And I carried that with me through every single part of my life, through every >> For more than half a century, Diana Ross was untouchable. The queen of Mottown, the symbol of perfection. But at 81, she’s broken her silence and revealed the seven artists she hated most. These weren’t strangers. They were friends, collaborators, even lovers.
They sang beside her, celebrated her success, and then used her, betrayed her, and left her in tears on live television. Stay with me because by the time we reach the seventh name, you’ll never look at Diana Ross or her so-called friends the same way again. Number one, Michael Jackson, the protetége who betrayed her.
Let’s start with the one name nobody ever expected to hear from Diana Ross’ lips. Michael Jackson. Yes, the king of pop himself tops the list of people she could never forgive. Hard to believe, right? The boy she once called her baby, the kid she proudly introduced to the world on national TV eventually became the wound she never talked about.
Back in 1969, Diana was already Mottown royalty. She brought the Jackson 5 from Gary, Indiana to Los Angeles, introduced them to Barry Gordy, and helped polish their image. When the Ed Sullivan Show aired their debut, Diana was the one standing right beside them. She called him everyday, bought him clothes, even let him stay in her home when the fame hit too fast. He called her Mama Ross.
But the sweetness didn’t last. As Michael exploded in the 1980s, the dynamic shifted. Diana’s name began disappearing from his interviews. Her calls went unanswered, and the warmth that once bonded them turned icy. In 1989, when Diana was chosen to present Michael with a lifetime achievement award, everyone expected a touching reunion. What they got was silence.
He thanked Barry Gordy, Quincy Jones, his fans, even his chimp, Bubbles, but not Diana. Backstage, she just stood there whispering, “Never again, Michael.” After that night, she swore off mentoring young male artists forever. When Michael later named her guardian to his children in his will, she didn’t comment once.
“It’s strange, isn’t it?” The mother figure who helped him rise ended up as the ghost he refused to thank. Number two, Barry Gordy, the secret lover who tried to own her career. What happens when the man who built your career also tries to control your life? That’s exactly what Diana Ross faced with Barry Gordy, her former boss, her mentor, and yes, her secret lover.
Their relationship wasn’t just professional. It was power, passion, and poison all tangled together. By the early 1970s, Barry Gordy ran Mottown like a kingdom, and Diana was his chosen queen. He decided her songs, her image, even her movie roles. When she starred in Lady Sings the Blues in 1972, everyone thought it was her dream role.
But behind the scenes, Diana later admitted, “I didn’t choose that movie. Barry did. He wanted to mold her into his idea of perfection, not hers. At first, she went along because he believed in her when no one else did. But the price kept getting higher. He’d call rehearsals at midnight, rewrite her lyrics without asking, and remind her who made her every time she pushed back.
By the end of the decade, she’d had enough. She wanted freedom, ownership, and control. So, in 1981, Diana shocked the entire music industry by signing a $20 million contract with RCA, the biggest deal ever given to a female artist at the time. Barry felt humiliated. Ungrateful, he called her behind closed doors.
He told executives she had forgotten her roots, forgotten him. Diana, heartbroken but firm, told a close friend, “He wanted me forever, not as a woman, but as property.” After that, she cut all business ties with him and never returned to Mottown until decades later when the wounds had long turned to scars. Number three, Artha Franklin, the rival queen who publicly humiliated her on stage.
It happened live in front of cameras, microphones, and millions of viewers. Diana Ross extended her hand to greet Artha Franklin and Artha turned her back mid song, midnote like Diana didn’t even exist. That single moment in 1985 became one of the coldest gestures ever broadcast in music history. People always loved to pit them against each other.
Artha, the raw power of gospel and soul. Diana, the polished glamour of Mottown. But what started as quiet competition turned into open hostility. Insiders say it began years earlier when Artha complained that Diana got the magazine covers while she got the respect. After that televised snub, Artha gave an interview that made it worse.
When asked about other female performers, she said, “Some people sing, some people pose. She didn’t need to name names. The whole industry knew who she meant.” Diana didn’t clap back publicly, but she was furious. She told a friend later she could out sing me, but she could never outclass me. Still, Artha kept pushing.
During rehearsals for another award show, she allegedly leaned to a musician and said, “That’s not singing. That’s whispering in sequins.” Diana heard it. She didn’t flinch, just smiled. Then quietly vowed never to share a stage with her again. From that night on, two legends, two queens, one unforgettable moment that ended their friendship forever.
