DISGRACELAND - Donny Hathaway: Angels, Demons, and Unexplained Visions

Episode Date: July 16, 2024

Donny Hathaway was a singer, songwriter, and performer so inspiring that he compelled Stevie Wonder to change the way he sang, got Amy Winehouse to name-check him in her lyrics, and made musical giants like Ray Charles and Aretha Franklin stand up and take notice. But he was as troubled as he was talented. He suffered from hallucinations and paranoia, and was haunted in the recording studio just hours before his mysterious death at the age of 33.This episode contains themes that may be disturbing to some listeners, including suicide. If you’re thinking about suicide, or are worried about a friend or loved one, call the Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 800-273-8255.To see the full list of contributors, see the show notes at www.disgracelandpod.com.To listen to Disgraceland ad free and get access to a monthly exclusive episode, weekly bonus content and more, become a Disgraceland All Access member at disgracelandpod.com/membership.Sign up for our newsletter and get the inside dirt on events, merch and other awesomeness - GET THE NEWSLETTERFollow Jake and DISGRACELAND:InstagramYouTubeX (formerly Twitter) Facebook Fan GroupTikTok To learn more about listener data and our privacy practices visit: https://www.audacyinc.com/privacy-policy Learn more about your ad choices. Visit https://podcastchoices.com/adchoicesSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

This is exactly right. Double Elvis. This episode contains content that may be disturbing to some listeners. Please check the show notes for more information. Disgrace Land is a production of Double Elvis. This is the story about Donnie Hathaway, a singer, a songwriter, and a performer so inspiring

that he made Stevie Wonder change the way that he sang. He made Amy Winehouse name-check him in her lyrics. and he compelled other musical giants, Ray Charles and Aretha Franklin, to stand up and take notice. But this is also a story about madness, about angels and demons, about paranormal phenomena,

a haunting in a studio, the mysterious death of a young talent, and about soul, the essence of one soul, and about soul music. Great music. Donnie Hathaway made great music. Unlike that loop I played for you at the top of the show,

that was not great music. That was a preset loop from my Melotron called Seven Deadly Sins, MK1. I played you that loop because I can't afford the rights to too much heaven by the Bee Gees. And why would I play you that specific slice of Brothers in Harmony cheese could I afford it? Because that was the number one song in America on January 13, 1979.

And that was the day soul singer Donnie Hathaway's body was found dead on the sidewalk, 15 stories below his rented hotel room. On this episode, madness, angels, demons, paranormal phenomena, a studio haunting and the death of soul singer Donnie Hathaway. I'm Jake Brennan, and this is disgrace land. And Saul, yet breathing out threatenings and slaughter against the disciples of the Lord, went unto the high priest and desired of him letters to Damascus to the synagogues, that if he found any of this way, whether they were men or women,

he might bring them bound unto Jerusalem. And as he journeyed, he came near Damascus, and suddenly there shined round about him a light from heaven. And he fell to the earth and heard a voice saying unto him, Saul, Saul, why persecuteest thou me? And he said, who art thou, Lord? And the Lord said, I am Jesus whom thou persecuted. It is hard for thee to kick against the pricks.

And he trembled and astonished, said, Lord, what would thou have me do? And the Lord said unto him, arise, and go into the city, and it shall be told thee what thou must do. And the men which journeyed with him stood speechless, hearing a voice, but seeing no man. And Saul arose from the earth, and when his eyes were opened, he saw no man. But they led him by the hand and brought him into Damascus. That, of course, was a passage from the Bible, from the New Testament, King James Version, and specifically Acts, chapter 9, verses 1 through 8.

One of three tellings in the Bible of the story of Saul, a man who had threatened violence against Christians, a man who was on his way to carry out that violence, but who suddenly had a vision in the middle of the desert. This blindingly bright vision came not from the sun, but from behind the sun, a light from heaven. A light so strong, it literally struck him face down onto the sun, the ground, shaking, convulsing, compelled to change his ways, and to change his name from Saul to

