Last year, Young self-published "Getting Back to My Me," a memoir with a secret he kept for decades. In it, he describes how as a child he was frequently thrown together with an older male cousin, who raped and tormented him for years.

He also zones in on what the abuse left: a person prone to risk, who tried to escape himself in any way he could.

His frenetic life in the House of Davids, he says, helped him stay in that self-avoiding blur.

He didn't work on his singing. But in 2007, he appeared on an E! Entertainment TV reality show, "High Maintenance 90210," ordering around a butler. He was on his way to becoming an Angelyne, famous only for pursuit of fame.

"My love for music never changed. My commitment to it did -- " he says. "With the house came parties. With the parties came drugs. The drugs meant you didn't get up the next day at a decent hour, so life just went by. So for me, I just lived vicariously through the house."

Norwood Young's face is strong, sculpted -- and scarred around the eyes. It's hard to recognize in it the face smiling out from childhood photos and YouTube videos of his early performances.

The cousin who abused him called him "pretty boy." So over the years, he changed his nose, his chin, his cheekbones and the shape of his eyes.

In his major life course correction, his return to true, he has slowly, painfully undone some of that damage.

He now speaks out on sexual abuse for the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence. He started a volunteer network, Feed His People, to gather food for those in need.

He says he stopped drinking and taking drugs four years ago, spends a lot of time worshiping God, and fasts as a way of heightening his spiritual commitment and clarity.

Part of the clarity is about the people he once gathered around him -- very few of whom, he says, showed support for his decision to change.

Part of it is about his lifestyle.

When the lease runs out on his convertible Rolls-Royce Phantom, he's turning it in, he says.

As for Youngwood Court: "There's 22 rooms in my home. I utilize five of them. I see myself in a smaller place, most certainly."

The House of Davids has no Davids inside. Not that it is short on pizazz.

There are plenty of chandeliers. There's a white baby grand. In the dining room, four round glass tables float suspended from the ceiling between rows of high-backed Lucite chairs. Nearly filling the room's front window, an enormous version of Michael Jackson's glittery glove sits swathed at its base in purple velvet -- left over from one of Young's big parties.

Portraits of Young are plentiful. One is painted on the bottom of the pool. His heavily gilded bedroom, he admits, is a little like "Liberace lives in Vegas."

But Young also likes comfy and quaint.

Old-fashioned canisters for flour, sugar and coffee sit on the window ledge of his cozy, dark-oak-cabineted kitchen.

For his visiting mother, sisters and nieces, he fashioned what he calls The Ivy Room, with a gauzy canopy bed, a table set for tea, and a wall of treasured memorabilia -- photos, lunchboxes, a talking can opener -- from Young's favorite TV show, "I Love Lucy." (When he pushes a button on a talking Lucy doll to hear her "Vitameatavegamin" skit, he recites the lines along with her.)

At heart, he says, he is shy and a homebody, who now thinks he should probably move back East to live closer to his family.

"What's next is to be totally committed to what I think my purpose is -- what I know my purpose is -- and that's my music," he says. "Whatever celebrity comes from that, then it's fine -- but not based on the house. I'm ready for an existence without the house."