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by Doug Minnick
In accepting her Grammy this year, Sheryl Crow told of overhearing
a conversation at a party the previous night in which someone said of
her "She's just so much ...better now." This prompted Sheryl to thank
her record label A&M for letting her develop as an artist. For letting
her grow into the artist she had become.
What do you
suppose she meant by this? That they gave her unlimited artistic freedom?
That they gave her a million-dollar studio budget, some musicians, a
limousine, a pat on the back, and told her to come back when she had
finished her masterpiece? "Let us know when you've realized your artistic
vision, Sheryl, then we'll make you a star."
Not exactly.
What they did was take her album when she turned it in and threw it
out. And for this she thanked them.
The first album
you heard from Sheryl Crow—the one with "Leaving Las Vegas," All I
Wanna Do," "Strong Enough," and all the rest, wasn't her first album
at all. Her first try didn't make the cut. Not one song. And for this
she thanked them.
Sheryl must
think she's better now, too, or she wouldn't be thanking anyone.
Same story
with Melissa Etheridge. First try went straight into the garbage. It
was her second record that everyone heard. It happens all the time.
It may not be entire albums that get trashed, often it may just mean
getting sent back to write and record a few more songs looking for "the
single."
When my lame
band was struggling for riches and fame, we had it all figured out...
and it was nothing like that. Some late-Seventies version of George
Martin was going to come along, give us the keys to the studio, a limousine,
pat us on the back, and make us all stars. Based, of course, on the
sheer genius of our music. It's not as if we had decided we wouldn't
let anyone tell us what to do, it just never occurred to us that after
making us fabulously wealthy, the record company may want to have a
little something to say about what kind of record we made. It was a
long time before we realized how much there was to learn—about music
and about the music business.
I wasn't there,
but I'll bet when Sheryl and Melissa got the news, their reaction was
probably not "oh thanks, I was hoping you would throw my album away!"
There is usually a certain level of ...conflict, shall we say. Criticism
is never easy to receive, as many TAXI members tell us all the time.
Yet, there is always room for improvement. At least you should hope
so. If not, your career is over.
Let's say you
got a record deal tomorrow. Let's also say your first album then becomes
a big hit. Your financial worries are over; your dreams are coming true.
What are you going to do when it's time to make record Number Two?
You're going
to try to make an even better record, of course, and you're not going
to do it in a vacuum. There are always others who will have their opinions—producers,
collaborators, A&R folks, band members, label presidents, the promotion
department and others. If you are able to listen objectively, many of
these people may actually have good ideas. Part of your job as an artist
is to separate the good from the bad, knowing when to fight and when
to give it the old college try.
Some of this
is about personal relationships. Nobody likes a jerk. A willingness
to be a team player can win important allies. If you alienate the label
president or the promotion department by being a stubborn prima donna,
how hard do you think they're going to fight when some radio program
director resists adding your record to their playlist?
Hey, I'm all
for artistic integrity. The artists that are able to do something different,
to break new ground, are often the ones that have the longest careers.
OK not always, but often.
Ever check
out one of those box sets from your favorite artists which contain all
of the outtakes from previous albums? How many of you like the outtakes
better than the songs that actually made the original record? Why do
you think they were outtakes? Because nobody—nobody — is able to realize
their greatness one hundred percent of the time. Mark McGwire doesn't
hit 70 home runs every season, Richard Petty doesn't win every race,
Francis Ford Coppola doesn't make "The Godfather" every time out.
The greatness
that is achieved rarely comes without effort. Vincent Van Gogh did dozens
of sketches and color tests before committing the final work to canvas.
Dennis Rodman stays up all night in Las Vegas to reach the proper state
of mind... (OK, bad example).
In spite of
the stories we all hear about how a hit song "came to me in a dream"
or "just poured out of me in ten minutes," those are the exceptions,
not the rule. They just make better press. Most writers tell us of constant
work and development; of always striving to make it a little better.
Every artist
wants to create the perfect marriage of art and commerce. And it is
the artist who recognizes his need for improvement and realizes her
potential for growth who will succeed.
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