Paul. Not only did he convert to Christianity, but he became one of the disciples. All because of this luminous phenomena. Saul, aka Paul, literally saw the light. The men he was traveling with, however, heard a voice but saw nothing, perhaps because Saul had a gift that the others did not possess, allowing him to see beyond the veil of our everyday reality and into another. A hidden reality that almost 2,000 years later, in 1900, the Canadian psychiatrist Dr. Richard M. Buck, long-time friend of Walt Whitman, by the way, explained this reality like this. Quote, there has lived on the earth for thousands of years among ordinary men,

the first faint beginnings of another race, walking the earth and breathing the air with us, but at the same time walking another earth and breathing air of which we know little or nothing, unquote. Saul, aka Paul, circa 33 AD, and Dr. Richard M. Buck at the turn of the 20th century. Nowadays, there are still true believers here in 2024, looking to the sky for signs of intelligent life from another planet,

a topic that has recently been investigated in depth at the highest reaches of the United States government. And look, I'm not saying that Paul was visited by aliens out in the desert on his way to Damascus. Because I'm not talking about extraterrestrials. I'm talking about ultra-terrestrials. Beings that, to paraphrase Dr. Buck, walk the earth and breathe the air with us. Angels. Not Michael and Gabriel, but other interdimensional angels. Demons, too.

Some helpful, others harmful, but all of them invisible to the majority of us mere mortals, because we use what, 10% of our brains, 30%? Whatever the number, we don't use our brains to their full capacity. But if we did, if we possess that extrasensory equipment that a minor portion of the population allegedly possesses, we would be able to see beyond the spectrum of visible light to the so-called super spectrum, where strange things, strange figures roam free by our sides day in and day out. Or so say paranormal euphologists or UFO experts.

Types like author John Keel, who published a book in 1975 called The Eighth Tower, a book in which a lot of what I've just laid out comes from. There exists in this book a desire to make sense of not just UFOs and alien abductions, but of other strange phenomena like ghosts, Bigfoot, a Lochness monster, and of course, to bring us back to where we started, religion. John Keel writes about all these things as a mass of energy tethered to our universe, an energy that we are unable to see because of the distortion of electrical energy in our everyday lives, radio waves, phone lines, microwaves, generators.

But this energy that we are unable to see, this super spectrum, it is powerful enough to shut down our clocks, our watches, our cars. As routinely happens in many reports of supposed alien contact, it controls us like pawns in a cosmic game, and it radiates. We are at the mercy of luminous phenomena, which you probably can't see, but you can read about. And in the 1970s, people read about it a lot. Books like the Eighth Tower, or perhaps more likely books like The Moth Man prophecies, John Keel's other book from 1975, which was actually a bestseller. The failed hippie movement Watergate, Vietnam, this decade was the time when Americans were desperate for meaning. In the new age, so to speak, the metaphysical, the occult, all these hot-button topics at the time,

they filled a void to provide meaning for days. but whether or not you believed in it had a lot to do with whether or not you could see it. So, 1970, New York City, back to a time and place that we normally traffic in here in disgrace land, the music industry. And the only thing that band leader and session man, King Curtis, could see,

was his own reflection in the closed doors of the elevator. That and the reflection of the guy standing next to him as the elevator made its way up. The guy was wearing a polyester jacket, turtleneck, and a big floppy cap. And King Curtis was one of those secret weapon-type musicians. He made his own records, of course. Records for Jerry Wexler and Atlantic Records, but he was also the go-to guy when an R&B or soul artist needed a saxophone player.

Sam Cook, Jimmy Hendrix, Aretha Franklin, King Curtis played with them all. And like his megawatt peers, King Curtis had an ear for his. talent. Talent possessed by the likes of this dude standing right here next to him now, looking straight ahead, obviously very shy, not talking, but nonetheless humming to himself. And not just some random, pointless melody. He was humming along to the elevator motor. Matching the motor's pitch perfectly, as perfect as this guy's voice was sounding right now while he humped. A voice that was tapped into the kind of frequency that even alluded in industry veteran like King Curtis. So King was absolutely mesmerized. Hey man, you got a name?

The dude in the big floppy hat with the perfect pitch said, Donnie Hathaway. Donnie Hathaway didn't just have a name or a voice. He had a demo recording of his own material, like the song The Ghetto, a nearly seven-minute Afro-Latin style groove that grooved hard. King Curtis couldn't believe how good this song was, and he couldn't get it into Jerry Wexler's hands at Atlantic Records fast enough. Jerry, King Curtis said, after he rushed into Wexler's place up in Great Neck, Long Island, you've got to check this kid out. Donnie Hathaway is his name.

