Quick Take
- Narration: JD Jackson brings authority and warmth to Teddy Riley’s story, his deep resonant voice capturing both the Harlem swagger and the genuine emotion behind the music-making process.
- Themes: Creative invention, resilience through poverty, Black cultural influence on American music
- Mood: Celebratory and candid, with flashes of real industry darkness
- Verdict: A rich, well-narrated account of one of pop music’s most influential architects that earns its emotional moments.
I started listening to Remember the Times on a Friday evening when I had no particular plans, telling myself I’d sample the first chapter. Three hours later I was still on the couch, the kitchen light I’d meant to switch off still blazing, completely absorbed in Teddy Riley’s account of growing up without much in Harlem and somehow inventing a genre anyway. That kind of momentum is its own recommendation.
What the synopsis sells accurately is the scope of Riley’s career: the Bobby Brown hits, the work with Michael Jackson, the groups Guy and Blackstreet, the Hollywood Walk of Fame star. What it can’t quite convey is the texture of the storytelling, the way Riley and coauthor Jake Brown keep the pace quick without skimming, and how Riley’s candor about betrayal and industry dysfunction gives the memoir genuine weight rather than letting it coast on name-dropping alone.
The Sound That Harlem Built
The early chapters covering Riley’s childhood in the projects are the most quietly affecting in the book. Riley resists sentimentality without being cold about it. The picture of a musical prodigy identifying rhythm in street noise, piecing together an understanding of music without formal instruction, feels authentic rather than mythologized. He doesn’t position himself as destined for greatness so much as someone who found the one thing that made sense and pursued it with focused intensity. There’s a version of this story that turns every obstacle into a triumphant stepping stone; Riley and Brown are smarter than that, and the restraint pays off.
The Architecture of New Jack Swing
The book’s most satisfying chapters deal with the actual craft of creating New Jack Swing, the synthesis of hip-hop’s rhythmic aggression with R&B’s melodic warmth, a combination that sounds obvious in retrospect and was genuinely revolutionary at the time. Riley is specific about production choices, about what he heard in his head and how he translated it to tape, and these passages feel like genuine insight into how popular music actually gets made rather than the usual vague claims about inspiration. For anyone who grew up with the sound of the late 1980s and early 1990s, these sections have the quality of explanation: oh, so that’s why it sounded like that.
His accounts of working with Michael Jackson are the passages listeners will seek out first, and they don’t disappoint, though not for the reasons you might expect. Riley is respectful without being hagiographic, specific about the creative dynamic without sensationalizing Jackson’s complicated personal story. The portrait of a perfectionist in the studio, chasing sounds that lived somewhere between what existed and what he was imagining, is genuinely illuminating about the Michael Jackson the public rarely saw.
The Industry’s Long Memory for Slights
Riley is candid about betrayal and financial exploitation in ways that a more image-conscious memoir would have softened. The music industry’s history of extracting maximum value from Black artists while returning minimum financial reward is not background context here, it’s woven through the narrative in specific, named incidents. This isn’t grievance-mining; it’s testimony, and it sits alongside the success story without undermining it. The effect is a clearer-eyed account of what it actually cost to achieve what Riley achieved, which makes the achievement feel more meaningful rather than less.
JD Jackson’s narration is well-suited to the material. His voice carries natural authority, which fits the confidence Riley brings to his own story, but he modulates effectively for the more vulnerable passages without ever becoming maudlin. He handles the variety of voices and figures that pass through the story with enough distinction to keep them legible without veering into caricature. This is professional narration that serves the text rather than competing with it.
Who Should Listen and Who Might Not
This is essential listening if you have any genuine connection to late 1980s and 1990s R&B and hip-hop, not casual familiarity but actual emotional investment in that era’s sound. Music producers and anyone interested in the craft of popular songwriting will find the production-focused passages particularly valuable. Readers who enjoyed music memoirs like Questlove’s Mo’ Meta Blues or Nile Rodgers’ Le Freak will recognize the specific pleasure of a musician who can explain not just what happened but how the music itself worked.
Listeners coming purely for celebrity gossip will find the book more interested in music than scandal, which is the right choice but might not be what they’re after. Those with no connection to New Jack Swing or the artists Riley worked with may find the name-dropping density a bit overwhelming, though the Harlem childhood sections have a more universal pull. At just under six hours, the runtime is lean enough that it never outstays its welcome.
Frequently Asked Questions
Does JD Jackson’s narration capture Teddy Riley’s Harlem background and musical personality convincingly?
Jackson brings warmth and authority to the narration that suits Riley’s confident voice. He doesn’t attempt to impersonate Riley but delivers the text with the kind of ease that makes the stories feel personal rather than performed, which is exactly what this type of memoir requires.
How much of the book focuses on Michael Jackson versus Riley’s own career and identity?
The Michael Jackson sections are present and substantive but don’t dominate the memoir. Riley keeps Jackson’s role appropriately proportional, significant, revelatory, but not the whole story. The book is genuinely about Riley’s own arc, from Harlem to Hall of Fame.
Does the book address industry exploitation of Black artists directly, or does it gloss over it?
It addresses these issues directly and specifically. Riley doesn’t soften the accounts of betrayal and financial exploitation that marked parts of his career. These passages give the memoir more credibility and substance than the typical music biography that focuses only on triumphs.
Is Remember the Times suitable for listeners who aren’t already familiar with New Jack Swing?
Yes, though fans of the genre will get the most out of it. Riley explains his creative process clearly enough that newcomers can follow the significance of what he built. The childhood sections in Harlem in particular have universal resonance regardless of any prior knowledge of his music.
