Diva NashVegas

by Rachel Hauck

  I regard Dave a second. “She’s nervous?”

  He nods. “You’re really into her private world now.” Dave motions to Rafe. “With a camera, no less.”

  “She makes music videos all the time. Sings before packed stadiums.”

  Dave chuckles. “Not the same thing. Those are scripted, directed, and rehearsed. A live performance is nothing like recording in the studio. This is the artists at their weakest. Before all the polishing, before the mixing and mastering. Never mind this is a very personal song for Aubrey. One she wrote.”

  I don’t know what my expression says, but Dave pats me on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, she’ll be fine. Just know Aubrey is a little nervous about you watching.”

  “ Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind.”

  When Rafe indicates we’re ready, Dave goes into the control room with the engineer. Aubrey’s melodic, soulful voice fills the studio.

  I ease down into my chair, captured by the way her soul makes ordinary words come alive. CMT and Inside NashVegas viewers are going to love this segment.

  After one take, Aubrey comes out of the booth with a jar of peanuts in her hand. Rafe subtly trails her with the mini-DV.

  “Was it okay?” she asks Dave, biting her bottom lip, her eyes squinted.

  He gives her a thumbs-up, then hugs her shoulders. “Perfect.”

  She exhales and plops down next to me. “You were making me nervous.” Twisting open the jar of peanuts, she pours a small handful.

  “Could’ve fooled me. By the way, I love the song.”

  Aubrey’s smile winkles her nose. “Thank you. Me too.”

  A diva of divas and she still needs reassurance just like the rest of us. It’s all I can do not to pull her into my arms and never let her go.

  Scott: First, I have to ask, what’s with the peanuts?

  AJ: [laughing, holding up the jar of Planters] I never even think about it anymore.

  Dave: It’s her weird quirk.

  AJ: I love to munch on peanuts before singing. I don’t know why. The salt is good for my throat. I’ve always eaten them before I record.

  Scott: Doesn’t it dry out your mouth?

  AJ: A little, but it helps with the spit factor.

  Scott: Do all artists have weird quirks in the studio?

  Dave: Most of the ones I work with do. Aubrey’s tame compared to some.

  AJ: We can sing before thousands without batting an eye, but go into the studio where there’s nothing but you and your voice, and it’s nerve-wracking. Like, “I’m no good, a fraud. This album will expose me. My career is over.”

  Scott: To the rest of us it seems like magic.

  Dave: As we intend it, but artists are very insecure people. Maybe more than most.

  AJ: One minute, you’re the adoration of thousands, the next minute your record label is telling you there’s not one radio song on your new album.

  Scott: What makes you want to record a certain song?

  AJ: The feel, mostly. The melody, the lyrics, if the song is saying something that resonates in me.

  Dave: We look for songs that say “Aubrey James.” A lot of times we love a song, but it doesn’t ring true with her. She sings and it just goes flat.

  Scott: The judges on American Idol are always telling the contestants about song choice. Is it the same here?

  AJ: [laughing] We’re reduced to the advice of Paula Abdul, Dave.

  But yeah, song choice is extremely critical. Of course, I’m not covering a Mariah Carey tune, but I’d say, for artists who don’t write their own material, song selection is one of the most critical components.

  Dave: I just want it to be known we knew about song selection well before American Idol . [laughing] We’ve all listened to albums where the songs didn’t work. Those are usually the ones that only sell ten thousand units or less, and the label was hoping for platinum. Songs need to resonate with something deep and hidden in the artist.

  Scott: Where do you find these resonating songs?

  AJ: I bought a few on sale at 7-Eleven the other day.

  Dave: [laughing] Songwriters we know. Publishers, of course, send their pluggers over to introduce us to new songs and new songwriters. We put a hundred songs on hold for Aubrey’s last album, and only twelve made the cut.

  Scott: [whistling] You left a lot of disappointed songwriters in your wake.

  AJ: Too many.

  Scott: For your latest project, you’re writing or cowriting most of the material?

  AJ: Yes, with Robin Rivers. Seems I found her at the right time in my career, and hers. Together, we’re writing the songs of my heart.

  Scott: You wrote “The Man” with your dad, didn’t you?

  AJ: [nodding] When I was ten.

