‘Jealous Kind of Fella’ Singer Garland Green Dead at 83

The cover art for Garland Green's 1969 debut album, "Jealous Kind of Fella," features the singer in his prime. Green, whose title track became a defining anthem of the Chicago soul era, died over the weekend at the age of 83. (Courtesy of Uni Records)

Chicago soul lost one of its essential voices this week.

Garland Green, the Mississippi-born, Chicago-bred singer whose 1969 hit “Jealous Kind of Fellow” became a defining anthem of romantic vulnerability in the late-’60s soul era, has died. He was 83.

The news was confirmed Monday in a public Facebook post by Marshall Thompson, founding member of The Chi-Lites, who wrote that Green “has passed away this morning” and described him as a Chicago hero who “will never be forgotten.” Additional details were not immediately available.

Born Garfield Green Jr. in Dunleith, Mississippi, in 1942, Green was the tenth of 11 children. He relocated to Chicago in 1958 during the latter wave of the Great Migration, arriving at 16 and immersing himself in the city’s rapidly evolving soul scene.

According to multiple biographical accounts, Green was discovered while singing in a pool hall, where local entrepreneur Argia B. Collins heard his voice and helped finance his musical training at the Chicago Conservatory of Music — a formative investment that refined his raw gospel-blues delivery into something both streetwise and orchestral.

 

His breakthrough came in 1969 with “Jealous Kind of Fellow,” released on Uni Records. The song climbed to No. 5 on Billboard’s R&B chart and No. 20 on the Billboard Hot 100, establishing Green as a prominent voice in Chicago’s lush, string-driven soul movement. The record’s restrained anguish — equal parts pleading and pride — made it a staple of dance floors and stepper culture for decades.

While the single remains his most widely recognized recording, Green maintained a steady presence in soul throughout the 1970s. He later recorded for Cotillion Records and worked alongside notable musicians of the era, including Donny Hathaway, further cementing his place within Chicago’s interconnected soul network.

 

Though his commercial visibility waned as disco and later R&B trends shifted, Green continued performing. He relocated to California in 1979 and recorded intermittently for independent labels before stepping away from the studio for an extended period.

He returned in 2012 with the album “I Should’ve Been the One,” a late-career project that demonstrated his voice retained its grit and emotional clarity. In recent years, he continued making select appearances, including performances well into his 80s.

Green’s passing marks another loss in the lineage of Chicago soul architects whose contributions often ran parallel to — but distinct from — Motown’s more heavily mythologized narrative. His catalog may not have been vast, but his signature record remains embedded in the city’s musical DNA.

Lil Jon’s Son, DJ Young Slade, Found Dead at 27 in Georgia Park

Rapper Lil Jon, left, poses with his son, Nathan Smith, following Smith's graduation from New York University in a photo posted to the late producer's social media. Smith, 27, known professionally as DJ Young Slade, was found dead Friday in Milton, Georgia, after being reported missing earlier in the week. (Courtesy of Nathan Smith/Instagram)

After a frantic, agonizing three-day search that held the city’s music community in a suspended state of collective prayer, the worst fears were realized Friday afternoon. Nathan Smith, the 27-year-old producer and DJ known to the world as DJ Young Slade — and to Lil Jon simply as his only child — was found dead in Milton, Georgia.

The discovery came around noon, when divers from the Cherokee County Fire Department recovered Smith’s body from a pond in Mayfield Park, a quiet green space just hundreds of feet from the home where he was last seen running barefoot and disoriented on Tuesday morning.

For a generation raised on the high-octane, tear-the-club-up energy of Lil Jon, the statement issued by the hip-hop legend on Friday was jarring in its devastating quiet.

“I am extremely heartbroken for the tragic loss of our son, Nathan Smith,” Lil Jon said, confirming the news that had begun to ripple through industry text threads earlier in the day. “His mother, Nicole Smith, and I are devastated. Nathan was the kindest human being you would ever meet. He was immensely caring, thoughtful, polite, passionate, and warmhearted.”