He's as good as Marvin. He's as good as Ray, but on a whole different level. Jerry wondered what King Curtis meant by that, but he listened to the demo, and then he met the cat with a big floppy hat, and suddenly it all made sense. Donnie Hathaway wasn't just an incredible new talent. Donnie Hathaway heard and saw things that others never could. When Donnie Hathaway's debut album, Everything is Everything,

was released in July of 1970 on the Atlantic Records subsidiary Agco Records. It wasn't a major hit, but it quickly became your favorite artist's favorite album. Ray Charles and Aretha Franklin were instant fans. Carol King bought eight copies to give you. to her friends. And ditto for Stevie Wonder, who was so blown away by Donnie's voice that he actually changed how he sang. This totally checks out, by the way, go listen to Stevie Wonder before Donnie Hathaway hit

the scene and then compare it to how he sang afterward. Starting with Stevie's classic album, Talking Book, released a year after Donnie's debut. Stevie's suddenly pulling off these incredible vocal tricks that you can directly trace back to Donnie Hathaway. But before everything is everything, before Staphyby. Stevie and before Carol King, before King Curtis, there was another Curtis, Curtis Mayfield. Curtis Mayfield was coming off of his tenure leading his R&B group, The Impressions. It was now transitioning into a solo career, and he desperately needed some extra creative

muscle at his newly formed Curdum Records. Donnie Hathaway was already something of a known quantity. He was once a child prodigy at just four years old. he was touring the gospel circuit as little Donnie Pitts, a kid who was already hearing complex arrangements in his head at a young age, arrangements that he could not yet translate onto a page. Then he stole the spotlight when he played in the Rick Powell Trio. He played piano and he sang around Washington, D.C., in clubs,

while attending Howard University. Now, Howard University was prestigious, but in Donnie Hathaway's eyes, Curdham Records, was even more so. So he dropped out of school for his first real gig in the business, writing, producing, and performing for Curtis Mayfield. Donnie Hathaway was all music all the time. He thought about it. He dreamed about it. It oozed out of him every time he opened his mouth.

And not just one particular genre. He dug music in totality to use his own words, from the lowest blues to the highest symphony. And no low-brow, high-brow bullshit classification either. Everything was everything. He could hear it all. He could explain it all. He could arrange it all. All that beautiful music saturating his brain. That was the kind of thing that you could not be taught. It's why they called it soul music, because it came from somewhere inside of you. Soul music was, in essence, your essence. And Donnie Hathaway embodied this essence. Making music came as easy to Donnie, as did his ability to tell on something in the music was off,

even in the slightest, even when it came to a veteran player like drummer, Al Jackson Jr., who played for the legendary Stacks house band Booker T and the MGs. There was a recording session with Donnie for his self-titled sophomore album, and Al Jackson was playing great, as always, he was a living legend behind the drums. But Donnie could hear something that no one else in the room could. Al's timing was just slightly off. Al, Donnie said, when you come in on the one, you've got to be a one. come in like this. Donnie demonstrated and Al Jackson made the correction. A few bars later,

Donnie heard Al's time slip again and again. He asked him, the drummer, to tighten up. A minor piece of guidance that made a major difference in the long run. It was all there in Donnie's ears and in Donnie's head. We could hear the good things and the bad, but not just music, not just drums that were off time. There were voices, voices that only Donnie could hear. People, people that only Donnie could see. One was inside his television set. And I'm not talking about a news anchor or an actor on a primetime sitcom. Donnie turned the big dial on the front of the TV to change the station,

but stopped on the static in between the stations, almost like it was calling to him. Black and white fuzz, dancing like bugs on the surface of a lake, distortion, electrical energy, humming and buzzing. The static percolated. white noise, they called it, the kind of thing that soothed some people and bugged the shit out of others.

To Donnie, it was mostly rhythmic. He began to seek out the pulse, the beat propelling the static inside the television box. After all, everything was everything, so white noise blaring from a tiny television speaker could be music. But soon there was more than sound. It was a face. He could make it out behind the veil of fuzz,

trying to break on through, like it was stuck behind a window and wanted desperately to be seen, to be heard. No one else sitting on the couch next to Donnie took notice of what was happening, that the figure inside the TV was now moving its mouth, blinking its eyes. The glow from the screen became brighter and brighter until it was nearly blinding. Donnie thought about angels. Not people of good virtue, but spiritual attendance. Messengers of God, about how their visitations in the Bible were often met with the same sort of bright light.

