Wondery Plus subscribers can listen to Blame it on the Fame, Milli Vanilli, Early and Add Free. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Two young men with silk scarves tied over their long black braids sat behind a long table. They leaned into the microphones in front of them and introduced themselves as My name is Sabrina Smarland, my name is Robert Blake.
In front of them was a room full of reporters, but Rob looked cocky like a debate club student who's never lost a tournament. And Fab, child Fab looked like he was about to shit his pants. For almost two years, Rob and Fab had been two of the biggest pop stars on the whole planet. But just a few days ago, the entire world learned that they didn't sing a note on their own album. The album that won them best new artist at the Grammys and went six times platinum.
It's not much money where you pay your total, not singing money. I will describe it like this. You get something, but for that you make a pact with the devil. No one wanted to hear about a pact with the devil. Not if the pact will be very upset by the fact that the only way you can explain the Shahra, the toss, the bakery, the lost hair to the earth.
Do you live in a project? Do you live in a project? If we wouldn't have accept that at the start, we knew we would still be in Munich. I would still work at the McDonald's. A guy from the back shouted, you talent would get you out. Rob and Fab's manager needed to shut this down, like now. Thank you very much. Thank you very much. You can be chosen as a product. Thank you. The reporters started moving toward the exit. They were in a good mood.
They had all just been handed by lines for front-page stories. These two, Rob and Fab, had tried to get something for nothing, tried to fake their way to fame and fortune. And they'd been caught in a lie. An outrageous lie. It was a good story. But one black reporter in glasses didn't head toward the exit. He headed toward the reporter who'd yelled, your talent would get you out. Look like a true white boy. You're telling me to get out. Right.
Now it's hard to hear him over the crowd. But he's saying, spoken like a true white boy. Talent. Right. You can hear the next bit a little more clearly. You knew that shit wasn't true when you said. This episode is brought to you by Noom. Forget one size fits all diets. With Noom, you get a personalized weight loss plan that's tailored to your lifestyle. No food is off limits. Enjoy your favorites while discovering healthier habits.
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Growing up, music was a big part of my life. And that soundtrack back in the day included Millie Vanilley. Blame it on the rain? Girl, you know it's true? I mean, I had choreo and whole dance routines to these songs. And the first time I actually saw Millie Vanilley on TV, I couldn't get over the fact that these were two black guys from Germany singing pop music. I didn't even know they were black people in Germany. For a minute, these guys were everywhere. And then they were gone.
And like a lot of folks, I just remembered them as two brothers who somehow duped me, my mama, and the entire world, and became a synonym for fake and phony. But when I began to learn about their story as an adult, man, it went so much deeper. This is a story about the cachet of blackness in pop culture, and who really benefits from it? About the entertainment business? And who gets to walk away with the money? And it's also a story about cancel culture.
And who ends up getting canceled? And for what? This is episode one. I can make something out of that. 15-year-old Chris Laird rolled up to the address he'd been given. It was a stately white house in an upper middle class munic suburb, with a gated driveway, these hatched garage, and a man-acquired green lawn. He was looking for a kid he'd met the other night at a party. A black kid with green eyes and a Jerry curl, who had absolutely dropped jaws on the dance floor.
I don't know how you call it, where you squat down, you have one stiff leg, it's almost like a Russian dance move, and that leg just swings around your arm. I mean, it's one of the first like the basic break dance moves you learn, but still. You know, he did that one move for 10 minutes, and everybody applauded. Every eye in the room was on the sky, and Chris, well, he wanted to be on that tip. So he introduced himself. The kid's name was Robert Halatus.
Turns out he had a break dance crew going with some of his friends. And then he says, hey, look, every Monday we have practice coming check this out. So that's what Chris was here to do. Mainly we practiced it in the garage. The garage belonged to Rob's neighbor, Georgio Zibold. Every Monday the crew would show up, roll out their mats, press play, and get busy.