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For those who track the lineage of Southern hip-hop, Nathan Smith was the heir apparent to a dynasty. He wasn't a "nepo baby" coasting on a famous surname; he was a skilled technician — an NYU graduate who mastered the boards and possessed an ear that his father frequently credited as the secret weapon in his later career. They were a fixture together, often spinning back-to-back sets at major festivals where the chemistry was undeniable.

The circumstances surrounding his death remain a blur. Police say Smith walked away from his home early Tuesday without his phone or wallet, prompting a massive search involving K-9 units and drones. While the investigation is technically active, authorities were quick to note Friday that there is "no indication of foul play," leaving a grieving family to grapple with a tragedy that feels as senseless as it is final.

“We loved Nathan with all of our hearts and are incredibly proud of him,” the family’s statement concluded, asking for privacy in a moment where the entire culture feels the loss.

Lamonte McLemore, Architect of the 5th Dimension’s Sound, Dies at 90

The 5th Dimension features (clockwise from top left) Ron Townson, Florence LaRue, Marilyn McCoo, LaMonte McLemore and Billy Davis Jr. in a promotional photo. McLemore, who recruited the members to form the "Champagne Soul" quintet that broke racial barriers in pop music, died Tuesday at age 90. (Photo by John Engstead/Courtesy of 2911 Media)

The smooth, anchoring bass of “Champagne Soul” has gone silent.

LaMonte McLemore, the founding member of The 5th Dimension whose vision — both musical and photographic — helped define the aesthetic of the 1960s and 70s, died Tuesday at his home in Las Vegas. He was 90.

According to a statement confirmed by Jeremy Westby of 2911 Media, McLemore passed peacefully from natural causes, surrounded by his family. He had been recovering from a stroke suffered several years ago.

It is impossible to overstate just how critical “Mac” was to the architecture of pop culture. He wasn't just he figure with the warm baritone on “Up, Up and Away.” He was the connector, the scout and the glue. McLemore was the one who assembled the Avengers of vocal harmony. A former minor league baseball pitcher with a golden ear, he first recruited Marilyn McCoo — whom he met during a photo shoot — for a group called the Hi-Fi’s. When that dissolved, he called up his old St. Louis friends Billy Davis Jr. and Ron Townson, and then brought in a schoolteacher named Florence LaRue.

LaMonte McLemore, the founder and bass vocalist of The 5th Dimension, poses for a portrait. McLemore, known as the "glue" of the six-time Grammy-winning group and a groundbreaking photographer, died Tuesday at his home in Las Vegas. He was 90. (Photo by Benny Clay/Courtesy of 2911 Media)

The result was The 5th Dimension, a group that smashed the color barrier of pop radio. In an era when Black artists were often boxed into specific R&B lanes, McLemore’s group wore colorful bell-bottoms and sang Jimmy Webb and Laura Nyro songs with a sophistication that forced the world to listen. They were “Black joy” before the term existed, winning six Grammys and topping the charts with anthems like “Aquarius/Let the Sunshine In” and “Stoned Soul Picnic.”

McLemore’s legacy extended far beyond the grooves of a vinyl record. For over 40 years, he was the lens behind the legendary “Beauty of the Week” feature in Jet magazine. He didn't just take pictures; he celebrated the Black woman in a way that mainstream fashion magazines of the era refused to do. He shot the cover of Stevie Wonder’s first album, became the first African American photographer hired by Harper’s Bazaar and saw the culture when the rest of the media looked away.

LaMonte McLemore looks through his camera lens in this undated photo. Beyond his musical legacy, McLemore was a celebrated visual artist who spent four decades shooting the iconic "Beauty of the Week" feature for Jet magazine and became the first African American photographer hired by Harper’s Bazaar. (Courtesy of 2911 Media)

In a joint statement, his longtime friends and bandmates Marilyn McCoo and Billy Davis Jr. said, “All of us who knew and loved him will definitely miss his energy and wonderful sense of humor.” Florence LaRue added that his “cheerfulness and laughter often brought strength and refreshment to me in difficult times,” noting that they were “more like brother and sister than singing partners.”

