Our conversation meandered through our lives starting with our childhoods—she in New York City, coolly walking past drug dealers at ten years old, and me in the forest, my blonde pony, Muffin, bucking me off over her bitch-face little head. It was nice to have so much in common from the get-go. Diane asked me if I had ever considered writing for a musical. Of course I’d played around with the idea with Jennifer, but at the time we were a couple of friends exploring an idea, dipping toes in what felt like frivolous and playful waters. This was official. A big Broadway director was asking me to take on the responsibility for building a musical world, just like the ones I grew up on. It sounded huge and quite impossible. It wasn’t that I thought of myself as someone who never would write a musical; I honestly thought I was someone who never could. Her unwavering belief in my potential was flattering to say the least, and I wondered if I could trust her confidence in me. I considered the idea seriously. Could I do that? Could I do that amazing thing? I had no idea.
Diane Paulus
Diane Paulus casts pretty incredible spells. Her slight-framed gravitas pushes the boundaries around what you think is possible with just a few short sentences. Familiar “limitations” become just bendy ol’ suggested guidelines that get reexamined and potentially redefined. All of this is coupled with a dead-serious intent of delivering something special and an obsessive work ethic that doesn’t have time for anything but everyone’s best. It’s like, “Ha-ha, yeah I know it’s impossible to make the stage disappear, but ha-ha-ha, no, no, seriously, do it and call me when it’s done.” It’s powerful to be around someone who sees great potential where you might not. I felt an invitation to join her in an experiment, so I agreed. I told her I would go watch the film, and that if there was a spark, I guessed I would try to write a musical. And that was that.
I watched the film by myself in my one-bedroom West Village apartment. It follows Jenna, played by Keri Russell, who finds herself in a loveless marriage and an unfulfilled life. She is plain in many ways but gifted with a talent for baking pies: she escapes her ordinary surroundings with strange and unusual recipes that both reflect her most soulful self and nourish the community around her. When she finds out she has accidentally gotten pregnant by her abusive husband, she immediately turns her attention to how she might escape everything for good. Her journey involves lots of pie, good friends, Andy Griffith, gynecological sex, depression, and learning to love in the biggest way possible. I felt like I could sink my teeth in to this character, and her story felt personal to me (besides the gynecological sex). She is broken, very flawed, very human, and I loved her immediately.
I officially joined the project, guided through the process by the rest of the mostly female creative team, which also felt exciting to me, as I’m very often the only woman in the room when it comes to business. We had our first creative meeting around a conference table in an office building in Manhattan, eating stale pastries over blank yellow legal pads. We all watched the movie together and paused at certain moments, to discuss character, structure, backstory, motivation, potential song placement, and questions that needed answering about the plot. People said new and exciting phrases like “dramaturgical issues.” I was euphoric. Even in its very first stages, collaborating on this project felt like a puzzle to solve, and I was responsible for my little corner, but it was only a portion of the greater finished product. My job was all about making the characters as rich and three-dimensional as possible with song and to think outside the box in order to do so. The process reminded me of writing music before I had any experience with the business. Unfettered. Playful. Instinctual.
I went home with a very rough idea of how to get started. It was about reacting to and capturing what felt the most immediate from the characters. There were moments in the film that emotionally swelled, and I could see how the experience might be deepened with a song. With my natural penchant for melancholy, I rewatched the scene that depicts Jenna’s darkest, most broken place. She is very pregnant, and has saved almost enough money to leave her husband when he finds her stash and wildly falls apart at her feet. His rage is actually his fear of being abandoned and he clings to her like a child. She has the choice to continue toward leaving, or sink back into staying. She decides to surrender to him. It’s absolutely heartbreaking. I was struck by what kept her in place, her fear of hurting him. It reminded me of my own darkest moments, waking up one day, looking around, and not recognizing your own self, because you have given too much of that away.
Nadia DiGiallonardo, music director, and me
Jenna’s song would begin just after this scene.
I wanted the song to be simple. Feminine. Melancholy. The melody needed to feel a little bit like a lullaby, an homage to her growing baby as Jenna attempts to soothe herself in this painful moment. I implemented lots of repetition of phrase to show her stuckness, but also her breaking point. I wanted her voice to be at its breaking point too, but only for a moment. Jenna is reclaiming herself in this song, calling out her circumstance by name for the first time but, sadly, without a resolution. She is talking about the person she used to be and how far away she feels from her, panicked that there is no way to get her back. I cried when I wrote it. I still cry when I hear it. It’s my song too.
I began to build the score. I was chipping away at what felt like an impossibly tall order, but little by little it started to take shape. Some songs appeared more easily than others, and some should have never appeared at all. I wrote a song that will never again see the light of day, about Jenna’s husband, Earl, trying to have sex with her. I couldn’t think of anything creative to say with that moment, so I just had him spell out the letters of the phrase:
P-L-E-A-S-E-H-A-V-E-S-E-X-W-I-T-H-M-E.
