10 Criminals Who Shockingly Launched Music Superstars

It sounds like something from a movie script: a life of crime leading to a chart-topping music career. Yet, history is full of strange twists, and sometimes, the underworld’s dark paths cross with the dazzling lights of the music industry. Believe it or not, the actions of certain criminals indirectly paved the way for some of the most famous musicians we know. Let’s dive into ten surprising stories where crime and music collided, launching careers in the most unexpected ways.

Anders Klarström

Back in the 1990s, boybands were all the rage, but few fans knew about Ulf Ekberg’s early foray into music with a Nazi punk band called Commit Suicide. Ekberg, alongside Anders Klarström who later became a prominent figure in the Swedish Democrats, used the band to spread far-right, hateful messages. Their lyrics were shocking and violent, with Klarström even threatening a Jewish theater director. In 1986, authorities found Klarström’s arsenal of weapons, leading to his conviction for illegal firearm possession and the band’s breakup.

With Commit Suicide disbanded, Ekberg needed a new musical path. In August 1990, his friend Jonas Berggren invited him to fill in for an absent bass player. This temporary gig soon became permanent. With Berggren’s two sisters as lead singers, the group Ace of Base was formed. Their catchy, upbeat sound, vastly different from Ekberg’s past, took the world by storm. Hits like “The Sign” and “All That She Wants,” crafted by Swedish songwriters, defined a sound that would dominate pop music for years.

Raffaele Minichiello

Raffaele Minichiello is known for more than his accordion skills showcased on YouTube. He’s the man behind the longest airplane hijacking in history. On October 30, 1969, Minichiello boarded TWA Flight 85 with an M1 rifle. He forced the plane, originally heading from San Francisco to Los Angeles, to fly to Rome. This dramatic journey lasted over 18 hours and covered nearly 7,000 miles. After landing in Italy, he was arrested and served only a year and a half in prison.

Among the forty passengers held captive were members of the 1960s pop group Harpers Bizarre. Minichiello released them in Denver. The band gained sudden notoriety, but the traumatic experience made them hesitant to travel. This lack of touring led to internal conflicts and eventually, their breakup. One former band member, Ted Templeman, found himself needing a new career. Within a year, he took an entry-level A&R job at Warner Brothers Records. It was Templeman who discovered and launched two iconic bands: The Doobie Brothers and Van Halen.

Sabrina Jackson’s Killer

In 1983, Sabrina Jackson was found dead in her home. Her killer was never caught, but rumors suggested her murder was retaliation related to cocaine trafficking. The attacker drugged her and then turned on the gas, leaving her to die. Her eight-year-old son, Curtis, was left without a mother and an absent father. Raised by his grandmother, Curtis felt like a burden and started selling drugs to help support the family.

By nineteen, he was a neighborhood kingpin, a path that led to several short jail stints. The birth of his son, Marquise, became a turning point. Determined not to repeat his own childhood, Curtis swore off his criminal life. He decided to pursue a skill he’d honed in jail: rapping. For a career born from such tragedy, he chose a name reflecting value gained from death: 50 Cent, like two quarters on a deceased person’s eyes.

Richard Mason’s Killers

Kit Lambert, son of a composer and actress, initially had no interest in the music world. In May 1961, he embarked on an expedition to the Amazon with friends Richard Mason and John Hemming to find the source of the Iriri River. Their adventure took a tragic turn on September 3rd when Mason, searching for food, encountered the isolated Panará tribe. Fearful of outsiders, they killed him. Lambert and Hemming were even briefly arrested, suspected of murder, before being cleared.

Shaken by the experience, Lambert returned to England and changed careers, becoming an assistant director on films like From Russia with Love. On set, he met Chris Stamp, who convinced him to check out a band called The High Numbers. Lambert and Stamp saw potential for a documentary about the band, but soon, their filmmaking plans were replaced by a new passion. Lambert became the band’s manager, famously suggesting they change their name to The Who. Thus, a tragic death in the Amazon indirectly led to the rise of one of rock’s greatest bands.

Jim Gordon

Jim Gordon was a highly sought-after session drummer in the 1970s California music scene. His drumming features on countless records, but one particular performance had an immense impact. His drum break on the Incredible Bongo Band’s cover of “Apache” became known as “the national anthem of hip-hop,” sampled over seven hundred times. This beat was a favorite of DJ Kool Herc, a pioneer of hip-hop, and was crucial in Grand Wizzard Theodore’s development of turntablism. Gordon’s rhythm truly shaped the sound of music for decades.

However, Gordon’s life took a dark turn. Years of drug use severely affected his mental health, leading to him hearing imaginary voices. After violent episodes and a psychiatric hospital stay, he became convinced his mother was tormenting him. In 1983, he tragically killed her. Jim Gordon’s musical legacy is undeniable, but it’s forever intertwined with this terrible act.