McLemore is survived by his wife of 30 years, Mieko, his daughter Ciara, his son Darin and his sister Joan. 

Michael ‘5000’ Watts, Who Took Chopped and Screwed From Mixtapes to the Mainstream, Dies at 52

Michael “5000” Watts, the Swishahouse founder who helped take Houston’s "chopped and screwed" sound worldwide, is shown in a photo released by his family. Watts, 52, died on Friday. 

The architect of the Northside sound has transitioned, leaving behind a city forever slowed by his influence.

Michael "5000" Watts, the visionary DJ and founder of Swishahouse Records who transformed Houston’s "chopped and screwed" subculture from a trunk-sale hustle into a Billboard-topping global phenomenon, has died. He was 52.

The Watts family confirmed the loss on Friday, revealing that the hip-hop pioneer passed away on Jan. 30, 2026, at Memorial Hermann Hospital in The Woodlands. According to the family, Watts succumbed to a sudden cardiac event caused by Torsades de Pointes, a rare and fatal heart rhythm disorder. He had been hospitalized for the past week facing what loved ones described as "tremendous health issues," a battle that ended surrounded by his family.

To understand the gravity of this loss is to understand the geography of Texas rap. While the late DJ Screw originated the slowed-down "screwed" sound on the Southside, it was Watts who planted the flag on the Northside in the late 90s. He didn’t just replicate the style; he industrialized it, turning Swishahouse from a local label into a vertically integrated empire that eventually kicked down the doors of the mainstream.

Watts was an A&R genius with an ear that rivaled any major label executive. Under his stewardship, the "Swishahouse" tag became a seal of quality that launched a golden era of talent, including Slim Thug, Paul Wall, Mike Jones and Chamillionaire. His distinct voice—announcing "Remix!" over iconic tracks —became the soundtrack for a generation.

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The impact of his vision was best summarized by his longtime partner and fellow Swishahouse co-founder OG Ron C, who described the loss with "profound sorrow." In a statement, Ron C framed Watts not merely as an executive, but as a "cultural architect" who reshaped the identity of the city.

"Michael '5000' Watts was more than a founder, he was a movement," the statement read. "As the creator of Swishahouse Records, he helped define the sound, spirit, and global influence of Houston hip-hop. Watts expanded on Houston's chopped and screwed legacy, transforming mixtape culture into a worldwide phenomenon and giving a platform to voices that would go on to shape an era."

That era reached its zenith in 2005, when the Swishahouse anthem "Still Tippin'" exploded nationally. It was a moment of vindication for Watts, proving that the slow, hypnotic sound of the Northside could captivate listeners from New York to Los Angeles.

Beyond the charts, Watts remained a tangible "pillar in the community," a sentiment echoed by his colleagues at 97.9 The Box, where he was a fixture on the airwaves. He was accessible, a mentor who kept his ear to the streets even after the platinum plaques arrived.

"He was a business owner, DJ, radio personality... and pillar in the community," his family noted in their official tribute, asking for continued prayers as they navigate this "very hard journey."

Watts leaves behind his wife, Tammy Watts, five children, and two grandchildren.

For those who grew up on the "The Day Hell Broke Loose" series, the silence today is deafening. Watts didn't just slow down the music; he slowed down the world long enough for everyone to appreciate the unique rhythm of Houston.

Rest in Power, 5000. The House he built stands forever.

Bryan Loren, R&B Singer and Prolific Producer, Dies at 59

The music world lost one of its most potent secret weapons this week. Bryan Loren, the multi-instrumentalist prodigy known as “The Wiz” who helped shape the sound of Michael Jackson’s "Dangerous" era and quietly co-created one of the most unlikely pop culture hits of the 1990s, has died. He was 59.

