From This Moment On

by Shania Twain

  Over the course of these two years, my schedule allowed for pit stops at home near Saint Regis Falls only every two or three months, and for no more than a few days each time. During one trip home, while promoting “You Win My Love” in the early spring of 1996, the loneliness and sheer exhaustion of the past year caught up with me.

  Still more singles were in the pipeline, and I just didn’t feel like I could go on. I was soaking in a hot bath one night, feeling alone and very sorry for myself. That day I’d finally implored whoever would listen—a hometown friend, Mutt, or a road sibling—that I needed a break and wanted a couple of more days at home to rest, but everyone’s response was the same: “Come on, Eilleen, you can do it. You have everything going for you. Anyone would cut off their right arm to be in your position. Stop complaining.” Breaking commitments could come back to hurt me in the future, was what I learned to believe. What’s more, the team had worked so hard on putting the machine in motion for the new record, and it would be a shame to let them down. Basically, I felt pressured to suck it up and do whatever it took to make the most of the record’s success. I should have leaned on my family at that point in my life, but I wouldn’t allow myself to display what I considered weakness on my part. Being the self-sufficient, strong one was how I’d come to view myself, and I wasn’t about to tarnish their image of me. My image of me. Besides, what good would it have done? I’d just sent out a distress call and was rebuffed.

  I lay in the hot water a long time until it began to cool and I started to cry. But to myself. Mutt was taking a break from the studio for a couple of hours to watch a sports match of some kind on TV, and I didn’t want him to hear me. I did not want anyone to hear my weak, pathetic breakdown. When the tears stopped, I went to bed alone.

  I can imagine someone reading this and miming playing an imaginary violin. “Oh, boo-hoo. Your second album is selling millions of copies, you’re doing all this cool stuff. Please, spare me.” Exactly. I said the same thing to myself plenty of times. I felt guilty, because what right did I have to complain about anything? With all the good fortune that was coming my way, how could I possibly be unhappy?

  22

  Life Among the Loons

  It goes without saying that I was way off the mark when it came to guessing what The Woman in Me would sell. But then, even the most wildly optimistic predictions from people at my record company fell far short. One year after its release, the CD had sold almost 3.2 million copies, and it would eventually surpass 15 million, making The Woman in Me the top-selling album by a female artist in the history of country music. When you consider the immense talent of the women who paved the way for me—Patsy Cline, June Carter Cash, Tammy Wynette, Loretta Lynn, Dolly Parton; I could go on and on—it’s beyond humbling. It is mind boggling.

  The Woman in Me took other completely unexpected honors that I never could have imagined, including the 1996 Grammy Award for Best Country Album and Album of the Year at the Country Music Awards. The success of that period would also earn me trophies for International Rising Star (British Country Music Awards), World’s Best Selling Female Country Artist (World Music Awards), and Top New Female Vocalist (Country Music Awards).

  That sort of recognition helped to offset my fatigue as we set our sights on the next record. Good thing, too, because I would have only about four months to finish writing and recording in order to meet the targeted fall 1997 release date. It helped that I could do some of the work in Saint Regis Falls, roughly twenty miles from the Canadian border. I guess you could call it centrally located: about eighty miles southwest of Montreal and eight miles southeast of Ottawa. Yep, centrally located right in the middle of nowhere. Which was exactly what Mutt and I had wanted—and, more to the point, needed.

  We both loved nature and wanted to keep a distance from public recognition. We were creative people who needed solitude, with no distractions, in order to focus on why we did what we did musically. We enjoyed living our days around being creative for no other reason than to create. The public only became a part of it once the material was ready, finished, and ready to be shared. Who wants to see a painting before the artist decides it’s finished and the paint is dry, after all?

  The idea was to restore some measure of sanity to our lives by limiting the amount of travel I’d have to do, especially since I’d planned all along to support this CD with my first full-scale concert tour. However, we did end up traveling quite a bit so that Mutt could capture certain musicians in their own environment, and so that they didn’t have to travel. We also wanted to change up the scenery for ourselves as writers, to be in new places we could draw inspiration from. The Saint Regis Falls home was something we built with the idea of spending many creative years there as a base, as nature was all around us in the miles of forest that circled the house and the lake that was centered in the property. We designed deep porches all round the building so that we could sit outside and take in the sounds of the northern woods that echoed over the lake.

  We named the secluded property Loon Echo because at sunrise and at dusk, the loons would call to one another. Hearing the large birds’ fluty cries bouncing across the glasslike surface of our private lake reminded me of my childhood in Canada; I’d get positively giddy at the sound. The spacious office, the hub of all things in Mutt and Woody World, featured large picture windows that overlooked the inlet. Between the breathtaking view, a deep porch, and the aroma of Kim Godreau’s masterfully baked apple pies wafting from the kitchen, it made for the perfect setup.

  Kim came on in 1996, and for the next fifteen years, I felt I couldn’t live without her! We developed a sisterly bond and loyalty over all the years of working together. I think that if I was ever in a room with other celebrities and we got talking about our PAs, I’d be very immature and make sure everyone knew that my assistant was better than their assistant.