Leminous phenomena. He thought about being a kid. He thought about being raised in the church. He thought about being raised on the gospel circuit, touring the Midwest with the woman who took care of him, his grandmother, a professional gospel singer. Donnie Hathaway, a.k.a. little Donnie Pitts. one hell of a singer, but also one hell of a preacher. Then he thought of the path that he had not taken.

He thought about how he chose life of secular music over a life of the gospel, thought that he turned his back on religion, far from it. Leading a crowd through a transcendent live music experience was a lot like leading a congregation through an impassioned sermon. But for Donnie's grandmother, R&B, soul music, it wasn't Christian. It was the opposite of Christian. It was a life of sin and unholyness, and it crushed Donnie Hathaway to think that his preferred career choice had driven a wedge between him and his grandmother.

So he took comfort in this figure appearing inside of his television set, which is finally beginning to speak to him. And the voice wasn't a man's or woman's. He didn't know if it was human, but it was a gentle voice, kind. It reassured him, and he returned the favor. speaking softly to this strange figure, so clearly visible to him now. Softly enough that no one else in the room could hear what he was saying. And then the voice stopped, and the figure was gone.

All it was left was the glow of the screen and the harsh sound of the television static. Hey, Donnie, his friend said, sitting next to him. You okay? Donnie turned to look at his friend. Yeah, man, I'm okay. Donnie wasn't just okay. He was confident. Not just in his voice, but in the music he was making,

like a self-titled sophomore record that went higher on the R&B chart than his debut. And not in the causes that he was now giving back to as any performing artists on the come-up would, helping to raise money for the Fred Hampton Legal Assistance Scholarship Fund for the National Black Political Convention, an activist and Reverend Jesse Jackson's operation, push. Donnie was confident that what he just experienced, The conversation he just had with someone in the television static was absolutely and unequivocally real.

We'll be right back after this world, word, word. Marvin Gaye was confused. He was at his studio on Sunset Boulevard in Los Angeles not far from where Donnie Hathaway had recently recorded the A side of his new album, Donnie Hathaway Live. And Donnie recorded this to a packed house inside Doug Weston's Trubidor Nightclub. But Marvin was now listening to that album, specifically to the opening song, What's Going On? A song that Marvin could have sworn he wrote and originally performed, not even a year prior. But here was Donnie Hathaway, singing it, and not just singing it, but owning it, killing it.

Not just the vocal, the arrangement. The shit-hot solo Donnie was playing on the world's her piano. So, sitting in his sprawling state-of-the-art studio, listening to the record as it spun on the turntable, Marvin could hear the music not just coming from a stereo speakers, but coming directly from Donnie Hathaway's soul. The rendition of the song was so good that Marvin Gaye momentarily forgot that he wrote it. He thought it was Donnie's song. Maybe it was now.

It was 1972, and Donnie Hathaway was suddenly... all the rage. There was Donnie Hathaway Live, the record that was tripping up our guy Marvin Gaye here, and the one which pushed Donnie over the line from one of the industry's best-kept secrets to one of its budding new stars. But there was also Roberta Flack and Donnie Hathaway, a collection of duets with his fellow Howard alum and Good Friend released just two months later. That album included the hit, Where Is the Love, along with a sublime cover of Carol Kings, You've Got a Friend, a track which, incredibly, was released just one week after James Taylor's equally iconic version. That song, more than Marvin's What's Going On, or Donnie's Own, The Ghetto, lights up the crowd on the Donnie Hathaway Live album.

Donnie plays the opening notes on his whorlets or electric piano, and women shriek with delight. The audience goes on to sing along to the chorus so loudly that they practically overtake the star of the show. It's this energy, and the way in which Donnie Hathway and his band feed off the energy that makes Donny Hathaway live, arguably, one of the greatest live albums of all time. Almost as good as James Brown's Live at the Apollo and Johnny Cash's at Fulson Prison. America thought so, too. It was Donnie's only album to go gold during his lifetime. He began to get noticed in public.