Robert was also the loudest one. He had the biggest energy, but he'd do something good even though he was young, and it was good. But if he'd do something wrong or bad, he would laugh at you in your face. The whole crew gave themselves names. Rob. Sugar break, which was actually a homage on Sugar Ray learners. Georgio. Hot legs because I was able to put one leg behind my head. Even Chris got a name. And he was a Mr. Sphinx.
They called themselves the Bionic Dance Crew. And on weekends, they hit the subway. The crew showed up in their fliest looks, parachute pants, that shoe laces, and a boom box that looked like it ate other boom boxes for breakfast. In Munich in those days, it was rare to see one black kid on the subway, let alone two, with an Iranian and a Turkish kid to boot. The whole group was a kind of mixed up thing. I'm also a mixed person, you know. So they got noticed, alright, people would be like,
what kind of clothes is it? Look at these freaks. But we went out there and rolled out these things, you know, in the middle of the subway and put that ghetto blaster on. Everybody took a turn in the spotlight. The whole group of them, they're you frees, then the hip hop boys step in, do some up rock, boo, go down the window, take a step back, you know, and just keep switching, switching. Some people gave them looks like they were ruined in their day.
But for every two people who'd shake their heads at them, there might be one who would be like, hold on. I'm kind of into this. And the people who were into it kept growing. The Bionic Dance Crew went from busking to booking gigs and nightclubs. Now we are 16, 17, 18 year old punks, right? Making 150 euros a show ahead. This was the mid 80s. German culture was changing. Michael Jackson and Prince were all over the radio.
Hip hop culture was making its way into the mainstream, which meant for the first time it's cool being black. We actually have an advantage of being black instead of disadvantages, which was what we kind of grew up with. Chris had grown up on a nearby US military base. His dad was a black American GI. He'd put up with all the crap that came with being black in Germany. But at least he'd got to grow up with a lot of other black kids on the base.
Rob on the other hand, well he was the only black person around. Even in his own home. Rob was adopted. That's his sister, Carmen. She was also adopted. But she's white. So were their adoptive parents. Rob's birth mother was a white woman from Munich. And his father, son Fatha was a black American GI. Rob was one of many kids fathered by black American GI's who had then gone back to the US without them. And a lot of those kids ended up in orphanages, like Rob.
It was frowned upon and conservative Catholic Bavaria to have a child out of wedlock. And a black child out of wedlock? Foo-poor. That was a whole special level of frowned upon. Germans called these children brown babies. But Chris and his friends from the base had their own term. So this is what we used to call, excuse me, the salt and word. He's black on the outside, but he's completely white because he has no black experience. He has no black father, no black friends.
So they were actually brought up as complete Germans, but definitely didn't look German. And then Rob took a whole lot of shit in his childhood because of that. A whole lot of shit. Everyone looked at Rob like he was some weirdo. Carmen remembers being on the tram next to her brother. They were kids. They were alone. A woman walked right up to her brother. She said, oh, can I touch your hair? Before Rob could answer, she stuck her hand right in there and gave it a good squeeze.
Now this is why you shouldn't let any kids ride alone on the subway. Then she handed Rob five marks. Rob bought himself some ice cream with the money. At least this time he got a prize for being treated like some exotic freak. But those looks, the fascination with the hair, the oh my, how does he have such green eyes? That never let up. And it rarely ended with ice cream. But by the time Chris found Rob break dancing at a party, the reason why white Germans were looking at Rob was changing.
It's cool now. Now you have a black kid with green eyes. That is spectacular. Girls are losing their minds over him, of course. And he caught on that real quick that his looks and his little attitude just opened doors for him. Maybe everyone looking at you could be a good thing. Chris Laird pushed up the cross fader and timed the transition just right. The beats matched to a team. Rob had rented out an entire club for the night and hired Chris to DJ.
