Lionel Richie is sharing a very human (and slightly gross) behind-the-scenes memory of Michael Jackson—one that, in Richie’s telling, came with a blunt nickname from legendary producer Quincy Jones: “Smelly.”
The story appears in Richie’s memoir Truly, released September 30, 2025, and has been repeated in interviews and coverage tied to the book’s launch.
Rather than framing it as mean-spirited, Richie describes it as affectionate studio teasing—Jones ribbing Jackson about hygiene and wardrobe habits that, according to Richie, could run a few days without a change.
Where the “Smelly” nickname came from (in Richie’s version)
Richie’s account is pretty specific: he says Jones would call Jackson “Smelly” because Jackson could be “oblivious” to the fact he hadn’t changed or washed clothes for a couple of days. Richie also says Jackson laughed it off, suggesting the nickname was part of the informal dynamic in the room rather than an insult meant to land.
In the broader anecdote, Richie paints Jackson as someone living under unusual constraints—fame so extreme that normal errands (shopping, cleaning routines, just blending in) weren’t simple. Richie argues that those constraints helped create odd workarounds, including repeatedly wearing the same outfits rather than casually replacing them.
The “clean clothes” story and what it’s trying to show
Multiple outlets highlighted a specific moment Richie recounts: Jackson showing up in worn clothes, Richie offering him clean replacements, and the punchline being Jackson leaving old items behind after changing.
The point of the story isn’t just shock value—it’s Richie depicting Jackson as childlike in day-to-day life while still being laser-focused about music.
That “two versions of Michael” framing—eccentric offstage, precise and brilliant in the studio—is a consistent theme in how Richie discusses him around the making of “We Are the World,” the 1985 charity single they worked on together with Quincy Jones producing.
Why is this resurfacing now
This isn’t a random rumor making the rounds—it’s a first-person recollection tied to a current release cycle. Richie is promoting Truly, and entertainment coverage is pulling standout moments from the book as part of that rollout.
It’s also the kind of anecdote that’s almost engineered for virality: it’s vivid, specific, and involves three huge names.
But it’s still worth keeping your head on straight: it’s one person’s memory of someone who isn’t here to respond, filtered through decades of distance and the storytelling incentives of memoir publishing. (That doesn’t make it false—it just means you should treat it as Richie’s account, not a courtroom fact.)
Richie, Jackson, and Quincy Jones
Richie’s comments sit inside a bigger narrative about collaboration in a pressure-cooker era of pop history—especially the “We Are the World” session, where dozens of stars were wrangled into one night of recording, and Quincy Jones’ role was to keep the room productive.
Other interviews around the memoir emphasize how Richie balances humor with respect: he’s not trying to “expose” Jackson as much as he’s trying to show the quirks that came with living at that level of celebrity.