  Scott: Did you ever imagine it would be a gospel cover song?

  AJ: No, I just wanted to survive the experience of writing the song.

  Dave: I’d like Aubrey to cover it on this album.

  AJ: [looking at Dave] An issue we’re still debating. We recorded it this week, but who knows if it’ll make the cut. I’m more excited about taking a new direction than singing a twenty-year-old song.

  Scott: Why do you say you wanted to survive the experience of writing the song? AJ: [shifting in her chair] It was the first time in my young life I encountered the power of God. I was terrified.

  We were in Kentucky somewhere—Bowling Green, maybe— singing for this old-fashioned revival meeting. A man by the name of Preacher Darrell delivered a fire-and-brimstone message, literally trying to scare the hell out of us. Mission accomplished when it came to me. I refused to get on the stage and sing if Preacher Darrell was anywhere near.

  Scott: I’ve been in those sorts of meetings.

  AJ: So, I cowered in the back. Then Preacher Darrell barked, “Close your eyes. Everyone. Do you see him? Jesus, coming down the cobblestone road, the heavy, splintered cross on his bleeding back?”

  Suddenly, I saw it. Exactly what he described, playing out like a movie. It seemed like forever, but it was probably only ten or fifteen seconds, but it was an encounter I’ll never forget. I couldn’t stop crying, and when Preacher Darrell called all the sinners to the altar, I stumbled forward.

  Kneeling at the altar, I cried and cried. Not sure why or how, but I knew Jesus loved me. After a while, I peeked out from under my arm to see I was the only one at the altar. Daddy and Momma were onstage, singing, watching me. Momma’s face was wet with tears.

  Preacher Darrell’s only convert that night was the little girl in the band. I went back to my seat and wrote what I felt and saw. Those words became the lyrics of “The Man.” Later, I sang the melody to Daddy, and we worked on it off and on for the next few months. In fact [pointing at Scott] the old video you saw is the first time I ever sang it live.

  Scott: It was incredible.

  Dave: We’re putting it on the album. I’m making an executive decision. AJ: Yeah, well, we’ll see. [whispering to Scott] I like to let him think he’s in charge.

  Scott: I’m sure he appreciates it. Several times you’ve mentioned doing a different kind of Aubrey James album. What do you mean? Aren’t you the queen of country soul? Isn’t that uniquely Aubrey James?

  AJ: This is my seventh album. I just turned thirty, became engaged, am growing up. I have something different to say than I did when I was twenty or twenty-two. My queen-of-country-soul sound won’t really change, but the type of songs I sing—the message, the themes . . . I care less than ever about meeting market demand or the record company’s quarterly budget. I suppose that sounds harsh.

  Scott: So you’ve become a purist. You’re about the art, the creative process, not making money.

  Dave: No, we still want to make money.

  AJ: But we don’t have to make as much. Right?

  Dave: But a well-done, unique Aubrey James album will make money. Perhaps not as fast. We decided last year we didn’t want to be afraid to try something new. Aubrey’s in a good place with her career. If she’s g
oing to take a risk, now’s the time.

  AJ: And hopefully recover from it if the record flops. But I want to be clear about something. Just so folks know, this isn’t about arguing with my label or trekking down some navel-gazing, introspective, why-is-there-air philosophical journey. It’s about representing my true self in the songs. I don’t want to crank out album after album with the same type of songs. I heard a tune on the radio the other day that made me cringe. The artist is a friend of mine, but I could take her melody and plug in the lyrics from another artist’s song and sing it perfectly. This is the trap I want to avoid, and it’s an easy one to fall into.

  Scott: [smiling] Must be hard to stay cutting edge and original.

  AJ: Yes, but that’s the work part, the true artist part. I hear songwriters complaining about no one wanting their music, and it’s because Tim McGraw sold a bazillion records with a tune just like the one they’re trying to plug. Be fresh, be original, work at it.

  Dave: We want to take a chance, but we want to create great music.

  Scott: Aubrey, coming from a gospel background, do you pray over your ideas and song choices?

  AJ: What a great question. Um, no. I haven’t. Which is a shame when I look back and see how incredibly blessed we’ve been. My parents spent a lot of time committed to the discipline of prayer, but so far, it hasn’t been my tradition. [glancing at Dave] We should.