It was an old club, a little beat up. It wasn't really a fancy thing. He didn't give Chris too many details. All he told him was to pull up with records for the night he was calling. The Pilates Brothers presents. The weird thing was Rob didn't have a brother. But okay, we got a ride with it. The sound system was good, the lights were tight, and the dance floor was popping. Chris was thumping through his crate when Rob finally came by to talk to him. When Chris looked up, he did a double take.
This is not what I saw to look. First because of Rob's appearance, and then because he literally had his double standing right next to him. Rob's new friend for Breece Marvon was wearing the same outfit. Bandana, rip shirt, rip jeans. It was like, okay, well, yeah, it looks a little girlish. Yeah, I'm like two black guys wearing this, but they was wearing it with pride. But it wasn't the new clothes that really shocked Chris. It was the hair.
I'm like, well, wait a minute, where did this come from? Rob and his Pilates brother both had long black brains. You know, two weeks ago, he had hair like us, and now he got hair all the way down to his butt. But Chris didn't have time to react. Suddenly the lights go out. It's all dark. Everyone was standing around in the dark, wondering what the fuck was going on. And then all of a sudden, there is Aaron, and now we proud to present, and don't don't don't don't don't.
And Nate's gone and you just said, what the heck is going on? Rob and Fab burst onto the stage. They whipped their new hair left and right. And then, the guitar, the keyboard, and these two cats on stage with these long hair with this new look just going, yeah, rockin' a bud. We're all alone, brothers. That was the whole song. When it ended, the entire room was silent. Everybody just stood there and looked on stage, no reaction, nothing. Chris didn't know what to do. So we started clapping.
Then you see how the crowd slowed you all like, okay? It was painful. Everybody looked at each other, what the hell was this music, what was this song, what was this performance? But Rob didn't notice. He was smiling on stage like he crushed that joint, like he belonged there. And that's when I realized, okay, you're not stopping this guy. He is out there to get his. And that's it. And pretty soon, Robert would draw the attention of someone else. Someone who would see something in him.
Not with Chris or Carmen or any of the kids who had messed with him song. He would see something special, something he needed, something he could use. Remember that deal with the devil Rob talked about? While the devil is here. Say goodbye to performance robbing engine deposits with Shell V power Nitro Plus premium gasoline. Hate to break it to you. But lower grade fuel can leave deposits in your engine that build up over time and leave your engine's performance severely lacking.
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Find My Mochi ice cream at Target or visit MyMochi.com to locate a grocery store near you. Ingrid Saguit opened the door. It was Saturday. She wasn't expecting anyone. But standing in front of her was the dischoke of the very famous club here in Frankfurt, Cork, from Gidelic. He pulled the tape out. It was a new song by some teens from Baltimore. Every time he played it at the club, the dance floor went crazy. He thought this song had the potential to be a hit.
Ingrid and her boss slash boyfriend were in the business of songs. And specifically, they were looking for one they could make into a hit. So she told the DJ to come with her. He followed her bright red mane of curls down the hall, past gold and platinum records, past the photos of Stevie Wonder and Meatloaf, and straight to the living room to see Frank Ferrien. Frank was already parked in front of the TV, proudly sporting his red and white bare Munich scarf.
He looked more like someone's grumpy dad than one of Germany's biggest hitmakers. His mousey reddish brownish come over. Wasn't foolin' anyone. The DJ started with his pitch. Oh Frank, I have a demo. I want to play it to you. And Frank said, not today. The only thing Frank was more serious about the music was soccer. Today is Saturday and no one can come and play me something. And I was like, a little shocked and I said, Frank, this is too very famous to you.
From Funkadelic, you cannot talk to him like a cleaning lady. Ingrid knew better than to interrupt Frank on a soccer Saturday. But she also knew that they were going on nine years since his last big hit, with his disco supergroup Boni M. Disco had been pronounced dead years ago. And Frank had been on the hunt for the next big thing. So she turned down the TV and popped the cassette into the stereo. Ingrid could immediately tell the song was something special.