While out to dinner with some friends, two women at the next table over recognized the handsome guy with the mustache and the big floppy cat. And they giggled amongst themselves while stealing looks before eventually working up the nerve to lean over and say something. Donnie cracked a smile. Yes, he was. And it was a pleasure to meet them both. And the lady's been knocking back glasses of chardonnay. And they wanted to know if Donnie wanted to come back to their place,

you know, and let them take care of him. Donnie was flattered. But he turned them down gently, flashed his wedding ring while also flashing another smile. But behind that smile, Donnie wasn't happy, not with the music that is, specifically with how Donnie Hathaway live sounded. For a guy who went to great lengths to make sure that the sounds he heard in his head were accurately and perfectly represented in the finished product, Tony Hathaway found the live album format too raw.

From the lowest blues to the highest symphony, sure, but he knew he could do better. He knew he could be more polished. Polished like the music he wrote and conducted for the 1972 film, Come Back, Troumack. Charleston Blue, a scoring gig handed to him personally by none other than the great Quincy Jones. Or the music for his next project, which was his third studio album that he had called Extension of a Man, some of the most progressive music of his still young career that pushed the boundaries of soul in R&B. Even Rolling Stone magazine noticed. They called it an ambitious breakthrough album. Donnie Hathaway's ambition didn't stop there. Before long,

he was back in the studio, back to pouring all the genius inside his brain, onto two-inch tape on a reel. Working on some new tracks in a New York City studio with some new musicians, including James O'Tumey, a great percussion and keyboard player who'd just come off a string of wild jazz rock hybrid records with Miles Davis. James was in the groove now, even if Donnie had to coach him to get him there the way he'd done with Al Jackson Jr. a few years earlier. Donnie looked around the studio, musicians, engineers, a tape operator making coffee, songwriter and session producer Eric Mercury, James Latumay over there working out some nasty polyrhythms on the congas. But there was someone else too, someone that Donnie didn't recognize.

And that someone stood in the middle of the room surrounded by the session players that Donnie had hired to cut this track. That someone was seemingly unnoticed by any of them. That someone just stared at Donnie, sitting there at the piano. Donnie stared back. The dude was a white guy who was smartly dressed. He was the only Caucasian in the room. He didn't speak, gave off this, the complete opposite of the vibe given off by those women in the restaurant.

Or by the thing that Donnie saw on the television. This was malevolent. They wanted to hurt him. Donnie jumped up from the piano bench and bolted from the studio room. James Matumet found him a few minutes later in another room, squatting against the corner. Donnie, James said. Man, what's wrong? Donnie was shaking.

James, he said. They're trying to kill me. Who? White people. They have my brain hooked up to a machine, James. They're stealing my music. Hey and my sound. James was shocked.

He didn't know what to say. how to react. He'd never seen Donnie like this before. And given the state that Donnie was currently in, the best move in the moment seemed to be to call off the recording session for the night and pick it back up again a few days later. So Donnie took off from the studio, and he cooled out at his friend Roberta Flack's apartment. He had dinner, and then he returned to his room on the 15th floor of the Essex House Hotel on Central Park South. Donnie didn't mind Heights. When he lived in Chicago, back when he worked for Curtis Mayfield, Donnie used to open up his window on the 17th floor,

lean out, and make a joyful noise, singing, preaching, whatever you want to call it. He loved to blend his natural instrument with the sights and sounds of the natural world. Though when he did this, he was oblivious to what was going on around him. Sometimes he leaned out a little too far, in which case one of his friends would have to grab him

and pull him back inside before he fell. But tonight, Donnie Hathaway was alone. Or so goes one version of the story. Because it's impossible to truly understand what happened that night. The night that Donnie Hathaway still haunted by what he'd witnessed in the recording studio. Still dressed in his polyester jacket and big floppy cap fell from his open 15th story window overlooking Central Park. And died instantly when his body hit the ground. Did Donnie Hathaway jump from his window in the Essex House Hotel, or did he fall?

So hang on. Before we get into that, we need to just back up a quick second. First, I need to tell you something about his final recording session, the one with James Matoumi, in which Donnie Hathaway freaked out and said that white people were trying to kill him. That session took place on the day at Donnie's death, Saturday, January 13th, 1979. Perhaps a more important piece of information is that at the time of that session, it had been six years since Donnie released any music.