For the uninitiated, Loren was a liner-note name. For students of the groove, he was something closer to a missing link — a bridge between the lush Philly soul of the 1970s and the hard-edged "New Jack Swing" that defined the 1990s. He was a true music man: a writer, producer, singer and instrumentalist capable of building an entire record from the ground up before most artists had finished soundcheck.

Born Bryan Loren Hudson on Long Island and raised in South Philadelphia, Loren was a prodigy by any measure. By 15, he was already a working session musician at Alpha International Studios, learning under Philly legend Nick Martinelli. He brought funk and polish to Fat Larry’s Band and layered sleek textures for the vocal trio Cashmere, earning the nickname “The Wiz” for his uncanny command of synthesizers and rhythm programming.

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According to Shana Mangatal, a former manager for Jackson who became close friends with Loren, the King of Pop was "stunned" to learn Loren had handled every duty himself on Shanice’s debut album “Discovery” at just 19 years old.

"His talent was on the level of Prince," Mangatal wrote in a tribute. "Truly rare."

This admiration sparked a creative brotherhood that would unfold largely behind the scenes.

In the early 1990s, Jackson was searching for a new sonic direction following “Bad.” He found it in Loren’s basement studio in Woodland Hills, California. Mangatal recalls Jackson frequently driving himself to Loren's home, where the two bonded over shared obsessions with "girls, cartoons, and life." They even spent a Thanksgiving together — just two musical geniuses trading ideas away from the corporate machinery of Sony.

Mangatal shared a revealing anecdote that underscores Loren's uncredited influence. She recalled a moment in 1993 when Jackson called her, asking to dictate lyrics for a song called "Family Thing" so she could rush them to the label.

"He kept me on the phone for nearly an hour, line by line," Mangatal said. "Later that night, I told Bryan about MJ’s call — he just laughed. He told me HE had actually written the lyrics for MJ."

While Teddy Riley would ultimately define the final New Jack Swing sheen of Dangerous, Loren was instrumental in the album’s foundation. He played drums and percussion on the finished record, but his deeper contribution lived in the sessions themselves. Songs such as “Serious Effect,” featuring LL Cool J, and “She Got It” showcased a darker, funk-driven Jackson. Another track, “To Satisfy You,” was passed over for Dangerous but reclaimed by Loren for his own 1992 album Music from the New World, with Jackson still providing background vocals.

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Loren’s most subversive success, however, arrived under unlikely circumstances. In 1990, “Do the Bartman” became a global phenomenon, topping charts and fueling the height of The Simpsons mania. The song was officially credited to Loren, but it was widely understood within the industry that Jackson — a devoted fan of the show — had co-written the track. Contractual obligations prevented Jackson’s name from appearing in the credits, leaving Loren as the public face of a hit powered by one of pop’s greatest unseen collaborations.

Beyond Jackson, Loren’s fingerprints touched much of modern R&B and pop. He wrote “Feels So Good” for Whitney Houston and worked with artists including Sting, Barry White and Eric Benét.

Following his passing, Loren’s brother, Geno Dozier, offered a poignant tribute to the man behind the music.

"My brother was his father’s son… a brilliant musician who lived his life unapologetically," Dozier said. "His talent was ELITE, and his character was true."

Bryan Loren leaves behind a catalog that helped define a generational shift. He carried the soul of Philadelphia into the digital age, helping blueprint the rhythmic language of the 1990s while remaining largely invisible to the mainstream audience he influenced.

The Wiz has left the building — but the sound he helped shape is everywhere.

Ray J Reveals Heart Failure Diagnosis, Claims Doctors Gave Him Until 2027

In this screengrab, singer and reality television personality Ray J speaks to fans about his health prognosis on Instagram. The entertainer claimed doctors told him "2027 is a wrap" due to heart damage he attributed to excessive alcohol and drug use. (Ray J via Instagram)

Ray J, the R&B singer, reality TV entrepreneur, and wannabe tech mogul, has delivered a stark and unsettling forecast for his own life: He claims doctors have told him he won’t make it past 2027.