  Dave: [shrugging] You’re the boss.

  Scott: Tell me how someone with your fame and accolades has never won a CMA award?

  AJ: Because someone else wins?

  Dave: I tell her to buy votes, but she just won’t listen.

  AJ: [swatting at Dave] Seriously, I have no idea, Scott. You’re the reporter, you tell me. I’ve been nominated ten times for Female Vocalist of the Year, three times for Entertainer of the Year. I’ve just never won.

  Scott: Does it bother you? The CMA is the granddaddy country music award.

  AJ: I’m honored to be nominated. Does that sound corny and cliché? Do I want to win? Yes. But I have my share of trophies— Grammys, American Music Awards, Academy of Country Music Awards. So it’s not like I’m always invited to the party but never asked to dance. It just hasn’t worked out for me and the CMAs.

  Scott: Maybe this is your year?

  AJ: Who knows? I’m not focused on winning awards. I’d go nuts if I cared too much.

  Scott: [looking at his notes] Well, this is the moment of doom. You teaching me to write a song.

  AJ: [picking up her guitar] I’m ready if you are. Too bad I didn’t think to have Robin here today. She’s the real songwriter.

  Dave: [rising.] This is my cue to cut out. Aubrey, be back in a few hours. AJ: See you, Dave. Thanks for sitting in.

  Scott: Do you always write with your guitar?

  AJ: [strumming and tuning] Since I haven’t done a ton of writing, I can’t say I always write with my guitar, but it’s my preferred instrument at the moment. Here, sing this with me. “Jesus loves me, this I know . . .”

  Scott: [Making a noise.]

  Rafe: [laughing] No, he can’t sing. He can’t sing.

  AJ: [flashing her palm] I didn’t believe you, Scott, but you’re right.

  Did you know you’re tone deaf?

  Scott: I told you. Good grief.

  AJ: [shaking her head] Never fear. There are some great songwriters who can’t sing. We can do this.

  Rafe: [Shaking camera as he chuckles.]

  AJ: Can you rhyme?

  Scott: Sure. Third graders can rhyme, I can rhyme.

  AJ: Okay, good. [playing again] Usually when I’m writing a song, I think of a theme or a story. Maybe I have a melody to work with, and I add the lyrics. Most of the time I have the lyrics and work out the melody later. I try to avoid cliché scenarios or phrases. [Starting a simple chord progression.]

  Scott, think of how this music makes you feel. Close your eyes. Do you see a young couple in love, maybe walking to the movies?

  Scott: [closing eyes] If you say so, sure. He’s skinny and she’s dropdead gorgeous.

  AJ: [laughing] No, no, no. She’s skinny and he’s the strong, silent, handsome type.

  Scott: You see what you see, I see what I see.

  AJ: They are a young couple, right after World War II, walking to the movies. [humming softly] The night is chilly as they walk an amber-lit sidewalk, their heels clicking against the cement. He’s still in his uniform. Proud, but nervous. His square jaw is cleanly shaven, his dark hair clipped and neat. He thinks she’s beautiful with her silky curls falling around her shoulders.

  They’re together for the first time in two years. Has he changed too much for her? Can he ever explain the terror of bombs exploding over his head on a dark, snowy night, or the horror of killing another man? Will he find the nerve to slip the cool gold-and-diamond ring onto her finger tonight? Does she still love him like she pledged she would when he shipped out?

  Meanwhile, she’s chatty and lighthearted, thrilled to be able to buy a decent pair of stockings. She leans against him with excitement. “We have chocolate. Would you like to come over after the movies for homemade hot chocolate?”

  “Yes, that would be nice.” His hands perspire. The memory of her fixing him supper in a bright summer kitchen kept him warm during the snowy trek through the Ardennes. He carried a photograph of her in his pocket, and it steeled his hope when it waned.

  Can you see them, Scott? Can you feel his longing for her, his hunger? The ache to take her in his arms and kiss her?

  Scott: [swallowing] Y-yes.

  AJ: Finally, he takes her hand into his. A tingle runs up his arm and across his chest. What are the words here? What is their song?