Like, I made him sing that. Spelling it out. Over and over. We were preparing for a staged reading and we went through the script with the actors who were stepping into these roles for that week. Diane turned to me and said, “Okay. What exactly is this song?”
I didn’t have a good answer, which, for everyone reading this, is always answer enough, but we were too close to the performance to pull the plug. Our associate director had the idea to at least give the character a little comic relief by adding two dancing sperm to sing the background vocals. When dancing sperm save you, you are in trouble. During that scene at the reading, I wanted to crawl under my chair and pretend I had nothing to do with that song, but instead I quietly sat there watching the dancing sperm and said to myself, Rewrite.
I’m sure Rodgers and Hammerstein made similar mistakes, right?I
This was all a positive progression, however, because I became less precious about my ideas. Some of them were terrible, clearly, but I worked on simply putting pen to paper and, more important, opening up for feedback. I had experiences where I thought I was moved by a musical idea, but realized in sharing that I wasn’t pushing myself. I wrote a song for the Andy Griffith character, Joe, that was a sweet tune but a generic rip-off of a cliché “musical theater” song. It was at best an acceptable placeholder: inoffensive but unremarkable. My soul mate–friend, collaborator, and scriptwriter Jessie Nelson reminded me that this show would be my opportunity to give the audience something only I could give. It was the kindest way for her to tell me “You can do better.” And she was right. I dug deeper and deeper and poured so much of myself into the score that I know even though it won’t be perfect by any stretch of the imagination, there is nothing in there that doesn’t have a ton of heart. That much I know for sure.
Casting the right leading lady was crucial. The character of Jenna had become beloved to me, my talisman for renewal. I knew I didn’t have the acting skills yet to bring her to life, but handing her over to someone else felt scary. Deep into our creative process, amidst our many, many meetings about writing and rewriting and casting and schedule, I went to see the opening night of Carole King’s musical, Beautiful. In the past year of my life, Carole had become my unofficial guru and guided me through some very to
ugh moments. I first met her in Cleveland as I stood side stage at the 2012 Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremony, shaking uncontrollably, waiting to perform a song to honor the late, great Laura Nyro. I had nothing but nerves and panic and fear, and Carole simply put her hand on my back and said, “Relax. Everyone is going to love you! Just get out of your own way.” It was so simple, and so loving. The two of us shared the stage at the 2014 Grammy Awards, our pianos facing each other, smiling and singing a medley of her song Beautiful and my song Brave. It was a cornerstone moment in my career. A day later, she was one of the first people to call me after the very painful event when I fired my manager of ten years. In her gentle yet firm way, she reminded me that I am a strong and capable person who can do anything in this world and that above all I am loved. Carole’s place in music history is untouchable, built upon craft and talent and grace, and she has become my lighthouse in the industry. Knowing her as a person makes it all that much easier to celebrate her accomplishments, and I was deeply emotional watching the brand-new musical about her life. A young actress named Jessie Mueller played Carole, and she was riveting. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She told Carole’s incredible story with an earthy grace that was so pure and so grounded . . . so true to who Carole is in the world. And her voice is transcendent. I hugged Jessie after the show and thanked her for her gifts.
* * *
I. No, they didn’t.
Jessie Mueller and I at ART workshop rehearsal
I knew exactly who I wanted to give Jenna to.
Incidentally, I had a good laugh recently when I learned who got the part of Cinderella in that Central Park production of Into the Woods instead of me.
It was Jessie. Well, she also accepted the part of Jenna. I couldn’t have been happier.
Full circle, beeyotches.
Joining the team of Waitress has turned out to be one of the best decisions I have ever made. The people who have come into my life because of it are some of nearest and dearest to my heart. The opportunity to observe and serve the vibrant and visceral world of theater has unbound my perception of what is possible. Being a part of this new community has revived my excitement for performance and the stage. And stretching my own artistic undertakings has made me look at myself differently. The songs born of this show are some of the proudest achievements of my whole career and they renewed something that I didn’t know was withering away. They reminded me of what creating from a pure place feels like, and how joyful my work can be. Every time I take a train to Times Square, I’m like a little kid going to a playground, and it hasn’t worn off yet. Broadway is a big business, and a honeymoon period can only last so long, but good God, I am holding on to it with all my might. I feel uplifted and full of possibility, reminded of the artist I was when I was writing music for the very first time. This feeling can be fleeting, so I am focused whole-heartedly on cherishing every moment of it while it lasts.
