Travis Neighbor Ward

Seated at a large table in the dining room of the Four Seasons’ Park 75 restaurant in Midtown, Johnta Austin is the only man on the second floor of this swank hotel wearing jeans and a T-shirt. And not just any old tee, but one from The Who concert. It’s 8:30 in the morning and he chose Park 75 for breakfast when I requested that we meet someplace very special to him. “I eat here almost every day,” he says with that coy, playful grin that is signature Austin. “I love it here.” Before I can question whether that’s true, three waiters and a manager show up bringing our plates of food. “Welcome back, Mr. Austin,” they say warmly, shaking his hand. “We’re glad to have you with us again.” He thanks them just as warmly, says a quick but silent grace and then delves into a bowl of oatmeal, his arm (and neck) rippling with elaborate tattoos mostly of Zodiac signs, a tribute to his entire family.

Johnta (“John-tay”) Austin is the crown prince of the Four Seasons and a prince of that much larger kingdom, the world of R&B and pop music. For a 26-year-old artist, his accomplishments to date are mind-boggling. Since he began writing at age 15, he’s crafted lyrics for more than 100 songs, landing instant chart toppers for everyone from Mary J. Blige (Be Without You) and Toni Braxton (Just Be a Man About It) to the late Aaliyah (Miss You). More recently, he won a 2006 Grammy Award for co-writing We Belong Together, the song that dominated the airwaves last summer and helped Mariah Carey sell her Emancipation of Mimi album better than any other in her already stellar career. As Blige says on Austin’s web site, “Johnta is the best thing to happen to the music industry.”

This year, the Austin-crafted playlist is just as successful. He co-wrote Jessica Simpson’s song, A Public Affair; nine songs on Janet Jackson’s new album, 20 Y.O.; and You Are for Lionel Richie. But the project that touches Austin’s deepest nerve these days is his first album as a singer-songwriter, Ocean Drive, set to debut on So So Def/Virgin on December 26.

“Jermaine [Dupri] and I wanted it to be something that people will still enjoy, you know, 10, 20 years from now,” Austin tells me quietly between bites, his voice so melodic and smooth I suspect he could break into song at any moment and it would be recording-ready. “We modeled it a bit after what Marvin Gaye did with Let’s Get It On. How [the songs] were all very sensual… and how he covered different aspects of a relationship, but all sexual or sensual sides. We wanted to leave this album about the positive sides of love.”

He and Dupri, who founded the So So Def record label, met years ago through producer Bryan-Michael Cox, and together they’ve crafted countless hits. It’s hard to imagine them ever being able to shoo the media, publicists and fans long enough to actually get work done. Austin’s songwriting and self-promotional travel schedule is busy as ever. Dupri’s is, to say the least, super-human, between producing albums and jet-hopping continents with girlfriend, Janet Jackson. (Austin insists they find time to bicycle around Buckhead, often ending up at Goldberg’s Bagel shop.)

Then there are what I perceive as their apparent personality differences. Whereas Dupri comes across as a friendly, ever-exploding starburst of energy that thrives on public attention and likes bling, Austin is polite and calm in an intense, Zen-like way, most comfortable one-on-one and, to use his words, “very basic” and “not flashy at all.” (Austin later tells me he hates limousines and is planning to turn in his Hummer for a hybrid, “because we have to start taking care of the environment.”)

Austin is also a great listener—he never takes a cell phone call when we speak, though he receives many—a characteristic that reminds me he is, first and foremost, a writer. Case in point: During his downtime, he reads voraciously (everything from Dan Brown’s Angels & Demons to The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius, one of his favorites), and “pays attention to the conversations that are going on around me, and people in general.” He also watches lots of movies (he adores The Godfather, Casablanca, Gladiator and Rain Man), gets massages regularly at Natural Body Spa, and goes out to HALO, Morgan’s Supper Club, Pricci and Twist. But, he says, “I don’t really go out too much… I just make the music and hopefully the women will like it. ’Cause it’s primarily for them.”

Even more amazing, though, is how quickly the songs are created. “We do it right there—we do the whole song in one sitting,” Austin says. “Every time. I’ll sit down and come up with a concept and Jermaine, or whoever’s producing, will have a beat. And you know if I’m working with Jermaine sometimes he already has a concept and lyrics, and I’ll come in and we’ll piece everything together… He’s great ’cause he always helps the writer out a lot, because he has a lot of melody in his records.”

