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Guys, look this way. 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 Fabrice Marvin.

My name is Robert D. Laker. 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.

Why did you keep on doing it for so long?

What was going through your mind? 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. You want to have your hair sing as an album, critically. Now they say that not even your hair is singing. How would you expect anyone, your fans, your media, anybody? I'm curious. How much money were you paid in total for a not singing?

Well, what Why should you believe me?

I would 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 at the back. It would be very upset by the fact that the only way you can explain the charade, the cost, the bakery of the last hair two years, is money.

Do you live in a project?

Did you live in a project? If we wouldn't have accept that at the start, we knew we would be still in Munich. I would still work at the McDonald's. A guy And I from the back shouted, Your talent would get you out. Robin Fabb's manager needed to shut this down, like now.

Thank you very much.

Thank you very much, gentlemen. Can we close you with the conflict? 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, Robin Fabb, 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.

Looking like a true white boy. Your talent would get you 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 We can hear the next bit a little more clearly.

You knew that shit wasn't true when you said it.

You knew that shit wasn't true when you said it.

Have you ever felt like escaping to your own desert island? Well, that's exactly what Jane, Phil, and their three kids did when they traded their English home for a tropical island they bought online. But paradise has its secrets, and family life is about to take a terrifying turn.

You don't fire at people in that area without some consequence.

And he said, Yes, ma'am, he's dead. There's pure cold-blooded terror running through me.

From WNDYRY, I'm Alice Levine, and this is the Price of Paradise, the real-life story of an island dream that ends in kidnap, corruption, and murder. Follow The Price of Paradise wherever you get your podcasts or binge the entire season right now on WNDYRY Plus.

From WNDYRY, I'm Amanda Seals, and this is Blame It On The Fame. The body is a game, length to the fame.

I am the controller. Growing up, music was a big part of my life. And that soundtrack back in the day included Millie Vanille. Blame it on the Rain, Girl, you know it's true? I mean, I had choreo and dance routines to these songs. And the first time I actually saw Millie Vanille 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 there, 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, it went so much deeper. This is a story about the cache 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 Munich suburb with a gated driveway a detached garage, and a manicured 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 the basic breakdance moves you learn, but still.

He did that one move for 10 minutes, and everybody applauded.

Every eye in the room was on this guy. Chris, well, he wanted to be on that, too. So he introduced himself. The kid's name was Robert Pelatas. Turns out he had a breakdance crew going with some of his friends.

Then he says, Hey, look, Every Monday, we have practice. Come and check this out.

That's what Chris was here to do. Mainly, we practiced 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 always the loudest one. He had the biggest energy. If you do something good, he was like, Yo, man, that was good. But if you 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 an homage on Sugar Ray Lanner. Georgio. Hot Lags, because I was able to put one leg behind my head. Even Chris got a name. And he was Mr. Sphinks. They called themselves the Bionic Dance Crew. And on weekends, they'd hit the subway. The crew showed up in their flyest looks, parachute pants, fat shoelaces, and a boombox 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 mixed up thing. I'm also a mixed person. So they got noticed, all right. People would be like, What clothes?

Look at these freaks. We went out there and rolled out these things in the middle of the subway and put that ghetto blaster on.

Everybody took a turn in the spotlight.

So with them, then you freeze. Then the hip hop boys step in, do some uprock, boom, go down the windmill, they step back, and just keep switching, switching.

Some people gave them looks like they were ruining 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 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 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 grew up with.

Chris had grown up on a nearby US military 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, 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-Sijn Vater war US-Americaner.was a Black American GI. Rob was one of many kids fathered by Black American GIs 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 in conservative Catholic Bavaria to have a child out of wedlock. And a Black child out of wedlock? 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 had no Black father, no Black friends, so they were actually brought up as complete Germans, but definitely didn't look German. I know Robert 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 be letting 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 led up, and it rarely ended with ice cream. But by the time Chris found Rob breakdancing at a party, the reason why white Germans were looking 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 It was open doors for him.

Maybe everyone looking at you could be a good thing. Chris Laird pushed up the crossfader and timed the transition just right. The the beats matched to a T. 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 no 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're going to ride with it. The sound system was good, the lights were tight, and the dance floor was popping. Chris was thumbing 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 the look.

First because of Rob's appearance, and Then because he literally had his double standing right next to him. Rob's new friend, Fabrice Marvann, was wearing the same outfit, bandana, rip shirt, rip jeans.

It was like, okay, well, yeah, it looks a little girlish. You all look 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, whoa, wait a minute. Where did this come from?

Rob and his Pilates brother both had long, black braids.

You know, two weeks ago, he had hair like us, and now he got hair always 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...

Ladies and gentlemen, and now we power to present. The lights go on, and you just said, What the heck is going on?

Rob and Fab burst onto the stage. They whip their new hair left and right.

And then, that was the guitar, the keyboard, and these two cats on stage with this long hair, with this new look, just going, Rock 'n' roll. That was the whole song.

When it ended, the entire room was silent.

Everybody They 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 slowly all like, Okay.

It was painful. Everybody looked at each other like, 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'd crushed that joint, like he belonged there.

The 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 what Chris or Carmen or any of the kids who had messed with him saw. He would see something special, something he needed, something he could use. Remember that deal with the devil Rob talked about? Well, the devil is here.