  Scott: [gently singing, off key] Gee, she sure is pretty. I want to hold her hand, while walking to the movies . . .

  Rafe: [Collapsing to the floor in a fit of laughter.]

  AJ: [buttoning her lips] Well . . . that’s a start. It almost rhymes . . . [turning away, shoulders shaking, hand over her mouth, snorting]

  Scott: [incredulously] What? It fits the story, and even fits the music.

  Rafe: [Pounding the floor with his big hand, guffawing.]

  AJ: Absolutely, it fits the melody and rhythm of the song . . . A-a good start. [surrendering completely to laughter]

  Scott: [muttering] Sure is pretty . . . Walking to the movies.

  25

  “Writing with Aubrey James changed the way I approach songwriting. She has this unique view of life and the human heart, and her ideas challenged me to take my lyrics deeper, to the next level.”

  —Robin Rivers, Music Row magazine

  Aubrey

  Dipping my fry into the ketchup at Noshville Deli, I laugh again at Scott’s song. “You are a brave soul, my friend.”

  “I told you.” Scott winks at me, stabbing the air with his salad fork.

  “Yes, you did.”

  “But I saw them, the couple you described. The GI Joe and his girl walking to the movie.” He bangs the table. “She was pretty.”

  Rafe slaps him on the back. “I for one am proud of you, man. And I know Inside NashVegas viewers are going to love hearing your song.”

  Scott shoves a forkful of lettuce into his mouth. “You’ll be green with envy when I win a Grammy.”

  The banter around the table continues, and I’m grateful. My heart yearned for a lighthearted, fun day to get my mind off Car and our situation. We’ve been saying words to each other but not talking.

  Dave pays the check, then excuses himself from the table. “Scott, can you give Aubrey a ride home? I need to pick up my kids.”

  Scott looks at Dave, then me. “Um, sure. No problem.”

  Rafe pats his belly. “I’m heading back to the studio.”

  “See you later, Rafe.” He walks out, singing, “She sure is pretty, walking to the movies.”

  “See.” Scott gestures to his departing cameraman. “It’s a catchy tune.” “Downright hilarious. Maybe we should send a song pl
ugger over to Larry the Cable Guy.”

  Scott laughs and sips his water, then eyes me seriously. “Why am I driving you home?”

  “Because I don’t have a car.”

  “But you do have a car. An antique Mercedes. I’ve seen it—” His fork clatters against his plate. “Oh my gosh. Of course.”

  I dip, dip, dip my fry in the ketchup.

  “Aubrey, you don’t drive, do you?”

  I munch on my ketchupped fry. “No.”

  “Now it all makes sense. The night of the party. When I left—”

  “I didn’t have a way home. My bodyguard, Jeff—you remember him from the Sandlott game—drove me to meet you. He waited around, but when you and I hit it off, I sent him home.”

  “Then I abandoned you.”

  “Pretty much.” I shove aside my plate, not hungry anymore.

  “I’m sorry.” He sits back, running his hand over his thick, coarse hair. “Really sorry. How’d you get home?”

  “Cab. One long, angry cab ride.”

  “Aubrey, why don’t you drive?”

  “Off the record?”

  He nods. “If you want.”

  Wiping my mouth with my napkin, I wonder how to say this. I sound like a stuck record on the subject of my parents. “When my parents died—”

  “Excuse me, Miss James? May we have your autograph?”

  Two teenagers smile tentatively at me. “Certainly.” Their smiles broaden as they hand me pieces of paper and one of my CDs. “Can you sign the CD too?”

  “Absolutely. How are you girls doing today?” We chat while I sign, and when I’m done, they scoot away, giggling.

  Scott frowns. “They didn’t even recognize me.” He looks in their direction. “Hey, Inside NashVegas host sitting here.”

  I roll my eyes. “Wait, my friend, until you’re live on CMT.”

  “You can give me pointers on handling fame.”

  “First tip: your legendary status is only in your mind.”

  “Good to know. So, you don’t drive?”

  “I do not.”

  He whistles low. “I don’t know anyone who doesn’t drive. Seriously. I mean, what do you do when you crave Ben & Jerry’s at midnight?”

  “Well, I never crave Ben & Jerry’s at midnight, but if I did, I’d ask Car to take me.”