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Chilli and T-Boz of TLC
Friends reunited ... Chilli (left) and T-Boz of TLC. Photograph: Linda Nylind/The Guide
Friends reunited ... Chilli (left) and T-Boz of TLC. Photograph: Linda Nylind/The Guide

TLC: ‘I will never forget the day we were millionaires for five minutes’

This article is more than 6 years old

On the comeback trail, the 90s megastars reflect on bankruptcy, turning down Britney and what Lisa ‘Left Eye’ Lopes would be like on Twitter

TLC are in the back of an Uber XL in the middle of London’s Oxford Circus, sunshine streaming through the windows, with a hottie standing in full view at the crossing. “Jesus! Did you look at this guy? Lord have mercy. Why didn’t you get his ass on camera? He is byoo-tee-full.” Traffic and conversation is gridlocked; Chilli wants her bandmate T-Boz, their cameraman, makeup artist, press officer, the driver and me to acknowledge the “drop-dead gorgeous” specimen, beefy in muscle and hyper-groomed of face, outside the window.

“Look, hey, I love pretty men, but come on now, you would give it up. Tell the truth.”

I shrug, ambivalent, and tell them he’s not my type. T-Boz, who has spent the last few minutes rubbing her knuckles reminiscing about the fights she used to get into, narrows her eyes. “What?!” she says. “What is your type? Why don’t you tell us what your type is? Even if he’s not your type, you have to say he’s cute. He’s not my type, either, but I can see he’s good looking. The whole package was working for him: the hair, the muscles … What is your type?”

The lights change and the two cackle, a conspiratorial giggle that follows much of their chat over the next 24 hours. TLC making a decent comeback in 2017 is, it’s fair to say, unexpected. Despite insisting that they’ve been working solidly behind the scenes the whole time – touring internationally, writing film scripts, setting up a fitness blog – the group disappeared from public consciousness sometime in the early 00s.

Watch the video for Way Back.

Collectively though, the three twentysomething women from Atlanta, Georgia – Tionne “T-Boz” Watkins, Rozonda “Chilli” Thomas and Lisa “Left Eye” Lopes – owned the 90s: their brand of sultry R&B, silky enough to woo the masses but glitchy enough to keep them interesting, has made them the most successful US girl group of all time. Their two biggest albums, CrazySexyCool (1994) and Fanmail (1999), sold more than 20m copies between them, with other singles and albums helping to rack up a total sales haul of around 65m worldwide.

That’s a behemothic level of success that was felled first by the band’s bankruptcy in 1995, then by the tragic death of Lopes, at 30, in 2002.

“I slept a lot,” says Thomas of that year. “When you’re depressed and you sleep a lot … I did that and stayed in my room. I didn’t watch TV and I certainly didn’t listen to radio or go out because everywhere we’d go, somebody would have something to say.”

“And they’d be smiling, too,” chips in Watkins, “and then be like, ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ and then immediately, ‘Can I have your autograph?’”

The two felt hounded by the press, the public and their label. “People are ghouls,” says Watkins. “I got letters at my house two days after Lisa died, like, ‘What are you going to do?’ and, ‘Here’s my demo, take a listen.’” But Lopes, who died in a car accident on holiday in Honduras that April, was irreplaceable. TLC were never a vehicle for a producer or a manager’s new sound – opening a revolving door for a new third member like, say, Destiny’s Child or the Sugababes was not an option.

“They are much clearer than anybody else on what is and isn’t TLC,” their label boss, LA Reid, told Rolling Stone in 1995. “They make it very clear to the writers and producers on their projects what they will and will not sing. And because of that, they’ll always be a little ahead.” The group turned down major songs, including Hit Me Baby One More Time (“It’s a great song but not every hit is for you. I couldn’t hear us on that record,” says Thomas, diplomatically).

“We already did baby baby baby,” says Watkins, kissing her teeth.

Sister act ... (left to right) Tionne ‘T-Boz’ Watkins, Lisa ‘Left-Eye’ Lopes and Rozonda ‘Chilli’ Thomas in the Netherlands in 1992. Photograph: Michel Linssen/Redferns

TLC’s distinct sound remains written about and referenced by music blogs. And it still influences modern pop (see 2017’s biggest-selling single in the UK, Ed Sheeran’s Shape of You). The group defined themselves by their three distinct personalities: “crazy”, “sexy”, “cool”. Seven months after Lopes died, their fourth and least successful album, 3D, was released. “We were upset, that was the label,” says Watkins, of the album coming out. “I guess their mourning stage for us was a week, we weren’t thinking straight or in a right frame of mind to be making decisions.”

“That first couple of years you think you were all right or at least better, and then you have a dream or something and you’re messed up all over again,” adds Thomas. “It just really took time to heal.”

Fifteen years on and in their late 40s, the pair didn’t think that they would be playing their first ever London gig. May’s solitary date at Koko in Camden Town sold out in a day, to an army of fans singing and sweating on its sticky floorboards. “We haven’t had bad performances where we’ve been booed, but that was hard to believe,” says Watkins, when we meet the next evening in a salmon pink hotel suite. “To come here and have people chanting ‘TLC’. It makes the adrenaline flow. “We’re always nervous before we go on stage,” says Thomas, “but I was exceptionally nervous this time. It didn’t settle till I started doing it.”

That the show was a triumph just follows TLC’s made-for-TV-movie trajectory. Backing dancers in gold lame costumes, a gospel choir, and hit after hit – opening with Diggin’ On You and ending with No Scrubs – elevated it beyond the rush of pop nostalgia. That said, new single Way Back, which features a Snoop Dogg verse where Lopes might have been, is pure 90s street soul throwback, but the pair claim that they’re not paying attention to current trends, because, says Watkins, “our music will always be relevant”.

