imperfect, full of mistakes—but honest
The song I had played for Mike at 91X was requested so often by folks calling in that it made it to the top 10 countdown. Record labels spend a lot of money to get their artists in the top 10 and they all began wondering who this girl was with nothing but a guitar getting played between Nirvana and Soundgarden on one of the biggest stations in the country. Suddenly I felt like Cinderella. Limos began showing up outside the Inner Change. Men in suits sat conspicuously out of place next to the surfer, beach-town crowd, and if they dared to get up halfway through the four- or five-hour show, I would call them out. It was a lot of fun. Afterward they would take me out to a dinner that cost more than I had made in the last two years combined and then ask, “Where can we drop you off?” “Oh, here . . . is good,” I would say. They had no idea I was homeless at the time. Nancy would get calls at the coffee shop from executives asking her to save them a seat for that night’s show. When she’d find out what label they were from, she would put it up on the marquee: “The Inner Change proudly welcomes Sony Records.” She was so excited for me I thought she would burst. My whole crowd was. We felt like one big family: over that last year we had all cried and laughed and grown together and suddenly here were labels that thought I had something. Two women execs came in one night, which was a nice break from all the males. They introduced themselves as Inga Vainshtein and Jenny Price. Inga managed a local band on Atlantic Records and Jenny was the secretary for the band’s A&R. They had heard about me and driven down from L.A. The next week they brought a big music lawyer named Eric Greenspan. He fell asleep halfway through my show and was woken to the chuckles of fans who were enjoying my improvisational song about his head on the table and his little snores. Eric is still my lawyer today and I have never let the poor guy forget about falling asleep the first time he saw me sing. Inga became my manager and Jenny brought the legendary Danny Goldberg down, who would end up signing me to Atlantic. Jenny would be promoted to be my A&R.
Before I made a decision about which label to sign with, I was flown all over the country to meet with RCA, Sony, and Warner Bros., in addition to Atlantic. It was surreal. Right before it came time to sign my contract, I hesitated. I went to the beach and tried to really think it all through. My mom and I had often taken walks by the ocean, talking about the dream that my music might one day be discovered. On one hand, I was so excited by the opportunity. On the other, I felt there were two significant things that could potentially be damaging for me. I had just begun to turn my internal life around. I was getting happy and finding peace. I was worried the pressure of the business might not help me in this area. I knew I was deeply flawed, and as I studied what I thought fame was, it looked like kerosene that accelerates or ignites the natural insecurities you already have. I had many. I also feared for my art. My favorite novelists wrote their best work in their fifties, but most songwriters wrote well only into their twenties. I felt lifestyle had a lot to do with that. Fame is a path that many people lose their footing on. I had already lost my footing, and what ground I was gaining I was not eager to give up for the long shot that I might be able to make it one day. That day I decided to sign, but also to develop a plan to help me avoid losing what was so important to me.
Someone gave me a book called All You Need to Know About the Music Business by Donald Passman. I learned about mechanicals and royalties and that an advance is really money you borrow and have to pay back. There was a bidding war over me and I wound up being the biggest signing of the year. I was told I could have gotten a million-dollar signing bonus, but remembering that hard wood grows slowly, I turned it down, opting instead for the largest back end any artist had gotten at the time. I knew what music was played on the radio and that I sounded nothing like it. I knew my music was a long shot, and that if I cost the label a lot, it would drop me if I didn’t make that money back quickly. By turning down the advance I was betting on myself, and taking the pressure off my music. I hoped to have a cult following like John Prine or Tom Waits. With hard work and touring, maybe I could make this my livelihood, and if my record ever did break and sell big, then I would have earned whatever money was coming to me. I only asked for the label to pay rent on a small house that my mother, younger brother, and I could live in, and for the money to buy my mom and I each a used car. They both had come back to San Diego after I had called home to share the news.
I had told Danny I was a simple singer-songwriter and he believed in me and was very respectful in suggesting producers to help me make my first album. I met with about twenty different producers but none seemed quite right. Many of them heard my six-minute songs and wanted to shorten them. I was not interested in this. I knew nothing of radio, genre, or rules, and I did not want to learn. I wanted to be myself. One day Inga and I were listening to Neil Young’s Harvest and we turned the CD over to see who had produced it. Neil Young and Ben Keith. Let’s call him, Inga said. I met with Ben and knew within five minutes he was my guy. He never once asked to edit, shorten, or change me. He never mentioned radio, singles, or genre. He talked about my lyrics and the story and then about musicians he thought would be a good fit for me. He wanted to use the Stray Gators as my band, who had all played on Harvest and Harvest Moon. Kenny Buttry on drums, who had played with Dylan. Tim Drummond, who had played bass with James Brown. Spooner Oldham, a legendary Muscle Shoals player. We recorded much of it at Neil Young’s ranch in Northern California. Being able to record there was not a favor to me even remotely, but to Ben, for Neil loved him dearly. I arrived to stay in a guesthouse at the ranch and was absolutely on cloud nine. Neil’s studio was in a log cabin and was a museum of artifacts and gear: Elton John’s rhinestone boots sitting on an organ, Hank William Sr.’s acoustic guitar on a stand in the corner. I had just died and gone to musician heaven. I was extremely nervous, however, as I had never played guitar with a band. My rhythm was not that even, and so I asked Steve Poltz to come up with me to play guitar, as he could mimic my style well on songs like “You Were Meant for Me.” I had less than zero confidence, and when I would ask Ben if a take was good, he would always ask me how I felt. Everyone seemed to be from the old-school tradition of being there to support and rally around the songwriter and the songs. They kept asking me what I heard, what I wanted, but it seemed so backward. They had more experience between them than I would ever have. Tim is the one who came up with the cool groove for “Who Will Save Your Soul,” and the natural country swing on “You Were Meant for Me” thrilled me. Neil’s wife, Pegi, came and sang backup for me on some tracks as well. But overall I got very few songs with the band that I felt really let what I did shine. I just didn’t know how to sing and be as emotional with a band, so I made the decision to record most of the album live back in San Diego at the coffee shop where it all began for me. Before we left, we had a big dinner at the ranch and the band came over. Afterward I went to sit in the living room and was surprised to hear the piano behind me being played. I turned around to see it was Neil. I was starstruck. I had no idea what to say to him, but felt compelled to say something. I had always regretted that I did not play piano, and so reaching for some conversation I asked, “Is that a C chord?” Neil said nothing. He simply stood up, closed the piano cover, and walked out of the room. His daughter, Amber, about eight years old then, happened to be in the room and she came up to me and said, “Don’t worry. He always ignores you when he thinks what you say is stupid.”
• • •
IT FELT GOOD to be back in San Diego. How quickly my life was changing in such a few short months. My local fan family came out and I recorded two shows. It was an amazing feeling to have the support of that room. Those folks gave me all their heart and all their love and I swear it can be felt in that recording. I sang more like myself when I was live in front of an audience. In the studio my throat tightened to the point I almost sounded like someone else. Someone else famous. Someone else green. Yes, on tracks like “Who Will Save Your Soul” and “You Were Meant for Me,” I sound like Kermit the Frog. You need to set this book down and go listen. I’m proud that the label and Ben allowed me to be myself. Pieces of You is a perfect time capsule of exactly who I was. It’s imperfect, full of mistakes and guitar flubs, but it is honest.