  Working out of the office at Loon Echo as part of the team was Stacy Smith. She’d been around from when Sheri began working with me in 1992 when I first moved to Nashville and started out doing some basic accounting for me. Her role grew to becoming full business manager. She has now been with me eighteen years and is another one of my most trusted friends who really has my back.

  Patty Lou Andrews was also a gem of a friend on the team during the period of The Woman in Me’s success. She did the most traveling with me during the promotion of that CD. Patty Lou was dedicated to the project, and with Mary no longer there, she took on quite a load. She was handling the marketing and publicity in coordination with the record company, and it was a demanding post, being that I worked so heavily in the area of promotion and marketing.

  Patty Lou had a husband and family at home in Ontario and managed to be a traveling professional, a loving mother of two preteen sons, and a dedicated wife to her beloved husband, Rob. She was a shining example of how to do everything well. She spoke of her family constantly and it was great to hear all about them, as it was a welcome escape from the reality of promotional road life.

  Kim, Patty Lou, and Stacy essentially fulfilled the role of professional management for more than two years. I couldn’t have gotten through the intense promotional period for The Woman in Me without them.

  While working on Come On Over in 1997, I was introduced to Jon Landau and Barbara Carr, longtime managers of Bruce Springsteen. Jon started out in music as a well-respected rock critic; in fact, in 1974, shortly before Bruce’s career erupted with his third album, Born to Run, Jon saw him perform in Boston and was moved to write the prophetic words “I saw rock and roll’s future and its name is Bruce Springsteen.” A few years later, he was rock ’n’ roll’s future’s manager. As my comanager, Jon was extremely attentive and lent moral support when I needed his ear and encouragement, especially when it came to stage fright. He knew how to talk me through to the other side of the panic.

  Barbara, a steady, no-nonsense lady with loads of management experience (Hall & Oates, among others) and a heart of gold, spent a lot of time with me on
the road. Consequently, she saw me at my best and my worst, but she always handled either extreme well. Jan Stabile, another management partner at Landau Management, completed the trio with Barbara and myself. Both women possessed strength, brains, compassion, common sense, and know-how. They made my life easier, and even though we would part ways professionally after five years, I still feel a bond with them today.

  The three of us spent loads of time traveling internationally, promoting Come On Over together. At the time my music was already well on its way to breaking many music industry records, but I was still an unknown in many parts of the world other than North America. I was starting from scratch in the overseas international market, and Jan and Barbara did the miles with me. They dug the trenches and dredged the ditches over and over again until finally I would have success abroad.

  By the time I’d gotten through the rigorous period of The Woman in Me CD, I was already half burned out on promotion, but Come On Over would become an even bigger success and more demanding. I remember being in Scotland during the promotional tour for Come On Over. I was suffering sleep deprivation and getting desperate. The schedule was grueling, and jet lag didn’t help. I needed to sleep but couldn’t. I was waking up in the middle of the night in this insomniac state, having to be in hair and makeup in only a few hours. I could not continue this crazy workload with three to four hours’ sleep for days on end. I was exhausted but wired with a crawling-out-of-my-skin-type energy. I asked Jan if she could organize for a treadmill to be in my hotel rooms, as the only way I could think of physically ridding myself of this excess energy and get back to sleep was to run it off. Barbara and Jan got me through it still sane and alive. I thank them for their patience, as there were times I was close to the breaking point, and although I was very good at controlling myself in front of anyone else, once the three of us were alone, my release would flow and it wasn’t always pretty. Lots of good ole Northern Ontario, small-town girl came out in my language, let’s put it that way.

  Now that I formally had management again, Patty Lou Andrews retired and returned to her husband and two preteen sons, Michael and Matthew. Sadly, two years later Patty Lou died suddenly of a severe brain aneurysm. I cried like a baby when I received the news. She was truly a special person, one who kept me laughing when I was grumpy from too little sleep and too many commitments. Her ability to remain calm and gracious under pressure was an inspiration.

  Not long after Patty Lou’s passing, I received a package containing a beautiful pearl necklace that had belonged to her late mother. She’d left it to me in her will. With my mouth open in disbelief, I clung to the pearls as if they were the tips of Patty Lou’s very own fingers reaching out to touch me. She did touch me that day, and deeply. I could not help but wonder when she had made out a will, not knowing, of course, that she would soon face death so prematurely. And why would she have left these to me? I literally fell to my knees, humbled by her thoughtfulness—but not surprised. I miss Patty Lou.

  Come On Over was written in bits and pieces over the course of the two years since The Woman in Me had been released. Mutt and I connected periodically when he’d join me on the promotional touring. We wrote while dining out, driving, even at a soccer game, where the bulk of “From This Moment On” was written. I was a bit bored with the pace of soccer compared to the lively games of ice hockey that I was more accustomed to, and it started flowing out. This is one of my favorite original songs. The writing sessions between Mutt and me were scattered, and no one specific place or time alone represents that songwriting period.