In a series of erratic and emotional livestreams following a hospitalization for severe pneumonia, the 45-year-old revealed that his heart is functioning at only 25 percent capacity.

With the same candidness that fueled his rise from Brandy’s little brother to the king of reality television, Ray J admitted that years of excess — specifically a daily regimen of "four or five bottles" of alcohol and "10 Addies" (Adderall) — have left his heart "black" and seemingly beyond repair.

"I thought I was a big shot, so I could handle all the alcohol. I could handle all the Adderall," Ray J told viewers, gesturing to his chest. "I f---ed up... And it curbed my time here."

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The admission marks a grim chapter for the "One Wish" singer, whose career has been defined by an uncanny ability to monetize chaos. Yet, even in the face of what he describes as a terminal diagnosis, the hustle hasn’t stopped. In a jarring juxtaposition characteristic of the modern celebrity news cycle, Ray J took to Instagram to announce he "just almost died," only to immediately pivot into a promotional plug for the Zeus Network and his own Tronix Network.

"TRONIX NET WILL BE A FULL ON DATING SHOW UNTIL WE DISCUSS IT WITH THE ZEUS NETWORK BOARD OF DIRECTORS," he wrote in the caption, proving that while his heart may be failing, his instinct for cross-promotion remains fully operational.

The medical reality, however, appears severe. According to the singer, he is currently on eight different heart medications, and doctors have advised him to prepare for a pacemaker or defibrillator. He described the right side of his heart as being "like gun," a cryptic but ominous descriptor for organ failure.

The health scare comes amidst a turbulent personal period. Ray J is currently embroiled in a contentious legal battle with his estranged wife, Princess Love. He revealed that a restraining order currently prevents him from coming within 150 feet of her or their two children. Despite the friction, he assured fans that his estate is in order.

"My baby mama gon’ be straight, my kids gon’ be straight," he said. "If they want to spend all the money, they can spend it, but I did my part here."

While Ray J faces the consequences of his "indestructible" phase, the clean-up crew has arrived in the form of his family. The singer gave a "shout out" to his parents and his sister, vocal legend Brandy, for their support. "She paid my bills for me for the rest of the year," he noted, confirming that the Norwood sibling bond remains the most stable element in his orbit.

As the industry processes the news, Ray J offered a final, bleak directive for his eventual exit: "When it’s all done, burn me, don’t bury me."

John Forté, Grammy-Nominated Producer Tied to Fugees’ ‘The Score,’ Dead at 50

John Forté attends the Vanity Fair party for the 2012 Tribeca Film Festival in New York on April 17, 2012. Forté, the Grammy-nominated musician known for his work with the Fugees and the Refugee Camp, was found dead Monday at his home in Chilmark, Mass., at 50. (David Shankbone via Wikimedia Commons, CC BY 3.0)

John Forté, the Grammy-nominated musician and producer whose quiet but crucial contributions helped shape the Refugee Camp era that carried the Fugees into hip-hop history, has died. He was 50.


Forté was found unresponsive Monday afternoon at his home in Chilmark, Massachusetts. Chilmark police responded around 2:25 p.m. and pronounced him dead at the scene, according to the Vineyard Gazette. Police said there were no signs of foul play and no readily apparent cause of death. The case has been turned over to Massachusetts State Police and the Cape and Islands District Attorney’s Office, with the state medical examiner investigating.

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While Forté was never a household name, his work traveled far. Closely aligned with the Refugee Camp collective alongside Wyclef Jean, Lauryn Hill and Pras Michel, Forté was a key contributor to the Fugees’ 1996 breakthrough album “The Score,” a project that helped redefine the sound and global reach of modern hip-hop. The album won best rap album at the Grammys and remains one of the genre’s most influential releases.

Born Jan. 30, 1975, in Brooklyn’s Brownsville neighborhood, Forté was classically trained in music and studied violin from a young age. He later attended Phillips Exeter Academy, where his musical foundation deepened before his path ultimately led him into hip-hop’s creative underground and the orbit of the Fugees.

