The Wiz Has Left the Building: R&B Architect and MJ Collaborator Bryan Loren Dies at 59

The music world lost one of its most potent secret weapons this week. Bryan Loren, the multi-instrumentalist prodigy known as “The Wiz” who helped shape the sound of Michael Jackson’s "Dangerous" era and quietly co-created one of the most unlikely pop culture hits of the 1990s, has died. He was 59.

For the uninitiated, Loren was a liner-note name. For students of the groove, he was something closer to a missing link — a bridge between the lush Philly soul of the 1970s and the hard-edged "New Jack Swing" that defined the 1990s. He was a true music man: a writer, producer, singer and instrumentalist capable of building an entire record from the ground up before most artists had finished soundcheck.

Born Bryan Loren Hudson on Long Island and raised in South Philadelphia, Loren was a prodigy by any measure. By 15, he was already a working session musician at Alpha International Studios, learning under Philly legend Nick Martinelli. He brought funk and polish to Fat Larry’s Band and layered sleek textures for the vocal trio Cashmere, earning the nickname “The Wiz” for his uncanny command of synthesizers and rhythm programming.

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According to Shana Mangatal, a former manager for Jackson who became close friends with Loren, the King of Pop was "stunned" to learn Loren had handled every duty himself on Shanice’s debut album “Discovery” at just 19 years old.

"His talent was on the level of Prince," Mangatal wrote in a tribute. "Truly rare."

This admiration sparked a creative brotherhood that would unfold largely behind the scenes.

In the early 1990s, Jackson was searching for a new sonic direction following “Bad.” He found it in Loren’s basement studio in Woodland Hills, California. Mangatal recalls Jackson frequently driving himself to Loren's home, where the two bonded over shared obsessions with "girls, cartoons, and life." They even spent a Thanksgiving together — just two musical geniuses trading ideas away from the corporate machinery of Sony.

Mangatal shared a revealing anecdote that underscores Loren's uncredited influence. She recalled a moment in 1993 when Jackson called her, asking to dictate lyrics for a song called "Family Thing" so she could rush them to the label.

"He kept me on the phone for nearly an hour, line by line," Mangatal said. "Later that night, I told Bryan about MJ’s call — he just laughed. He told me HE had actually written the lyrics for MJ."

While Teddy Riley would ultimately define the final New Jack Swing sheen of Dangerous, Loren was instrumental in the album’s foundation. He played drums and percussion on the finished record, but his deeper contribution lived in the sessions themselves. Songs such as “Serious Effect,” featuring LL Cool J, and “She Got It” showcased a darker, funk-driven Jackson. Another track, “To Satisfy You,” was passed over for Dangerous but reclaimed by Loren for his own 1992 album Music from the New World, with Jackson still providing background vocals.

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Loren’s most subversive success, however, arrived under unlikely circumstances. In 1990, “Do the Bartman” became a global phenomenon, topping charts and fueling the height of The Simpsons mania. The song was officially credited to Loren, but it was widely understood within the industry that Jackson — a devoted fan of the show — had co-written the track. Contractual obligations prevented Jackson’s name from appearing in the credits, leaving Loren as the public face of a hit powered by one of pop’s greatest unseen collaborations.

Beyond Jackson, Loren’s fingerprints touched much of modern R&B and pop. He wrote “Feels So Good” for Whitney Houston and worked with artists including Sting, Barry White and Eric Benét.

Following his passing, Loren’s brother, Geno Dozier, offered a poignant tribute to the man behind the music.

"My brother was his father’s son… a brilliant musician who lived his life unapologetically," Dozier said. "His talent was ELITE, and his character was true."

Bryan Loren leaves behind a catalog that helped define a generational shift. He carried the soul of Philadelphia into the digital age, helping blueprint the rhythmic language of the 1990s while remaining largely invisible to the mainstream audience he influenced.

The Wiz has left the building — but the sound he helped shape is everywhere.