That was how it happened with Turn It Up, one of the singles on Ocean Drive that is already making its way up the radio charts. “Turn It Up was just the first thing that kind of came to mind when I pictured being somewhere and meeting a young lady, and being forward but not offensive, and tying the whole listening to music in, and what music makes you feel, certain songs.” In fact, Turn It Up is in many ways an ode to great writers of love songs, from his mention of R. Kelly, perhaps his greatest music inspiration, to Alicia Keys, Jodeci and others. (Austin also loves Frank Sinatra.)

Other songs on the album are similarly upbeat, including his own favorites: Lil’ More Love; This Evening, which features Austin’s buddy, Chris Botti, on trumpet; Dope Fiend (which he says uses drug lingo but is “complimenting the women on how addictive they can be”); and Joy, which has a gospel choir courtesy of Bishop Eddie L. Long, the pastor at New Birth Missionary Baptist Church in Lithonia, Georgia.

“It’s nothing but fun when we’re working—we say a lot of dumb stuff to get to the place where we need to be,” says Dupri via e-mail. “What I like most about writing with Johnta is that he writes and says the same things I would. If I give him a concept, he goes in and gets it right… he’s not boxed in; he’s open to trying ideas that most artists aren’t. As a singer, he has a swagger that I believe only a writer/singer can possess.”

Austin is definitely modest. “I feel like everything great that’s happened in my life is just because of God’s fortune,” he says. “I don’t really put too much stock in myself; it’s been too spectacular.”

Born in southwest Atlanta, Austin started singing in church while attending the L.O. Kimberly Elementary School, Ralph Bunche Middle School and later North Atlanta High School. “My parents wouldn’t let you do anything else if you didn’t go to church on Sunday,” he says. His grandfather, the pastor, “encouraged me and pushed me to [sing], not in a strict sort of way, but just kind of nurtured the curiosity that I had about it, and told me that I was good.” At age 7, he was a choir soloist.

But, it wasn’t all hymns. Austin’s father, a singer and “a huge Luther Vandross fan,” would dole out Temptations parts to Austin and his brother while driving in the car. At home, his godmother played all the Motown classics. “I really started to get into music and appreciate it,” he says.

By the time he was 13, Austin was offered a record deal by Kenny Ortiz over at RCA Records, following his appearance on the The Arsenio Hall Show, where he gave an impromptu performance of Shai’s If I Ever Fall In Love. But, within a year Austin’s voice changed, he temporarily lost much of his range, the RCA administration fell out and he was dropped by the new bosses in favor of Tyrese. “The writing thing kind of came after that, and it was my way to stay around the music industry,” he says.

To be precise, producer Troy Taylor, who had been working on Austin’s album, invited him to write songs for Tyrese. “He nurtured that—him along with a few others here in town—and so the opportunity came along and he called on me,” says Austin. “He said, ‘How would you like to get ’em back?’ So, I decided that I could… either turn it down or I could accept and show them that I believe in the concept of it being about the business. And it was refreshing when it worked.” It also landed him his first hit as a songwriter, Sweet Lady, which Austin co-wrote for Tyrese and became a Top 10 R&B/Top 15 pop chart song.

It was so refreshing, in fact, that Austin turned around and wrote new lyrics and melodies, recorded them a cappella and shopped for a publishing deal. “The first publisher I went to, she thought it was comical that a 15-year-old was writing songs. She just thought it was a joke… Because it wasn’t traditional. I didn’t have beats or anything. But, you know, it still rings true. A good song is a good song, with music or without music. A true ear can really hear it.” In 2005, Dupri became president of Virgin Records’ Urban Music division and signed Austin as an artist.

Since then Austin has enjoyed a total lack of writer’s block and an unerring faith that no matter how long it takes, the songs will come. “I never stress it,” he says. “I worked with Jessica Simpson recently on two records and the first one kind of came easy. But then the up tempo was taking some time, might’ve been like 45 minutes before anything was written down… And we wound up getting it and it’s the first single now [A Public Affair].” He laughs softly and his eyes dart away. Then after a moment: “So, you’ve got to let it kind of come to you a little bit and meet it in the middle… It’s a relaxed approach because I know that I’m good at something. And that I belong doing what it is that I’m doing.”
The next time we meet, it’s at the house that he is building not far from the city, in a quiet subdivision with Tudor-style mansions nestled closely together. He says it will be ready in one week, but as I pull up past droves of contractor trucks, I assume that someone has given him an optimistic estimate.