Canibus, DMX, John Forte, Big Pun & Mos Def, 1997. pic.twitter.com/hkJ1NaVLPy

— Tobi Marshall (@CoededMarshall) December 26, 2025

Forté’s life also included a long and public reckoning with the criminal justice system. In 2000, he was arrested on drug trafficking charges and sentenced under federal mandatory minimum guidelines to 14 years in prison. After serving more than seven years — and following advocacy from musicians, artists and public figures — his sentence was commuted by President George W. Bush in 2008.

Just heard the heartbreaking news that John Fortè has passed away. Sending our condolences to the family and loved ones of the Fugees/Refugees All-Stars legend 💔🕊️ pic.twitter.com/a2sdtu4gYt

— Rock The Bells (@RockTheBells) January 13, 2026

Among Forté’s most vocal supporters was Carly Simon, who became a close friend during his later years. In a 2010 interview, Forté described Simon as “my champion, my crusader, my mentor, my friend, my spiritual guru,” crediting her with helping him rebuild his life and creative footing after prison.

In the years that followed, Forté continued working across music, film and television, including composing music connected to the recent revival of the civil rights documentary series “Eyes on the Prize,” which aired on HBO.

Tributes from the hip-hop community began surfacing soon after news of his death broke. “This one hurts,” Wyclef Jean wrote on social media, sharing archival performance footage honoring his longtime collaborator.

Forté spent his later years on Martha’s Vineyard with his wife, photographer Lara Fuller, and their two children, Haile and Wren.

Don Bryant, Memphis Songwriter Whose Work Bridged Soul and Hip-Hop, Dies at 83

Don Bryant poses for a press photograph during the promotion of his 2017 comeback album “Don’t Give Up on Love.” The Memphis soul singer and songwriter, whose work included co-writing Ann Peebles’ classic “I Can’t Stand the Rain,” died Dec. 26 after a series of health issues. He was 83. (Matt White, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons)

Don Bryant, a Memphis soul singer and songwriter whose work helped define the sound of Hi Records and whose songs continue to echo through modern R&B and hip-hop, has died. Bryant, the husband and chief collaborator of Ann Peebles, died Dec. 26 after a series of health issues, according to posts shared on his official social media accounts. He was 83.

“Don loved sharing his music and songs with all of you and it gave him such great joy to perform and record new music,” his family wrote. “He was so appreciative of everyone who was part of his musical journey and who supported him along the way.”

Bryant’s legacy is inseparable from one of the most enduring recordings in Southern soul: “I Can’t Stand the Rain,” the 1973 Peebles hit he co-wrote with her and Bernard “Bernie” Miller. Built on spare instrumentation and emotional restraint, the song became a masterclass in atmosphere — intimate, tense and unflinching. Decades later, it took on a second life when its opening rhythm was sampled for Missy Elliott’s debut solo single, “The Rain (Supa Dupa Fly),” extending Bryant’s Memphis-born sensibility into the DNA of modern hip-hop.

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Born in Memphis and raised in the church, Bryant learned early that soul music was as much about discipline as expression. His father sang in a gospel group, and rehearsals often took place in the family home. Bryant later recalled listening closely, absorbing harmony and phrasing, then attempting to recreate the sound with his brothers — an informal education that shaped both his voice and his pen.

By the late 1950s, Bryant was already writing songs, some of which were recorded by the Five Royales and bandleader Willie Mitchell. As a teenager, he sang with various vocal groups and began performing regularly, eventually drawing the attention of influential Memphis radio figures who encouraged his move from gospel into secular music.

That determination carried him into Hi Records’ orbit during the 1960s. Bryant recorded as a solo artist, releasing the 1969 album “Precious Soul” and singles that blended country, blues and deep soul without sacrificing grit. 

As Hi’s roster expanded, he shifted behind the scenes, becoming a staff songwriter whose catalog would grow to more than 150 credited songs. Writing for artists including Solomon Burke, Albert King and Etta James, Bryant developed a reputation for adaptability and precision. 