  Mutt and I spent a lot of time apart as I was promoting and touring, and he was in studios working on tracks and arrangements as we wrote. It’s surprising that we were able to write all this stuff with so little time together. We wrote independently and merged ideas when we joined up. I remember feeling very excited about the counter line sung by Mutt as backing vocals in “You’re Still the One.” As I sang the chorus melody repeatedly while working out the lyrics, he kicked in with the counter line “You’re still the one,” and it gave me chills. All of a sudden we had a hit chorus. It was a magic moment.

  That song crossed over to pop and international success. I passed Elton John while I was coming and he was going from a radio station visit, and as we approached each other in the corridor, he started singing “You’re Still the One.” I was so flattered that this legendary songwriter extraordinaire, who I was seeing for the first time in the flesh, honored me with such an incredible compliment as to address me by singing my own chorus. “You’re Still the One” brought us nominations for four Grammy Awards, two of which I took home.

  “That Don’t Impress Me Much” was the seventh single released from the CD, and it kept the momentum going. It’s extremely difficult for the average album to sustain itself even after the third single, never mind a seventh. This was rare in the music industry and still is. “You’re Still the One” had opened the world of international and crossover success to my career, and “That Don’t Impress Me Much” kept it going. It won several pop, country, and international songwriting awards.

  “Man! I Feel Like a Woman!” was the eighth release, and it ensured even more longevity to the life of Come On Over. Phew, I was exhausted, and although I was thrilled by the success, I feared it would never end: the work, the travel, the loneliness. I am so proud of that record, the songs themselves and all that was achieved from scratch to finish. I feel a huge sense of accomplishment now, but at the time, I was too tired to appreciate it. Every time I’d get news that it just kept selling, and the demand for more singles continued, I wanted to collapse at the thought that normalcy, rest, recharging my batteries were all yet another single away. It was an incredibly bittersweet experience to be enjoying the success and feeling a pang of almost resentment toward it. I considered myself selfish, feeling this contradiction of emotions, but I was confused about what to feel. I didn’t know whether to be happy or sad. I was losing touch with what I wanted. There was no peace. “More pain, more gain” thankfully applies to the experience of Come On Over for me, and today, I am able to look back on it with great pleasure and satisfaction. I saw my day-to-day reality then as a struggle with no end in sight, though of course I now appreciate that this was a rare blessing that very few recording artists are ever gifted with experiencing. I saw it then as well, but it was a blur, as I was standing too close to see it clearly.

  Even at home—even a haven like Loon Echo—I still felt constricted by my newfound fame. This may seem hard to believe, but after a while, you start to miss the mundane stuff of daily life, like walking into a drugstore and buying yourself a toothbrush. Granted, not the stuff that dreams are made of, but when you never get to do it—at least, not without first having to mobilize your security detail—it just becomes less of a hassle to ask your assistant to make a tampon run, you know?

  Not only that, but you never seem to have time because there’s always something more pressing that needs to be done yesterday, and it typically involves other people. So if it’s a toss-up between my wanting to iron but having to lay down a vocal overdub in the studio, or else I will be holding up Mutt, the recording engineer, and who knows who else, the simple chore at home is going to take a backseat. I cannot very well delegate lead vocals on my own record to someone else while I get the ironing done. You don’t even have to say it: “So what’s so bad about that? I’d love to have someone do those things for me.” Well, whether we’re aware of it or not, we all derive a measure of satisfaction just from being self-sufficient and feeling competent in the world. I was starting to feel as if I’d lost my chops at life’s fundamentals—and I’d been someone who could survive on my own in a cabin in the woods with no running water or electricity in subzero temperatures and snow up to my butt. Now, with a skilled full-time staff at home to handle every domestic and personal chore for me, I felt … useless and inept.

  I used to come home after being away and feel like a houseguest. For one thing, I could neve
r find anything! Where are my rubber boots? For that, I would have to ask the cleaning lady. Damn! I forgot how to program the oven! For that, ask Kim. It seemed like my being there disrupted the graceful efficiency of my own household. When I’d want to do things for myself, it would throw everybody off.

  Cooking in your own kitchen, for example, where your cupboards have been arranged by someone else in your absence, can be discouraging. A cook has to know her way around her own kitchen, otherwise a lot of the fun is taken out of it, just in trying to find everything. “Why don’t you relax? What do you want to cook for?” I heard that all the time. Why? Because I wanted to feel normal again! I didn’t want to be waited on hand and foot like spoiled royalty; I wanted to do the things that kept me real and gave me some sense of control over my life, like folding my own towels, making my own bed, and putting my socks away where I wanted so I always knew where to find them.

  Here is how much I began to crave normalcy: One Friday afternoon, not long after Kim began working for me, I asked her about her plans for the weekend. “Oh, nothing special,” she replied. “Tomorrow I’m off to the Walmart to pick out some paint.”