As soon as I park, Austin emerges from a highly polished black Mercedes sedan, dressed in a different The Who T-shirt and long shorts, waving and smiling. (He’s told me during a previous meeting that one of his small obsessions is having his car detailed weekly. Another is The Who T-shirts, which he wears daily for his one-hour gym workout.) He tells me we’ll conduct the interview up the street, in a model home. But first he will tour me through his house.

Inside, workers are everywhere, installing plumbing fixtures and sanding custom-built wood trim. Overall, the expansive rooms seem traditional, full of niches where window seats could go. I anticipate that Austin’s home office will be enormous and secluded, but instead it’s a fairly small room on the main floor, just off of the central staircase. Upstairs, his master suite is one of the largest I’ve ever seen, with a 16-foot vaulted ceiling, fireplace and a bathroom as large as a bedroom. There’s also a sitting room, where the TV will go. “I doubt I’ll ever use this,” he laughs. “I almost never watch TV.”

Later, at the model home, Austin settles on a sofa and talks about the Atlanta music scene. When I suggest that outsiders identify this city first with hip-hop, rather than R&B, he’s quick to say that “when Usher came out in 2004, he outsold everyone, even more than Eminem, which is hard to do.” R&B, he says, “tends to cross all boundaries; it kind of escapes being regional… Hip-hop is so closely tied to its roots and where it’s from in its lyrics. You have a Jay-Z who lets you know he’s from Brookyln. Outkast, you know, it’s repeated over and over in the lyrics… I mean, it can be a brand new artist and immediately you know where they’re from… because of the way they represent their cities, which is a great thing. R&B—we’re sticking just to the song at hand… Both infectious types of music, but infectious in their own way.”

Austin also tells me about his experiences traveling to Africa, and his growing sense of charitable awareness. “I try to be conscious of maintaining a sense of what goes on around me and who else is in need of some help. The music industry especially is very flashy and it’s about what car are you driving and how many diamonds you have on. I told everyone for my birthday to donate money to Doctors Without Borders, to aid what’s going on in Darfur…”

He pauses, searching for words. “When you think of stuff like that it humbles you and it reminds you: who cares if I have on the sunglasses in the club; there are people who really have some real issues…” he says. “I think that’s what it’s about, not only reaching a level to where you and your immediate family are comfortable, but now you’re comfortable enough where you can start extending yourself to people. Because how many cars does one need?”

His attitude is refreshing—and that’s also the word he chooses to describe Ocean Drive. “It’s left, but it’s not too left where people can’t understand it. I think sensual is something that’s needed and that’s good. A woman wants to kind of be romanced and, you know, set up a little bit—not just always talking about the act of sex itself, but the foreplay of it all. You know. And I think that’s what we’ve accomplished, or set out to accomplish anyway.”

The next time I see him it’s at the video shoot for Turn It Up, at a warehouse studio off of Defoor Hills Road. The video is being directed by Norwegian director Ray Kay. We briefly say hello before he moves behind the camera. The stage setting is sparse; the video’s success will depend almost entirely on Austin’s ability to entertain with his moves, though a beautiful model and Dupri will make cameos. I feel a maternal sense of worry—until the music comes on and Austin begins dancing and posturing along with the lyrics. He seems a completely different person from the one who sat with me, quietly discussing the ways of the world.

Not long after, I’m invited to the nightclub Compound, where Austin will perform live to a select crowd. Inside, it quickly heats up and fills with cool-looking people. I say hello to Ryan Glover of RyanKenny and Chaka Zulu, Ludacris’ manager. Soon, Jermaine Dupri’s on stage insisting everyone move closer to the front, reminding us that performing isn’t easy. When Austin comes on, he gives rapid-fire, intense performances of several songs from the new album, and talks a lot to the crowd.

After he’s done, I go over to congratulate him. He’s drenched in sweat, but beaming. “You were great!” I shout over the crowd. And then, in what I’ve learned is typical Austin congeniality, he shouts back: “Thank you so much for coming!”

I’m reminded suddenly of something else Austin told me earlier. “I go through these spells where I can be frustrated with the music industry and I talk about quitting. And maybe going to France and opening a small café, and living there and serving people coffee. It’s just all the stuff that sometimes surrounds the business... because people want you to be in five places at one time. Sometimes I think, like, wow, I can go and find me a little place to live a simple life.” Sounds nice to me. But would he get bored? “Probably.”