King Ludwig II

Bavaria’s King Ludwig II was known for his obsession with fairytales, which unfortunately didn’t lead to a happy ending for him. He spent lavishly on building whimsical castles, like the Neuschwanstein Castle that inspired Disney’s Cinderella Castle. His eccentric behavior, including believing he was the reincarnation of France’s King Louis XIV, talking to invisible people, and an obsession with swans, worried his advisors. His actions grew more erratic, including theft and assault accusations.

In 1886, the government declared Ludwig insane. The day after he was deposed, he and the doctor who diagnosed him were found dead in a pond under mysterious circumstances. Despite his troubled reign, Ludwig II left a significant mark on music history. A closeted homosexual, he became a devoted patron of composer Richard Wagner. Ludwig’s financial support and belief in Wagner’s genius allowed the composer the freedom to create some of opera’s most celebrated works at a time when Wagner was considering retirement due to lack of funds.

Morris Levy

When Tommy James arrived in New York with his demo for “Hanky Panky,” record labels were initially eager to sign him. However, they quickly backed off. Morris Levy, a notorious strongman for Roulette Records with ties to the Genovese crime family, had claimed James as his next act. Anyone who tried to poach him risked serious trouble. Levy, a convicted extortionist, ran Roulette Records as part of his criminal operations. He engaged in bootlegging and was infamous for his brutal tactics.

Levy also utilized payola, a mafia-controlled system where disc jokeys were bribed to play certain records. This ensured Tommy James’s hits received the airplay they needed. However, this came at a steep price. James lost nearly $40 million in royalties, funneled away by Levy. The relationship was fraught with danger, including a physical altercation and even a hit placed on James by a rival crime family, which he survived thanks to influential connections like Vice President Hubert Humphrey. His hit song “Crimson and Clover” certainly echoes the blood and luck involved in his career.

Lou Pearlman

Lou Pearlman’s career was bookended by cons. He started by defrauding investors with a fake blimp company. After a staged crash and an insurance payout, he looked for his next venture. When the boyband New Kids on the Block chartered one of his planes, Pearlman saw an opportunity. He decided to create his own boybands, leading to the formation of The Backstreet Boys and N’Sync, two of the biggest acts of the 1990s.

Pearlman profited immensely by pitting the two bands against each other and using restrictive contracts. Eventually, the bands managed to break free. Deprived of this income, Pearlman started another con. In 2008, he was sentenced to 25 years in prison for running a massive Ponzi scheme. Interestingly, Pearlman had hired a young Max Martin to write songs for his boybands. While Pearlman’s luck ran out, Martin went on to become one of the most successful songwriters in pop history, a trajectory indirectly fueled by Pearlman’s criminal enterprises.

Owsley Stanley

The hippie movement saw itself as anti-establishment, yet one of its most enduring musical legacies has roots in a controversial CIA program. In the 1950s, the CIA’s MK-Ultra project experimented with LSD as a potential truth serum, often on unwitting participants. This highly unethical program had devastating consequences for many involved. However, it also unintentionally sparked a cultural shift.

Owsley Stanley, an MK-Ultra contact, became a prolific LSD manufacturer, producing over a million doses. He supplied the drug to writer Ken Kesey and his Merry Pranksters for their notorious “acid tests” – parties that were central to the psychedelic movement. The house band for these events was The Warlocks, who later became The Grateful Dead. The profits from Stanley’s illegal drug business financed the band’s early tours, allowing them to develop their unique, improvisational style that defined psychedelic rock.

Michael Maybrick

Duke Ellington is an undisputed titan of jazz, consistently reshaping the genre over his six-decade career. His manager, Irving Mills, signed him after hearing “Black and Tan Fantasy” playing in a dive bar. This 1927 song wasn’t entirely original; Ellington creatively blended jazz with motifs from Michael Maybrick’s 1892 hymn, “The Holy City.” This hymn was a bestseller in the 19th century, yet much about its songwriter remains obscure and unsettling.

Researcher Bruce Robinson has explored a disturbing question: did Maybrick commit murder? Evidence suggests he might have framed his sister-in-law for poisoning his brother. Even more shocking is Robinson’s theory, detailed in his book They All Love Jack, that Maybrick was the infamous serial killer Jack the Ripper. Robinson points to coincidences between Maybrick’s concert tours and the locations of Jack the Ripper’s letters, Masonic symbols at crime scenes (Maybrick was a high-ranking Mason), and the proximity of victims to Maybrick’s lodgings. If true, it means Duke Ellington’s rise to fame was partly thanks to a song by a man who may have been one of history’s most notorious criminals.

These stories show that inspiration and opportunity can arise from the most unlikely, and sometimes darkest, of places. The music world is certainly richer for these artists, even if their journeys were kickstarted by criminal acts. It’s a strange reminder of how interconnected and unpredictable life can be.