I think back to when I was a little girl, dreaming of stepping on the stage of a great theater someday. The seed that was planted back then as a child has been dormant but patient, and it is with hopeful eyes I watch it take root and rise up.
EPILOGUE
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WITH THIS BOOK, I tried to share experiences in my life that helped me discover who I am. I shared a lot of things on these pages that are pretty private. My mom read a few of the essays and said they made her sad, as if she didn’t know me as well as she thought she did. I understood what she meant, and took that as a great compliment, in a way, because it means I gave something to this book that I haven’t given anywhere else. I didn’t want to use this opportunity to give redundant information, or to write my own extended Wikipedia page. I wanted to make confessions and admissions in the hopes of watching myself surrender a little bit more than I have. I think I accomplished that and so I feel glad. And Mom, now you know that I’ve smoked weed. We can talk about it later.
I hope these essays have been comforting to someone reading it if for no other reason than to watch me openly admit I have no idea what I’m doing. I suspect most people feel that way, even if they don’t fess up. Life is staggering, and all we can do is our best. My personal best seems the most accessible to me when I am being as honest as I can be. At this point in my life, I am attempting to make choices that move me toward what feels authentic, while saying yes to things that make my gut feel spooked with possibility. I have no idea what that means for my future, but for now, that means working on a musical. Releasing an album of musical theater songs. Building a one-woman show. Taking a meditation course. Trying to keep houseplants alive. You know, big things.
I want to say thank you for reading these snippets of my stories and songs. It meant a lot to be able to share them. More than I knew it would. I hope that there are many more to come, but unless hell freezes over, I won’t be writing them down in another book.
That is, unless I do.
You are beautiful.
S
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
* * *
THANK YOU.
To my fans, this is all for you, always.
Karyn Marcus, my editor and copilot through this odd and enchanted journey. You were steady and wise throughout this process, and your honesty encouraged mine. It actually made me love this book. Can you believe it? (Me neither!) Thank you.
Laura Nolan at Kuhn Projects, Jonathan Karp, Megan Hogan, and the entire Simon & Schuster team, I am so grateful for your belief in me and your willingness to take a chance on a first-time author. Laura Palese for a beautiful design. Shervin Lainez for beautiful pictures. Brandon Creed, Kevin Beisler, Alana Balden and all at the Creed Company, thank you for fielding frantic phone calls and encouraging me to continue when I wanted to jump ship. Doug Mark, Phil Sarna, Dvora Engelfield, Marty Diamond, and Larry Webman, thank you for making sense of what I’m doing (and always making it better). To my Sony ATV and Epic Records families, thank you for all the support, always.
To my friends and confidants for reading pieces from this book and telling me it was good enough to be a thing in the world. Jack Antonoff, Ben Folds, Sara Quin, Mona Tavakoli, Laura Jansen, Catherine Lacey, and Chris Morrissey. Thank you for your contributions to my book and to my life.
To my band and crew, past and present, thank you for your generosity in all ways. I have learned so much from you.
To Mom and Dad, my very first heroes, thank you for all the things you have taught me, and especially thank you for my sisters. You built a family that amazes me and challenges me every day. Thank you for encouraging me to always try and do my best, knowing I’ll be loved no matter what. My whole family is pretty neat.
Thank you to Betty White for being, and the B-52s for Love Shack.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
* * *
SARA BAREILLES is a five-time Grammy Award–nominated singer, songwriter, and musician who has riveted millions of fans around the world with her warmly intimate voice, naturally melodic songs about heartache and resilience, and the spirited, anything-goes nature of her live performances. A self-taught pianist, the Eureka, California, native moved to Los Angeles at age eighteen and first broke through with her 2007 global number-one hit, Love Song. Her five albums have sold a collective 2.5 million copies and spawned such hits as King of Anything, Uncharted, and Brave, the latter from 2013’s Album of the Year Grammy contender, The Blessed Unrest. Known for her fearless candor and witty humor both onstage and off, Bareilles has employed her ample storytelling gifts to pen her first book, Sounds Like Me—a collection of essays told through the lens of the lyrics of some of her best-loved songs.
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PHOTO CREDITS
* * *
Numbers refer to the pages on which the photos appear. All other photos are from the author’s collection.
Courtesy of Sony Music Entertainment—Photograph taken by Autumn DeWilde: 64
Danny Clinch: 93, 159
Daniel Silbert: x-xi, 26-27, 41, 129
Heidi Ross: 124-125
Jimmy Ryan Photography: 162-163, 172, 175, 179
Photo by Colin Young-Wolff: 5, 42-43, 57, 70-71, 114-115, 122
Travis Schneider: 134-135, 147
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Copyright © 2015 by Sara Bareilles
Unless otherwise noted, all photographs are part of the author’s collection.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Simon & Schuster Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.
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