Six years. And remember, this is a guy who from 1970 to 1973 put out not just three studio albums, but a live album for the ages, a collaboration with Roberta Flack, and a soundtrack, not to mention, one of the greatest holiday jams of all time this Christmas. And then, nothing.

For six long years, nothing at all. So, what was Donnie Hathaway doing during those six years? Well, sometimes he was performing or attempting to. At the cellar door in Washington, D.C., he sat at the keyboard, barely playing, humming to himself while audience members walked out one by one and demanded a refund. Not a week later, he was at the village gate in New York City, delivering a riveting show with an incredible band at his back. But as the highs and lows of these shows demonstrate,

mostly, Donnie Hathaway spent those six years struggling. Not just with making music or even navigating his newfound fame. He struggled with paranoid schizophrenia. As early as 1971, before Donnie Hathaway Live was even conceived, Donnie's wife, Ulela, noticed that Donnie was acting strange. At first, in the way that only a husband or a wife would notice. But over time, it got worse. And when his third studio album, extension of a man came out in 1973, Donnie was hospitalized,

several times, in fact. He was taking something like 14 different pills three to four times a day. The pills made him agitated. They made him drowsy, and they affected his ability to write and perform. So naturally, he didn't like to take them. Days or weeks at a time, his illness went into overdrive. The figure, the voice that he saw, And the TV screen, there was no figure and there was no voice.

Or maybe there was. I don't know. I'm not Donnie Hathaway. Only Donnie Hathaway knew. But what we do know for sure is that Donnie Hathaway sat on a couch with a friend at his side, completely mesmerized by the distorted static sizzling on the screen. Black and white fuzz dancing like bugs on the surface of a lake. Donnie saw something, or he thought he did at least.

And what about those women hitting on him at the restaurant? In reality, that was not women plural, but woman singular. One woman sitting at the table next to Donnie's. A woman who was not talking to Donnie. Rather, Donnie was talking to her. He didn't even know her. He just stopped eating and conversing with the people at his table, turned to this woman and said,

You need to go home and take care of your kids. Donnie did make the great drummer Al Jackson Jr. play take after take to get his part right to stay on time the way Donnie heard it in his head. But in reality, this dragged on for hours and nearly drove Al Jackson crazy. And at the end of that time, after all those takes and after all of Donnie's notes, according to Jerry Wexler, Al Jackson was not playing any differently than he was playing at the start. Which brings us back to Donnie's final. recording session. The one on Saturday, January 13, 1979.

Just hours before his death. Did Donnie Hathaway see someone or something in the studio that was invisible to everyone else? Probably not, but then again, only Donnie knew. Donnie did say to James Matumai, white people have my brain hooked up to a machine. And according to Eric Mercury, the songwriter who was producing that day's session, Donnie also spent a lot of his time talking out loud in one voice and answering himself in another.

So when you look at Donnie Hathaway's tragic death, the official cause of that death, suicide, seems to track. Donnie was spooked that day, really freaked out. His behavior was erratic. He panicked. He removed the safety glass from his hotel room window, and then he jumped. Suicide being one of the leading causes of death for people suffering from. paranoid schizophrenia. On the other hand, Donnie was trying to restart his career. He had three young daughters. He was a major source of musical inspiration for superstars from Aritha Franklin,

who had Donnie play keys on her hit rock steady to Stevie Wonder, who co-wrote the song Donnie was recording on the final day of his life. At Donnie's funeral, Jesse Jackson delivered the eulogy and said that Donnie's death was an accident, that no man would go through the preparation of putting on his jacket, scarf, and cap just to jump out of a window. Point taken, Reverend Jackson. But no one knew exactly what Donnie Hathaway heard or saw. Not in the TV set, not out at dinner, not in a recording studio, and certainly not on that cold January evening in his Essex house hotel room. Maybe it was something invisible to the rest of us. Luminous phenomena. Maybe it was absolutely nothing.

Either way, deliberate or not, it took the tremendously talented and soulful Donnie Hathaway away from us at just 33 years old. And that is a disgrace. I'm Jake Brennan, and this is Disgraceland. Disgraceland was created by yours truly and is produced in partnership with Double Elvis. Credits for this episode can be found on the show notes page at Disgracelandpod.com. Subscribe, follow, like, rate, and review the disgrace land podcast wherever you get your podcast, because the disgrace land podcast is now available everywhere. If you love disgrace land, tell someone, tell everyone.

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