He later explained that studying an artist’s phrasing and delivery helped him tailor material to their voice. “When I was writing for an individual I could always come up with something that would fit them,” Bryant said in an interview with Blues Blast Magazine.

The defining partnership of Bryant’s life began in the early 1970s, when he met Peebles, a young singer newly signed to Hi. “That’s when I wrote ‘99 Pounds’ — that’s the one I wrote especially for Ann when she first came in,” Bryant recalled in later interviews. “To tell you the truth, I fell in love with Ann then, when I heard her sing.” The two married in 1974 and remained partners for the next four decades, creatively and personally.

Bryant wrote or co-wrote many of Peebles’ signature songs, helping her deliver a body of work that balanced sensuality with resolve and vulnerability with strength. His writing favored economy over excess — songs built around mood, tension and emotional truth rather than ornamentation. That restraint is precisely what allowed records like “I Can’t Stand the Rain” to age so well, surviving reinterpretation across genres without losing their core.

For years, Bryant placed his own recording ambitions aside, focusing on Peebles’ career while continuing to sing in church and release gospel recordings. When Peebles suffered a stroke in 2012, her touring life came to a halt. With her encouragement, Bryant returned to secular music late in life, recording “Don’t Give Up on Love” in 2017 — his first non-gospel album in nearly five decades. The record was widely praised not as a novelty comeback, but as the work of an artist who had simply been waiting for the right moment to speak again.

He followed with “You Make Me Feel,” released in 2020, which earned him his first Grammy nomination in the Best Traditional Blues Album category. The recognition arrived when Bryant was 78, a rare acknowledgment of a career that had quietly shaped American music for more than half a century.

Carl Carlton, Voice of Funk Classic ‘She’s a Bad Mama Jama,’ Dead at 72

Carl Carlton on the cover of his 1981 self-titled album, which featured the Grammy-nominated hit “She’s a Bad Mama Jama (She’s Built, She’s Stacked).” The Detroit-born singer, who also scored with “Everlasting Love,” died Sunday at age 72. (Album cover image via 20th Century Records)

Carl Carlton — the R&B, soul and funk singer whose hits “Everlasting Love” and “She’s a Bad Mama Jama (She’s Built, She’s Stacked)” became part of America’s musical DNA — has died. He passed away Sunday at age 72, his son announced, following years of health challenges after a stroke.

“RIP Dad, Legend Carl Carlton,” his son, Carlton Hudgens II, wrote on Facebook. “Long hard fight in life and you will be missed… Always love you.”

Born Carlton Hudgens in Detroit in 1953, Carlton began performing as “Little Carl Carlton” in the 1960s, a nickname that stuck because of his resemblance in tone to Stevie Wonder. By the early ’70s, he dropped the “Little” and started making his own mark on the soul scene with “I Can Feel It,” his first appearance on Billboard’s soul chart.

His breakout came in 1974 with “Everlasting Love,” a triumphant cover of Robert Knight’s R&B song that shot into the Billboard Hot 100 Top 10 and became the version most listeners remember. Nearly 50 years later, it remains a timeless anthem of devotion, with more than 25 million Spotify streams and steady rotation on classic-soul playlists.

Carlton’s defining moment, however, arrived in 1981 with “She’s a Bad Mama Jama (She’s Built, She’s Stacked).” Written by Leon Haywood and released on his self-titled album, the song was a master class in funk confidence — slick, strutting and impossible not to dance to. It earned Carlton a Grammy nomination for Best R&B Vocal Performance and later became a pop-culture fixture, appearing in everything from “Friends” to “Miss Congeniality 2.” The track’s bassline has been sampled or referenced by Foxy Brown, Flo Milli and Das EFX, among others, proving its groove never aged out.

Carlton recorded steadily through the early 1980s, then shifted focus but never stopped performing. In 2010, he released a gospel album, “God Is Good,” a project that reflected the faith and optimism that often underpinned his music.