Hit girls ... TLC in Hollywood, 1999. Photograph: Ron Davis/Getty Images

“What do you mean by throwback?” asks Thomas.

It’s inarguable that the two have worked hard to retain the essence of what made them so huge in the first place: from the live production down to Thomas’s still terrifyingly well-maintained washboard stomach, they look and sound as if they’ve escaped a time capsule.

“Some people may say, ‘Oh. you have the same hairstyle,’” says Watkins her angled blond bob cut as sharply as she is. “But first of all, second of all, and third of all: when you get the kind of iconic hairstyle that people copy, you call me. It’s signature.” It’s true: alongside The Rachel, Watkins’s was the most popular haircut for gobby schoolgirls in the 90s. A lot of faux-bickering and tutting between the two follows as they debate the flaws of contemporary artists who, according to TLC, have no sense of performance, showmanship or style.

“Celebrity changed, but what sticks out to me is the change in media,” says Thomas. “If Twitter was around when we were were out, Lisa would have the most followers for sure.” And probably been in the most trouble, too? “Oh my God, she would have been closed down multiple times.”

“Same with Instagram,” says Watkins. “If Instagram was taken away tomorrow there would be a lot of people jobless right now cos there’s a lot of ‘public figures’ now made up of Instagram models.” She is unimpressed by influencers monetising their lifestyles online, but tries to hold back. “I’m not gonna knock your hustle. Hustle on, girl. This is the time that hos are winning.” An affirmative block-caps “YEAH!” comes from Thomas. “But if you gonna be a ho, at least be a good ho and get paid,” Watkins continues. “Ho-ism is working for people. Worst thing is to be a ho, spread your stuff far and wide and get nothing from it.”

No scrubs please, we’re TLC ... Chilli (left) and T-Boz. Photograph: Linda Nylind/The Guide

Watkins won’t be drawn on who she might be alluding to, but it’s still a surprise to hear her or Thomas claim a moral high ground over other women. TLC championed female sexuality in their songs and styling, and were early advocates of safe-sex campaigns (Lopes would even wear a condom on the left eye of her glasses). Yet, says Watkins, she was offered $50,000 to visit a male fan and his wife at home – “So they could just stare at me fully clothed for five minutes, nothing else” – and she refused.

Chilli is appalled. “Fifty thousand! To bring warmth and happiness into that relationship, what’s wrong with that?!” “My husband at that time didn’t want me going,” admits Watkins. “He didn’t have to know!” yelps Thomas.

Both are single right now. Thomas has a son with TLC’s ex-producer Dallas Austin, and Watkins is divorced with a son and teenage daughter. “I wouldn’t want to meet anyone right now,” says Watkins. “I do not want a man. If God slaps me in the face with a good one, fine, but right now, I don’t want to listen to your day, I don’t want to care about your problems. I wouldn’t be a good girlfriend right now; I don’t want to have sex with nobody.”

“Oh, you poor girl! You poor poor girl,” says Thomas, cooing at Watkins’s vagina.

“She’ll be all right”, says Watkins, side-eyeing Thomas with a cat-like grin.

The pair live in different cities now; Watkins is in Los Angeles, having just moved out of the suburb the Kardashians live in, and Thomas has stayed in Atlanta, but they still finish each other’s sentences and slip into shorthand. “You start off with so many friends,” explains Watkins, “but as you get older, you only need one or two. I’m not open to just letting people into my life, I need an asset not a liability.”

Class act ... TLC announce a $25,000 Aids education scholarship in memory of Lisa Lopes at the 2002 MTV Awards. Photograph: Kevin Kane/WireImage

To their credit, the two have been categorically burned by the industry. To go bankrupt at the peak of their fame and success still stings. “I will never forget the day we were millionaires for literally five minutes,” says Watkins. “Because the cheque was written to us and we had to sign it over, back to [Pebbles, their former manager]. But we won’t get into that since we’re still in a lawsuit.”

“If I could go back, I would definitely change a couple of things business-wise,” says Thomas. “I have learned the hard way: sign your own cheques, make sure your taxes are in shape and whatever your company is, it’s always good to get it audited. If you don’t have anything to hide, it’s not a worry.”

“It’s not personal,” adds Watkins, hard as nails, “it’s business. Everyone in this industry has an agenda. Accountants, lawyers, people you think you know will keep running up the bill. You have to watch your back on every corner.”

Worse than the money was, of course, the loss of Lopes, which really ended that first, fantastical run. The three had weathered everything together – the backstabbing, the bankruptcy, the tabloid sensation of Lopes burning down the mansion of her then-football star boyfriend. “Lisa was a starter. I don’t start stuff, I don’t believe in arguing with people I don’t know,” says Watkins. “I have a hard exterior, I’m scary.”

“She was more adventurous,” says Thomas. “I’m a friendly person but if I find out you’re not cool, I get real cold.”“And,” laughs Watkins, “with Lisa, it depended on the day. She was a Gemini, so she was about seven different people.” Neither Watkins or Thomas drink (“We’ve done this industry sober; we’re real clear about what we’re doing”), though Lopes did and the three, tight as they were, were known to scrap – often publicly. Looking back, would they have done anything differently? “Coulda, woulda, shoulda,” says Watkins, her voice at its most slow and sleepy. “It made us who we are, so at the end of the day, I just remember Lisa as a person, a human being. I miss everything.”

TLC by TLC is out on 30 June

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