I Am An Entertainer And I Know My Destiny

To all who have faced setbacks on their path to success,

For years, I have been saying I am an internationally recognized, fully booked EGOT award-winning artist, singer, and actor.

Currently, there are 19 EGOT winners, artists who have achieved the rare feat of winning an Emmy, Grammy, Oscar, and Tony. Notable EGOT recipients include John Legend, Jennifer Hudson, and Whoopi Goldberg. 

While I haven’t made it onto this exclusive list just yet, I say it to remind myself and the world of my destiny.

But the reality is, it ain’t easy. My journey has been challenging every step of the way.

I began my singing journey at the New Mount Zion Baptist Church in Cleveland, Ohio. At just seven years old, I performed my first solo — a hymn my grandmother had taught me. By the song’s conclusion, the entire congregation was in tears, profoundly moved by my performance. Witnessing their emotional response to my voice was when I realized my talent. That’s the moment I knew I wanted to sing for the rest of my life.

Witnessing their emotional response to my voice was when I realized my talent. That’s the moment I knew I wanted to sing for the rest of my life.

By fourth grade, I believed I would make it. It was in me, even though it wasn’t in my family lineage. 

In class, I used to tap the young girl in front of me on the shoulder every day and say, “Do you want my autograph? I am going to be famous one day. I am going to be a world-renowned singer and actor.”

After months of asking her daily, “Do you want my autograph?” she complained to the teacher and I got in trouble. However, I continued asking her and others if they wanted my signature. And I continued to believe in myself and my dreams. 

In middle school, I began entering every talent show in the Cleveland area. Fear and insecurity began to take hold as the stages and crowds grew. See, I have always been a larger person. I didn’t have Tyrese’s abs or Usher’s physique as a kid, and I started to worry that my gift alone wasn’t good enough. I was terrified that audiences might reject me. Then, I competed in a talent show and I made it to the final round. It was me and one other artist — a boy with the look and the body. He sang “Always And Forever,” handed out roses, and took off his shirt. The girls went crazy, and I thought he would win. Nervously, I went on the stage and sang “Believe In Yourself” from “The Wiz” and brought the house down. I won that competition. 

That experience elevated my confidence and made me believe I would be accepted for my talent and not dismissed because of my size. So, I moved to New York full of hope and excitement. 

I quickly realized that it would be harder for me to win over decision-makers than audiences, as I was repeatedly rejected — some rejections were more mean and hurtful than others. But, interestingly enough, it was never once about my voice. 

When I moved to New York, I was a grown man with a large 6’3” frame. Five years or so into living in the Big Apple, a friend invited me to her home in New Jersey to introduce me to an A&R (artists and repertoire), an executive assigned to finding promising talent, who would also be there that night. I decided to go, and it was just the three of us eating dinner when a song came on by an artist that the executive didn’t recognize. 

He jumped up and said, “Oh my God, who is that? Who is that? Who is this singing?”

She said, “Just listen to the song, and I’ll tell you.”

While anxiously pacing the room, waiting for the artist’s name, he kept reacting to the music with various comments such as, “Oh my God, this is the next Luther Vandross.”

Finally, she told him it was me; the man sitting in front of him was singing that song. 

On a scale from one to 10, he was at 20, but after he found out it was my voice, he dropped to a negative 10. 

He bluntly told me, “Your voice is amazing, but your hips are wider than my wife’s hips. I can’t see myself bringing my wife to a show to watch a man on stage who has hips wider than hers.”

I kept the straightest face and politely thanked him for his feedback. But when I got on the train to go back to New York, I let out this wail and started crying hysterically. The passengers around me asked if I was OK as they tried to comfort me on the 12-minute ride back to New York.  

At that point, I questioned whether this was indeed the journey meant for me. 

Ultimately, I decided to keep going. I accepted an opportunity to go on tour in Europe with a group called the Harlem Messengers. Every time I opened my mouth, I got a standing ovation — every night. For the next seven to eight years, I sang background and worked with some greats, including Aretha Franklin, Mariah Carey, India Arie, Anthony Hamilton, and Demi Lovato. 

Simultaneously, I tried to become who I thought the industry wanted me to be. One year, I went on a massive cleanse diet and dropped a ton of weight — to the point that I became nearly unrecognizable. 

Interestingly enough, I had been in the running for a part in a Broadway play. When I showed up significantly lighter than before, the director, in a horrified tone, kept repeating the question, “What did you do?” 

They liked me as I was for the part. That’s when I realized I am damned if I do, and I am damned if I don’t. So, I might as well just be me. 

While I missed out on that part that year, years later, I did get cast in that play, among several other Broadway plays.

In 2014, I was singing background for Mariah Carey when she told me I should be sharing the stage with her instead of singing behind her. That was the last time I sang back up, and that is when I finally decided not to let anyone’s criticism or rejection impact my journey. 

Last fall, I released my first solo album. I am not trying to fit anyone’s mold. Instead, I am focused on living a healthy and happy life while falling in love with myself. I have noticed that the more I embrace my true self, the more I impact others. 

As I headline my tour — not as backup or part of a group, but my tour with my music, all the magic is coming together. When I sing, gold comes out of my mouth — not in a monetary sense, but in the sense of bringing health, restoration, and enlightenment to the people who hear me. 

Once, a woman said to me after a concert, “I was diagnosed with stage four cancer, but being here and hearing you made me totally forget about any of that.”

Another woman told me, “I just lost my son in a tragic car accident. All I wanted to do tonight was stay in the house but someone dragged me out. And while listening to you sing, for a moment, I was released from the pain of knowing my son is not here.”

Even in countries where they don’t understand a word I’m saying, you do not have a dry eye in the house. My music makes people feel something. 

My music makes people feel something. 

That’s why I stopped calling my concerts “The Eric Turner Show” and renamed it “The Eric B. Turner Experience.” 

As I step into this chapter of my career, I still say every day that I am an internationally recognized, fully booked EGOT award-winning artist, singer, and actor. And I plan to keep saying it until it happens, no matter how often someone tells me no or how long it takes.  

I named my debut solo album “It Ain’t Easy,” because life isn’t easy for anyone. And if you have faced setbacks or rejection, like me, I want to tell you to keep going. Do not alter your dreams or goals. Use each disappointment as fuel and find the individuals who see your vision. And most importantly, believe in yourself — believe in who you are, as you are, along with the passion and talent you have to share with the world. 

And remember, just because the journey ain’t easy, it doesn’t mean the destination isn’t yours. 

With great hope and excitement, 

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