Tributes poured in from across the soul and funk community after his death. The group Con Funk Shun wrote, “With heavy hearts, we mourn the passing of the legendary Carl Carlton. His voice, talent and contributions to soul and R&B music will forever be a part of our lives and the soundtrack of so many memories. Rest in power, Carl. Your legacy lives on.”

Music outlet Okayplayer added that Carlton’s “voice helped shape generations of rhythm-driven sound,” describing his catalog as “a blueprint for what authentic soul and funk should feel like.”

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Carlton’s career reflected a deep love for melody and groove — the kind that reached church pews, roller rinks and dance floors alike. His songs were built to last, and so was his influence.

He is survived by his son, Carlton Hudgens II, and a body of work that continues to find new life through samples, remixes and every DJ who still knows that when “Bad Mama Jama” drops, the room moves.

Tyrone ''Fly Ty' Williams, Cold Chillin’ Founder and Hip-Hop Pioneer, Dies at 68

Tyrone “Fly Ty” Williams, the pioneering founder of Cold Chillin’ Records and one of hip-hop’s first major-label executives, in an undated photo shared on his Instagram. The Brooklyn-born architect of rap’s golden age — who helped launch Biz Markie, Big Daddy Kane and Roxanne Shanté — died Monday. (Photo via Instagram / @flytywilliams)

Tyrone “Fly Ty” Williams, a foundational architect of hip-hop’s golden era who founded Cold Chillin’ Records and helped launch some of rap’s most influential artists, died Monday in New York. He was 68.

Williams’ passing was confirmed on social media by the Hip-Hop Museum and peers in the culture, though no official cause of death has been publicly disclosed.

Rocky Bucano, CEO of the Hip-Hop Museum, shared a personal tribute on Facebook:

“This afternoon I received the heartbreaking news that my friend and brother in this culture, Tyrone ‘Fly Ty’ Williams, has passed away,” Bucano wrote. “Fly Ty was more than the former CEO of Cold Chillin’ Records — he was a pillar in the architecture of hip-hop. A trusted colleague, a champion for artists and one of the earliest executives to truly understand the power and potential of our culture.”

Artists and fans flooded social platforms with remembrances, celebrating Williams not just as a label head but as a mentor and cultural catalyst. Among them was MC Shan, a longtime Juice Crew member whose career Williams helped shepherd. Popular hip-hop feeds on Instagram and Facebook honored his legacy with tributes citing his vision and influence.

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Born and raised in Brooklyn, Williams came of age deeply steeped in music and culture before finding his calling in hip-hop. In 1986, at 27, he founded Cold Chillin’ Records — originally a subsidiary of Prism Records — which went on to become one of rap’s most influential labels during the late 1980s and early 1990s.

Under his leadership, Cold Chillin’ became synonymous with the Juice Crew, the groundbreaking collective that included artists such as Biz Markie, Big Daddy Kane, Roxanne Shanté, Kool G Rap and MC Shan. Their records helped define New York rap’s early identity and set the template for lyricism and cohesion in hip-hop.

Williams’ business acumen played a crucial role in positioning hip-hop for broader audiences. A distribution partnership with Warner Bros. Records helped bring Cold Chillin’ releases into national markets without diluting the music’s authenticity — a rare achievement at a time when major labels were only tentatively embracing rap as a commercial art form.

Before his label tenure, Williams worked as a radio executive and producer, collaborating closely with influential DJ Mr. Magic and helping to expand dedicated hip-hop programming on commercial airwaves — the first steps toward bringing the culture out of block parties and into mainstream listening rooms.

Though Cold Chillin’ closed in 1998, its influence persists through the artists it championed and the career pathways it opened. Generations of rappers and producers have cited the label’s work as foundational to hip-hop’s culture and business evolution.

Williams’ death marks the loss of one of hip-hop’s earliest visionaries — an executive who, at a time when few in the broader industry grasped the cultural potential of rap, believed in the music’s power and helped turn that belief into reality.