Hi, I'm Anna. And I'm Emily, and we're the hosts of Terrible Famous, the show that takes you inside the lives of our biggest celebrities. And we are really excited about our latest season because we are talking about someone very, very special. You're so sweet. A fashion icon. Actually, just put this on. A beautiful woman. Your words, not mine. Someone who came out of Croydon and took the world by storm. Okay, Anna, don't tell them where I live. A muse, a mother, and a supermodel who defined the '90s. I don't remember doing the last one. Wow, Emily, not you. Obviously, I mean Kate Moss. Oh, I always get us confused. Because you're both so small. How dare you? We are going to dive back into Kate's '90s heyday and her insatiable desire to say yes to absolutely everything life has to offer. The parties, the Hollywood heartthrobs, the Rockstar bad boys. Have I said parties? You did mention the parties. But saying yes to excess comes at a price as Kate spirals out of control and risks losing everything she's worked for. Follow Terrible Famous wherever you listen to podcasts or listen early and ad free on WNDYRI Plus on Apple Podcasts or the WNDYRI app.

Ingrid Seguit opened the door. It was Saturday. She wasn't expecting anyone. But standing in front of her was...

The disjogging of the very famous club here in Frankfurt called Funkadelik.

He pulled a tape out. It was a new song by 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/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, passed Gold and Platinum records, passed the photos of Stevie Wonder and Meat Loaf, and straight to the living room to see Frank Farian. Frank was already parked in front of the TV, proudly sporting his red and white Bayern Munich scarf. He looked more like someone's grumpy dad than one of Germany's biggest hit makers. His mousy redish-brownish comb over wasn't fooling anyone. The DJ started with his pitch.

Frank, I have a demo. I want to play it to you. Frank said, not today.

The only thing Frank was more serious about than music was soccer.

Today is Saturday, and no one can come and play me something. And I was a little shocked. I said, Frank, this is a very famous this show from Frank Adele. You cannot talk to him like a clean English.

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, Bony 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 listen 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.

I said, Oh, my God, what a song. What a song.

She He 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 physicians, 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. Can you come to the studio? He called Brad Howl.

He don't say, Can you come to the studio? Can I come to the studio. Frank tell you to do something. He don't ask you to do something. He tell you to do something.

Brad was one of Frank's most trusted musicians. He was an expat living in Germany who had gotten his start as a drummer for the soul music legend, Wilson Picket. 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 you asked me, would I sing? I said, yes.

Brad stepped in the booth and gave it a go.

If Frank liked it, and Frank left a take on the machine and told me, go back inside again. I want to sing it again, and again, again. Seven times I've sing 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 what was 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 club order is, so Millie.

Just shut up for a second, Millie. And then it hit him like a stroke of lightning. Ingrid's nickname, Millie. Back when Ingrid was in college, her boyfriend/professor would meet up with her at the bar she worked at. She's got a type.

My real name, she didn't like it. And so he always said Millie.

After the name of the bar.

Millie Vanille.

Frank looked at her. They had their name. Now, the most important. Who was going to front the group? Because it sure as hell wasn't going to be Brad. Frank had always said, People listen 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. Robin Fabb took their places. 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 link, 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 Vanille's first music video. And Ingrid, Frank, and the guys were the only people on the set who knew the truth. Robin Fabb 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. Fabs spun around. Rob spun around. They jumped up and bumped chest midair. 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, amazing, amazing.

It was even better than Ingrid had hoped for. And the cherry on top of this Millie Vanille Sunday? Their lip syncing.

They were perfectly in sync.

They looked like the real deal.

Nobody asked. Nobody was thinking if 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 Pilates 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 what is to ask my op. 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. This is Ni Miles to Fabrice. That couldn't possibly be FAB. Not with his French accent. And then the singing started.. Something wasn't right. Rob didn't speak English that well. Carmen tried to say something, but Rob shushed her. 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, the producer, Frank Farian. Since she'd started singing, she'd been hearing rumors about Frank. Frank Farian is a nasty person. I always knew that. And now her brother's future was in his hands. All these young girls were screaming and bating, and paramedics were just carrying them off. I remember asking the question, Do you think Mily Vanille will be nominated for programming, and they were laughing.

Your job is to be on stage, to lip sync, to dance, to be good-looking.

Be happy with that. And Robert's never happy with that. They finally believe that they are singers. At that point, I said, I'm out because it's out of control. It's them. They created this. They fucking made it up. They duped everybody.

Money makes the world go wrong.

There was like, strange things going on. That's coming up on this season of Blame It On The Fame. Follow Blame It On The Fame, Millie Vanilli on the WNDRI app, Amazon Music, or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to episodes early and ad free by joining WNDRI Plus in the WNDRI app or on Apple podcasts. Before you go, tell us about yourself by completing a short survey at wondry. Com/survey. From WNDRI, this is episode episode one of six of Blame It on the Fame, a series about the lie that shot to number one and what it cost to tell the truth. Blame It 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 Duenas and James Edwards. Senior producer is Julia Lowry-Henderson. Senior Story Editor is Natalie Sheesha. Production assistance by Sam Hobson, Emily Locke, and Christie Taewo Mac & Jula. Additional reporting by Kirsten Seelm. Additional writing from Kristen Tucker and Pia Wilson. Sound design from Jamie Cooper for WNDRI. Postproduction 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 Frissan Think. Sound Supervisor is Marcelino Villapando. Additional research and fact-checking by Barran Dutla. Senior Managing Producer is Lata Pandia. Managing Producer is Olivia Webber, and coordinating producer is Heather Baloga. Executive producers are George Lavender, Marshall Louis, and Jenn Sargent for WNDYRI.

Wndyri. Sargent for Wondering. Wondering.