There’s a moment at the start of the annual Clive Davis pre-Grammy gala, typically held on the eve of the big show, when an invited guest realizes, you’re not so special. Sure, your name might be on the guest list for the seated dinner, held at the Beverly
Hilton Hotel in Beverly Hills for the past two decades, but your worth in the music industry is reduced to a little paper stub and a sharpie, marking your table number at the ultra-exclusive gathering. Anything in the double digits, you’re in the golden circle; the 100s means you’re very, very important; the 200s, you’ve made music your life in one way or another; the 300s, you’re in the biz, possibly tangentially, making it just as far up the ranks as to score an invitation — with no plus one. (Raises hand.)
Davis, who died last week at age 94, didn’t just have a big presence at the gala he launched some 50 years ago, the legendary industry figure whose track record for hit songs spanned six decades was the main event. Positioned at the podium, Davis would deliver literal hours of info-packed introductions, pointing to luminaries in the room and often running down a list of their recent accolades. Each of these moments would build with anticipation. Davis would say something like: “This artist scored a Number One chart position in Billboard; and their recent world tour sold out within minutes; their new TV show/documentary/project is already a huge hit; they’re a performer’s performer” (or rather, “performah” — always with a thick New York drawl)… Who could it be? You’re putting together the pieces of the puzzle. Is it Miley Cyrus? Post Malone? Jay-Z? None would be out of place in this forum.
That the Clive Davis gala had the subtitle of “Salute to Industry Icons” is appropriate, because as much as the night is a celebration of music’s successes, many in attendance are part of the machine which make it so. Thus, the validation one receives when the invite comes. Granted, the actual invitation is not as elaborate as it was in the Nineties and aughts — when a hand-delivered box would arrive, embossed with the words “the tradition continues” — but its weight, even in digital format, is no less significant.
Ironically, once you’re inside, this is a room without velvet ropes. Gawking from afar at Taylor Swift, Rihanna, Barbra Streisand, or a Kardashian is novel for a moment, but the real action is in the mingling — down at the front tables, outside on the balcony, in the back. I once witnessed Billie Eilish make a frenzied bee line for Lana Del Rey; saw Joni Mitchell dance to Latto; and spotted everyone from Max Martin to Nancy Pelosi to Don Lemon get cornered by boosters and sycophants. I’ve seen couples make out (Cardi B and Offset, Damiano David and Dove Cameron), and heard competitors hurl jabs (Jimmy Iovine, representing Beats in 2014, touted his just-launched music service as the place “where you get paid on every stream”). Even titans aren’t spared, as Sir Lucian Grainge learned in 2018 when Shania Twain inserted his name into the lyrics to her hit “That Don’t Impress Me Much.”
And then there were the exceptional performances. There are too many to name, but a few conjure particularly vivid memories: Beck and the surviving members of Nirvana covering David Bowie’s “The Man Who Sold the World” in 2017; The Time (featuring original members Morris Day, Jerome Benton, Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis) delivering “Jungle Love” in recognition of trailblazing executive Clarence Avant in 2019; Elvis Costello and Juanes coming together for “(What’s So Funny ‘Bout) Peace, Love and Understanding” in 2023.
The night’s run of show is comparable to that of the Grammys in terms of sheer number of live performances, not to mention collaborations, like when John Fogerty joined Foo Fighters’ Dave Grohl and Jennifer Hudson for the Creedence classics “Fortunate Son” and “Proud Mary,” respectively, in 2014. Most memorably, Jamie Foxx wowed those seated when he enlisted Fantasia Barrino for an impromptu duet of “Do What It Do” in 2006.
Davis was also a right-on-time champion of new talent. This year’s gala featured Olivia Dean and Sombr, while previous editions introduced attendees to Lorde, Doechii, and Benson Boone. Like the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremony, the finale would often involve an all-star jam featuring that year’s performers. By that point, the room would have cleared out significantly. Stamina-wise, no one could outlast Clive, who traditionally would host an after-afterparty at the Beverly Hills Hotel’s Polo Lounge, where friends (like regulars Ari Melber and Jeff Ross), family, and well-wishers gathered.
Once Clive Davis hit 90, there was already talk of what happens to the gala when he goes. Son Doug Davis, a noted music attorney, had handled production of the event with aplomb, poring over the seating chart and fielding the numerous requests to attend. Doug told Variety in 2018 that his father wouldn’t let him or his siblings attend the gala until the age of 16. As an adult, he put in 20 years working the event while running his own law practice. You could consider both full-time jobs.
Naturally, the Recording Academy, which puts on the annual Grammy Awards, could take over. The organization run by Harvey Mason Jr. came on as an official partner 15 years ago, and its CEO, a noted producer himself (his credits include records by Whitney Houston, who tragically died the night of Clive Davis’ pre-Grammy gala in 2012 — the show, somewhat controversially, went on), has proven to be a friend to the industry and a vocal advocate for the music makers.
Others point to Davis disciple Larry Jackson. A former board operator turned music director at San Francisco’s KMEL, Jackson went on to A&R positions at RCA and J Records, working with the likes of Hudson and Leona Lewis under Davis’ mentorship. His credits also include signing Lana Del Rey and Chief Keef to Interscope, eventually joining label head Iovine at Beats by Dr. Dre. In 2014, Jackson moved to Apple Music, where he focused on talent relations and executed partnerships with Nicki Minaj, Frank Ocean, and Taylor Swift, among others. In 2023, he launched gamma., with a reported $1 billion in funding from investors like Todd Boehley and Apple. Its roster currently includes Usher, Ye, Rick Ross, Snoop Dogg, North West, and Sexyy Red. Perhaps the best recent example of Jackson’s influence was his gamma.-hosted Grammy Awards afterparty in February held at — wait for it — the Polo Lounge. Stars in attendance included Justin Bieber, Jamie Foxx, and Lauryn Hill, the latter taking the microphone for a spontaneous medley, to the crowd’s delight.
Is there another executive with Clive Davis’ credentials and pull? Those that can claim such clout — like Jimmy Iovine and David Geffen — have left the industry for greener pastures. And something about Clive’s passing truly feels like the end of an era. After all, it’s hard to celebrate the business of music when songwriters can barely eke out a living, or when musicians’ creations are being used to train AI, or when bots and digitally marketed clips masquerade as buzz, no curation to be found. I’m not sure Clive Davis’ tales of having “ears” or taking massive swings — against the grain or with it — would resonate in today’s metric-obsessed industry. But it sure was fun while it lasted.
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