But Frank's eyes kept darting back to the TV. He was barely listening. Ingrid was used to Frank. He was difficult, but she knew how to work with him. She turned the DJ with an apologetic smile. They'd listened to it after the game. And then she sent him on his way. Two hours later, the match was finally over. She moved back to the stereo. Let's listen to that song now. She danced around while the song played. Oh my god, what a song, what a song. She wanted Frank to hear what she was hearing.
And this time, Frank did it. Ingrid could see. It was like an explosion went off in this man's brain. And then he said, I can make something out of that. Frank loved remaking other people's songs. It was his bread and butter. And he already had a plan for how he was going to take this song from a group of kids in Baltimore and turn it into something even better. On Monday, I called the Sitions and they produced a playback. And then he said, we needed somebody to sing. I said, hmm, easy.
Ingrid brought in a local rapper named Charles Shaw. Frank also needed a singer to do the lead vocals. He called Brad Howell. He said, can you come to studio? Where come to studio? Frank, can you do something? He don't ask you. He tell you something. Brad was one of Frank's most trusted musicians. He was an ex-pat living in Germany who had gotten this start as a drummer for the sole music legend Wilson Pickett. He checked off all of Frank's boxes, including the most important one.
He didn't say no. Once Brad arrived in the studio, Frank sat him down. Told him he wanted to play a song for him. And he asked me, what I was saying, I see his. Brad stepped in the booth and gave it a go. I know it's true. And Frank liked it. And Frank left it, take on the machine. And told me, go back inside again. I went inside again. And again, again, seven times. I sung that song through. And then he mixed my voices together. Frank was beaming. The vocals were perfect.
This could be the hit Frank needed. But to make this work, he needed to execute his plan perfectly. They needed a name. Frank suggested top deck. So that's what I was in this. But Ingrid said that's crap. Frank spitballed more ideas. And Ingrid kept saying no, no, no. That ain't it either. Finally, Frank snapped. It's how the money clapped over there. Really? Just shut up for a second. Millie? Huh? And then it hit him, like a stroka lightning.
Ingrid's nickname, Millie. Back when Ingrid was in college, her boyfriend, slash professor, would meet up with her at the bar she worked at. She's got a type. My real name didn't like it. And she always said, Millie. After the name of the bar, Millie Vanillie. Frank looked at her. They had their name. Now, the most important part. Who was going to front the group? Because it sure as hell wasn't going to be Brad. Frank had always said, People listened with their eyes.
And Brad was a middle-aged studio musician with a bum knee. Frank needed someone who looked the part. He and Ingrid knew exactly who to call. We've really been new phones. Team up will cover the cost of four amazing new iPhone 15s. And each line is only $25 a month. New iPhone 15s? It's better all here. Only a team mobile get four iPhone 15s on us. And four lines for 25 bucks per line per month. The eligible trade-in will you switch.
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They stood in the middle of a soundstage draped in gray curtains. Behind them was a full band. But they were in front. The stars. Their blazers had shoulder pads that were wider than most airplane seats. They wore little black leggings. We're talking three quarter length. Lots of calf. The look was topped off with dress shoes with black socks. Ingrid and Frank watched the guys from behind the camera. Everything secret. Even the people from the record company. The girls make up.
Nobody should ever know about the secret. This was the shoot for Millie Vanillee's first music video. And Ingrid, Frank and the guys were the only people on the set who knew the truth. Rob and Fab would be lip syncing. But not because that's what singers do in music videos. Because the voices on Girl You Know It's True weren't theirs. The music started. Fab spun around. Rob spun around. They jumped up and buck chests mid-air. Then they spun some more. They bounced to the beat.
They stopped their feet along with the drum break. Everything they did. Was in total unison. Amazing. Amazing. It was even better than Ingrid had hoped for. And the cherry on top of this Millie Vanillee Sunday. Their lip syncing. They were perfectly in sync. They looked like the real deal. Nobody. I asked nobody was thinking that this is a fake. It was no longer a question of if they could pull this off. It was how far could they take it.
