of something to a Mecca of nothing. This shit can have unprecedented wealth if somebody would just take the time and make it right."

"For ten points," DeAndre began as we drove through what used to be Brewster Projects, where Diana Ross grew up. "Can you tell me who her next door neighbor is?"

The correct answer is William "Smokey" Robinson. I guessed someone else, but I was wrong. DeAndre understood, though, as I'm from Atlanta. But many Detroit natives don't know the stories and legends which surround Detroit's former partnership with Motown. He lamented this fact, "It's nice to know my Detroit history because a lot of people here don't. I know this place used to be off the hook, and I want it to be off the hook again."

We continued our drive through some of Detroit's worst projects constantly avoiding the riddle of potholes. "Look around. This is where a lot of bad elements come from and where a lot of hopeless dreams reside. These are people I intend to work with once I'm established. I'm going straight to the projects. There are the people who will work their hardest; these are the motherfuckers who ain't got shit to lose."

He is heart bent on helping the kids there, if no one else. I see it in his eyes as three pre-teen girls, learned in the sordid nature of ghetto life, walk by. "African American children need role models, point blank," he said. "If it has to be me then so be it."

Sadly, many people tend to see the music business solely in terms of singers and musicians. If they aren't performers, many, ignorant of the purely business side of music production, feel that the industry's corporate ladder swings above their grasp. Realize that DeAndre is by far not the only college representative around. On the University campus alone, there are representatives from Sony/Columbia, Virgin Records, and more.

College students comprise the greatest music consumer group; as such, labels are growing more and more competitive in recruiting college dollars. DeAndre began as an intern for PGD's Warren, Mich. office, and he strongly encourages others his age with an interest in the business side of music -- or just business period -- to follow in his footsteps.

As our interview came to a close and we hit I-94, DeAndre took D'Angelo out of the CD player and tuned his radio to 97.9 FM. "You Will Know," the uplifting theme song on the "Jason's Lyric" soundtrack from black men to black men, began to play. DeAndre perked up as this song has bears a special significance to him. "Working on this soundtrack was my first major project. To get an award for being a component of an effort which led to the LP going platinum is a great feeling."

The return ride to Ann Arbor was virtually silent save DeAndre's smart-alek remarks toward the various bad drivers around us. He did break the silence once to thank me for interviewing him saying, "I don't really expect to be recognized for what I do. It's nice when someone sees me as worthy of some recognition."

This is DeAndre's story, and it's still unfolding. He has many future plans, and only time will tell of his achievements. But, he doesn't expect to be remembered -- not by you, not by me. And for reasons only he comprehends, he seems to prefer it that way.