Number four, Lionel Richie, the partner who betrayed the stage. One phone call, that’s all it took to destroy months of work and trust. Lionel Richie called Diana Ross’ manager in 1981 and said he wouldn’t be doing the Endless Love World tour. No explanation, no discussion, just I’m out. Diana didn’t believe it at first. How could he walk away from the song that defined them both? Their duet, Endless Love, had shattered records, spending nine weeks at number one, one, and becoming one of the biggest love songs in history. The chemistry was
undeniable. Fans called it Romance in Stereo. But offstage, things were tense. Diana wanted to co-headline the tour as equals. Lionel’s team wanted his name first on every poster. RCA and Mottown were already fighting over who would take credit for the success. And when the offers poured in, so did the ego.
Behind closed doors, Lionel’s advisers told him that continuing the partnership would trap him under Diana’s shadow. He listened. Within days, the deal collapsed. The band was released, and Diana was left staring at an empty schedule she’d built around him. After that call, she was furious. He used me to launch his solo career, she reportedly told one of them.
She had choreographies ready, custom gowns made, and lighting cues marked with his name. All wasted. Publicly, she stayed composed. We created magic, she told a reporter, and he turned it into a memory. Privately, she swore she’d never sing with him again, and she kept that promise. Number five, Mary Wilson, the sister who turned against her.
The moment Diana Ross announced she was leaving the Supremes in 1970, Mary Wilson stopped clapping, literally. Cameras caught her standing still as Diana waved goodbye on stage. It was the beginning of a feud that would last more than three decades. Back in the early days, they were inseparable. Three girls from Detroit, Diana, Mary, and Florence Ballard, dreaming of fame and survival.
But as Mottown grew, Barry Gordy made it clear Diana was the star. The spotlight shifted and the posters changed from the Supremes to Diana Ross and the Supremes. Mary hated it. She once told a friend, “They stole our name and gave it to her.” When Diana left to go solo, Mary felt abandoned. She gave interviews calling Diana selfish, manipulative, and obsessed with control.
Years later, her memoir, Dream Girl, turned those words into headlines. She accused Diana of pushing Florence out, of never fighting for the group that made her famous. Diana said nothing. But behind the scenes, she was heartbroken. “I thought we were sisters,” she told one confidant. “Then came the final blow, the 2000 reunion tour.
Promoters offered millions, but Mary demanded equal pay and billing. Diana refused. The deal collapsed before opening night. “I wanted to heal the past,” Diana told Oprah later, but she wanted to relive it. After that, they never spoke again. Their love had died long before Mary did. Number six, Quincy Jones, the powerhouse producer who shut her out.
The story goes that when Diana Ross’s team called Quincy Jones in 1981 to propose a collaboration, he didn’t even let them finish the pitch. He laughed and said, “She’s too difficult.” and passed her prime. That single cut deeper than any review or headline ever could. At that time, Diana had just left Mottown and signed her record-breaking $20 million RCA deal.
She was determined to reinvent herself, and Quincy was at the top of her list. He had just turned Michael Jackson into the biggest act on the planet with Off-the-Wall and Thriller, and she believed that working with him could open a new era for her sound. But Quincy didn’t see her as a challenge. He saw her as history. For Diana, that was a slap in the face.
She’d spent years proving she was more than just Mottown’s poster girl. Yet here was another man writing her off as too hard to manage. She was furious, but stayed silent. Instead, she poured that anger into work, producing her own projects, hiring her own arrangers, and shaping her music without a single outside hand.
In her 1993 autobiography, she finally slipped in one sharp line that fans later realized was about him. Sometimes the men you admire the most admire someone else. She never mentioned Quincy’s name. They’ve crossed paths at award shows, nodded politely, but never collaborated. Not once. The absence says everything. Number seven, David Bowie.
The admired icon who mocked her music. The night Diana Ross heard what David Bowie said about her, she canled every single press appearance in London. not out of diva behavior, out of humiliation. The comment was cruel, and it came from someone she had trusted. Just months earlier, they had shared late night studio sessions and glamorous parties.
Bowie admired her elegance. She admired his fearlessness. They were opposites who clicked. There were even talks of a duet, something bold that could fuse their worlds together. Diana was excited. She believed Bowie saw her as an equal, an artist beyond the Mottown label that had defined her for so long. Then came 1980.
Upside Down hit number one around the world, her biggest solo success yet. To Diana, it was freedom, a reinvention that proved she could still dominate the charts. To Bowie, apparently, it was a punchline. at a private London party surrounded by producers and journalists. He smirked and said, “USside down. Glossy nonsense for bored housewives.
” The room laughed. By morning, the story had reached Diana. She was devastated. A close friend later recalled, “It wasn’t just a joke. Is it was betrayal?” That week she left London early, refusing every interview. She later told friends, “He made me feel small for being happy.” She never mentioned Bowie in public again, never recorded with him, never shared a stage.
So, what do you think? Did Diana Ross have every right to hold those grudges after everything she went through? Or should she have forgiven them long ago? Tell us what you believe in the comments and don’t forget to like, subscribe, and hit the bell for more untold stories behind music’s biggest legends.