Carmen Pilatus was busy setting the table for lunch when her brother burst through the door. He had his friend Fab with him. He always had Fab with him. And they were always up for a free home cooked meal. But Rob wasn't there to eat. He was holding out a record. There was a wild, almost manic look in his eyes. He wanted everyone to follow him to the living room so he could play his new song for them. It's not just what I thought I asked my aunt.
Personally, she didn't think this new singing thing with Fab was going to pan out. For one thing, her brother wasn't a singer. She was a singer in the family. But Carmen was going to let him figure things out for himself. She took the record from him. She knew her dad would be pissed if Rob messed up his turntable. Rob told her to hurry up. But she ignored him. She gently lifted the needle and set the record down. The first notes played. They were catchy. Not her thing. But catchy.
Carmen sat up in her chair. That's is niemalste verbrice. That couldn't possibly be Fab. Not with his French accent. And then the singing started. And it was clear that it was not there. Something wasn't right. This is so English. Rob didn't speak English that well. Carmen tried to say something. But Rob schusster. A pit of fear started forming in her stomach. She pulled the album cover onto her lap and flipped it over. She knew that the credits on the back always listed the vocalist.
But neither Fab nor Rob's name was there. So she asked them. Why aren't you guys listed as singers? Rob and Fab pretended not to hear her. The pit in Carmen's stomach was getting deeper. She pushed back. Robert, I know that's not you singing. She looked back down at the credits. There was one name she recognized that producer, Frank Farion. Since she started singing, she'd been hearing rumors about Frank. That's the franfarian. I click is the swiss de jimachon. Frank Farion is a nasty person.
I always knew that. And now her brother's future was in his hands. All these young girls were screaming in 80. And paramedics were just carrying them off. I remember asking the question. Do you think Millie Benelli will be nominated for Grammy? And they were kind of laughing. Your job is to be on stage, to lip sync, to dance, to be good looking. Be happy with that. And Rob was never happy with that. They finally believe that there are singers at that point.
I said, I'm out because it's out of control. It's them, they create it there, stay fucking naked, update it. They dupe to everybody. I need makes the word go wrong. There was like strange things going on, you know. That's coming up on this season of Blamet on the Fame. Follow Blamet on the Fame, Millie Benelli on the Wondry app, Amazon Music, or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to episodes early and add free by joining Wondry Plus in the Wondry app or on Apple Podcasts.
Before you go, tell us about yourself by completing a short survey at Wondry.com slash survey. From Wondry, this is episode one of six of Blamet on the Fame, a series about the lie that shot to number one. And what it costs to tell the truth. Blamet on the Fame is hosted by me, Amanda Seals. I also host another podcast called Small Doses that you should check out. Producers are Melissa Duenias and James Edwards. Senior producer is Julia Lowry Henderson. Senior story editor is Natalie Sheeshaw.
Production assistance by Sam Hobson, Emily Locke, and Kristi Tywo, Mackinjula. Additional reporting by Kirsten Silm. Additional writing from Kristen Tucker and Pia Wilson. Sound design from Jamie Cooper for Wondry. Post production services are provided by Ultra Violet with mixing and sound design by Matt Boynton. Original music and additional sound design by David Bowman. Music supervisor is Scott Velasquez for Free Sun Sync. Sound supervisor is Marcelino Villapando.
Additional research and fact checking by Barran Ducla. Senior managing producer is Lottapandia. Managing producer is Olivia Weber. And coordinating producer is Heather Baloka. Executive producers are George Lavender, Marshall Louis, and Jen Sargent for Wondry. This episode is brought to you by the effortlessly scrumptious bite of skinny pop popcorn. Imagine this, perfectly popped and endlessly delicious kernels, a symphony of just three simple ingredients.
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