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Simon Illa Is Living Large
By Victor Fiorillo
Not long after that, a producer Simon had befriended during his previous trips to Philly for the music conferences hooked him up with Warner Brothers in New York, which signed him to a publishing administration contract. It's a type of contract that doesn't really mean jack in terms of money or stardom, but it did let Simon say he was a Warner Brothers artist (everybody in this business exaggerates, including Simon — it's just part of the deal) and provided some resources, like access to the New York studio. Another friend introduced Simon to Nox, a North Philly rapper who just happened to be close friends with Scott Storch, the white-Lamborghini-driving, Paris-Hilton-and-Lil'-Kim-dating Philly native who is one of hip-hop's biggest names — and worth about $70 million. Over the next year or so, Simon co-wrote and produced 30 songs with Nox, who earlier this year played them for Storch, and Simon found himself hanging out with Storch in Miami last May.
Success seems to be coming to Simon Illa from Illinois, and there's no doubt pity plays into it in some way. Kenny Gamble's A&R rep couldn't really have refused to take a CD from a cripple. But for Storch to invite Simon to Miami — repeatedly — that's not about pity. And even talent isn't the complete answer. "Before I met Simon, I heard he was handicapped," says music executive Bill Pettaway, who manages producer Timbaland (see: Jay-Z, Justin Timberlake, Nelly Furtado, Ludacris) and was introduced to Simon in Miami during one of his visits with Storch. "But when I met him, I just didn't see him as handicapped. He has so much drive and determination. He just never gives up." (Soon after they met, Pettaway played Simon's tracks for Timbaland in his limousine, and a week later, Simon signed a contract with Timbaland's production company.) It's a simple thing, really: What you expect Simon to be capable of, based on what he looks like, is so far removed from who he is. The contradiction is powerful. And that's our limitation.
Pity may have opened a few doors for Simon. Once inside, he had to have the musical chops. But it's his other qualities, his centeredness and self-effacement — so unusual in the industry — that will keep Storch and Gamble and Timbaland from saying, "Quick, Simon Illa's comin' — turn out the lights!," and might get him a gold, or maybe platinum, plaque on his wall. As Kenny Gamble puts it, "Not only is Simon talented, but he's very humble and incredibly hardworking. He's just an amazing man in every way."
It's true. And when you hang out with Illa, you realize quickly how it all could have gone in a different direction, that anyone in his condition, his parents dead, could easily have become the pathetic guy most people see in that wheelchair. In Miami, outside the cushy boundaries of the Hit Factory compound — from South Beach to Bal Harbour to Miami International — everyone looks. Everyone stares. Some people laugh. Some make jokes. There's a Mini-Me reference from a random guy on the street. Simon shrugs it all off, occasionally throwing out an Austin Powers line. On the plane back to Philly, a flight attendant, thinking she's sweet, refers to Simon as "my little friend." Simon whispers, "I'm taking her home later."
Success seems to be coming to Simon Illa from Illinois, and there's no doubt pity plays into it in some way. Kenny Gamble's A&R rep couldn't really have refused to take a CD from a cripple. But for Storch to invite Simon to Miami — repeatedly — that's not about pity. And even talent isn't the complete answer. "Before I met Simon, I heard he was handicapped," says music executive Bill Pettaway, who manages producer Timbaland (see: Jay-Z, Justin Timberlake, Nelly Furtado, Ludacris) and was introduced to Simon in Miami during one of his visits with Storch. "But when I met him, I just didn't see him as handicapped. He has so much drive and determination. He just never gives up." (Soon after they met, Pettaway played Simon's tracks for Timbaland in his limousine, and a week later, Simon signed a contract with Timbaland's production company.) It's a simple thing, really: What you expect Simon to be capable of, based on what he looks like, is so far removed from who he is. The contradiction is powerful. And that's our limitation.
Pity may have opened a few doors for Simon. Once inside, he had to have the musical chops. But it's his other qualities, his centeredness and self-effacement — so unusual in the industry — that will keep Storch and Gamble and Timbaland from saying, "Quick, Simon Illa's comin' — turn out the lights!," and might get him a gold, or maybe platinum, plaque on his wall. As Kenny Gamble puts it, "Not only is Simon talented, but he's very humble and incredibly hardworking. He's just an amazing man in every way."
It's true. And when you hang out with Illa, you realize quickly how it all could have gone in a different direction, that anyone in his condition, his parents dead, could easily have become the pathetic guy most people see in that wheelchair. In Miami, outside the cushy boundaries of the Hit Factory compound — from South Beach to Bal Harbour to Miami International — everyone looks. Everyone stares. Some people laugh. Some make jokes. There's a Mini-Me reference from a random guy on the street. Simon shrugs it all off, occasionally throwing out an Austin Powers line. On the plane back to Philly, a flight attendant, thinking she's sweet, refers to Simon as "my little friend." Simon whispers, "I'm taking her home later."
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