For decades, Smokey Robinson was the soulful smile of Motown. The poet of love, heartbreak, and beauty. With his soft falsetto and romantic lyrics, he became one of the most cherished voices in American music. But behind the timeless songs and the glittering spotlight was a silence. A silence he carried for over fifty years.

And now, at 74, Smokey is finally ready to speak. Not to sing. To speak.

“It’s time,” he says in a low voice, eyes heavy with the weight of decades. “I’m not doing this for revenge. I’m doing it because I don’t want to die with lies in my heart.”

What he reveals is not just about him—but about Motown, about fame, about the price of legacy.

The Day the Innocence Died

Smokey Robinson was just a young dreamer from Detroit when Berry Gordy launched Motown Records. The label was revolutionary—Black artists, Black writers, Black producers creating global hits at a time when segregation still ruled much of America. To the world, Motown was a miracle. A fairytale.

But Smokey now says, “It wasn’t all a dream. For some of us, it was a prison wrapped in melody.”

In a raw, never-before-seen interview filmed in a quiet Los Angeles home, Smokey finally tells the story of what happened behind the polished doors of Hitsville USA.

The Contracts No One Talks About

“I was 19 when I signed my first contract,” he says. “I didn’t know anything about business. I just knew I wanted to sing.”

Smokey claims that many of the early Motown contracts were built not to protect the artists—but to trap them.

“We didn’t own our masters. We didn’t own our names. Some of us didn’t even own the rights to the songs we wrote.”

He pauses.

“I wrote songs that made millions. And for years, I couldn’t afford my own house.”

He says that when he started asking questions, he was labeled “difficult.” That he was warned—privately and bluntly—not to “rock the boat.”

“I was told, ‘Do you want to be rich or do you want to be right?’ And I chose to be quiet. That was my mistake.”

The Manipulation Behind the Music

The image of Motown has always been one of family. Smokey Robinson, Diana Ross, Marvin Gaye, Stevie Wonder—an ensemble of stars held together by harmony.

But Smokey now paints a darker picture.

“There was jealousy. Competition. Manipulation. People were pushed against each other. We were made to feel like if one of us rose too fast, the others would be left behind.”

He says that some artists were intentionally shelved. That producers would punish singers who asked for fair pay by removing them from albums. That affairs were used as leverage. That silence was the currency of survival.

“They kept us close enough to feel special, but far enough to never have control.”

A Deep Rift With Berry Gordy

For years, Smokey and Berry Gordy were inseparable. Gordy even considered Smokey his “little brother.” But Smokey reveals that their relationship frayed behind closed doors.

“I loved Berry. Still do, in some strange way. But love isn’t the same as loyalty,” Smokey says.

He claims he often challenged Gordy about the treatment of other artists—particularly Florence Ballard of The Supremes, who was forced out of the group she helped create.

“She was broken. And nobody stood up for her. I didn’t either. I live with that.”

He also confirms long-standing rumors that Gordy encouraged artists to remain apolitical during the Civil Rights Movement.

“We had a voice. And we were told not to use it. Just sing and stay pretty.”

The Marvin Gaye Warning

Smokey then shares a chilling memory. One night in 1972, after a late-night recording session, Marvin Gaye pulled him aside.

“He looked tired. Not physically, but spiritually. He said, ‘They don’t care about us, Smoke. They just care about the machine.’”

At the time, Smokey shrugged it off. “I thought he was being dramatic. But now I realize—he saw it before the rest of us did.”

A Secret He Kept For Years

Midway through the interview, Smokey leans forward and lowers his voice.

“There’s something I’ve never told anyone,” he says. “Not even my kids.”

He takes a long breath.

“There was a time in the early 80s when I tried to end my life.”

The room goes still.

“I had lost everything. My marriage. My money. My purpose. I was living off old memories and old records. And I thought—maybe it’s time to go.”

It was his daughter who saved him. A knock on the bathroom door. A question: “Daddy, are you okay?”

“That moment brought me back. That voice. That love.”

Why He Stayed Silent

“I didn’t speak because I thought silence was noble,” Smokey says, blinking slowly. “I thought protecting the image of Motown was more important than telling the truth.”

But he says the world has changed.

“Now, I see young artists fighting for their rights, speaking their truth, owning their power. And I realize—I owe them my story.”

What He Hopes You’ll Remember

In the final minutes of the interview, Smokey holds up a faded notebook. Inside are handwritten lyrics, poems, and confessions spanning 40 years.

“This is the book they never let me publish,” he says with a half-smile.

He reads a line out loud:

“A song can heal the world, but silence can kill a soul.”

Then he looks at the camera.

“Don’t ever let a melody make you forget your voice. I almost did. And I’m just lucky I found it again before the curtain fell.”

The Silence Is Over

At 74, Smokey Robinson isn’t just breaking his silence. He’s rewriting the narrative. Not to destroy the past—but to set it free.

Because the truth is, even legends have wounds.

And sometimes, the sweetest voices hide the darkest truths.