In the early going, I told her that we needed to slay people with this song. She shot right back with what would become its title: “You murder my heart!”
Gaga was quick.
We worked through the night and into the morning in our first two sessions in L.A. As the song came together I felt certain that I was witnessing a superstar in the making. She had the energy of ten artists and an intense focus. She reminded me of a young Madonna, provocative and fearless, with extreme exuberance and sharp focus on the music. This young woman was committed to her art above all else.
When we discussed her upcoming first concert tour in detail, Lady Gaga described the production and it sounded to me like she’d need an elaborate hydraulic system for staging. I cautioned her that I’ve known many young artists who’ve been shocked at how expensive their tour productions turned out to be—and what a drain those costs can be on their earnings. I had to admire her reply. Lady Gaga said that she didn’t care if the tour made money, she just wanted it to succeed as art.
I had no doubt that it would. At that point, her first album was due to hit stores in three months, and I was glad that our song would be done by then. I knew she was about to become a very busy young woman. After the huge release of The Fame, she belonged to the world.
Before that happened, we met for a third session to finish production of “Murder My Heart” in London. Songwriters and producers Michael Mani and Jordan Omley, known as the JAM, also contributed to the creation of the song. In the studio, Lady Gaga sang beautiful harmonies and answers. During the warm-up she riffed on a few of my hits and then performed some R & B ad-libs. Her voice and control were in the Christina Aguilera league and very impressive.
During that final session, we took a dinner break and I took Lady Gaga and her lovely mother to a restaurant. I could tell her mom was concerned that the record company had such high expectations for her daughter. I assured them both that there was no danger of overhyping Gaga’s great gifts.
She is a singer-songwriter genius, and most veterans of the music industry will tell you the same thing about her. In a time when recording stars are created by television talent shows overnight, we may not see many performers with staying power, but Lady Gaga will be around a long time.
Gaga and I share a few secrets with many of those who hang around in the business for a long time. Neither one of us chose music as a career. Music chose us, and it became our passion. She has the same drive and focus. When you get your shot, you work your ass off and never look back unless it’s for more fuel to drive you forward. I enjoyed watching Gaga lift off and felt like I had an inside peek at the engine of a driven artist who was going to earn the career she would create.
Like me, Lady Gaga began writing music and performing around the age of twelve. Music has always been at the core of our lives. When I listened to my first Beatles records, I found myself focused on the harmonies, and though I never learned how to read or write music, I could identify the notes. I could make out the elements in my head as if the notes were somehow already hardwired into my brain.
Another thing I discovered was that while I don’t have perfect pitch, as my friend David Foster does, I’m close. (David is hard to beat. If a fly burps in a far corner of the room, he can tell you what note it was—and then if the note was a little bit flat or sharp. The fly would then be fired and removed from the studio.) The more I listened to the music playing around our house—whether it was my mom’s operatic Mario Lanza records or Orrin’s blues and rock music—the more I was driven to sing and write my own songs. There was never any question about whether I wanted to build a career around music, but, as many have discovered, making a living was another matter.
I began writing almost as soon as I discovered my singing voice. Based on the feedback I got, I became convinced that singing was my gift and the key to a music career. As it turned out, my songwriting was what really opened the door for me while also giving me insights into what it would take to have a long career doing what I loved. My success as a songwriter taught me that hit songs are the lifeblood of the industry, and that the life or death of an album is dependent upon having a primary song to launch it.
That lesson served me well when the success of my songs and my performances on their demos put me on a clear path to success as a singer—just not as the rock singer I’d always considered myself to be.
Credit: Ken Sax Photography
Chapter Ten
Feeding the Hunger
When the checks from my jingles and from my songwriting began to flow in a steady stream, we paid off bills, put some money in savings, and finally, for the first time in their lives, I took the girls to the Stamford Mall and let them go crazy buying whatever the hell their little hearts desired.
I guess the salesclerk in one clothing store hadn’t seen many long-haired rocker dads because as she added up the damage from all the outfits and shoes piled on her counter, she said to my daughters, “I wish I had a cool big brother like you!”
It was so sweet and wonderful, that trip. For years, Isa had handed down her clothes to Holly, who handed them down to Taryn, who wore them until they didn’t fit her anymore. We’d rarely gone to the mall because there just wasn’t enough money to spare for shopping trips. But once my jingles were kicking back residuals and major artists were covering my songs, I wanted to make up for those hand-me-downs and discount-store clothes. I told them the only rule was that they had to buy things they would wear on a regular basis.
They were so excited. It was better than any Christmas they’d ever had, believe me. They were having the greatest time trying things on in the dressing room, laughing and screaming. I choked up a little just witnessing their joy. I thought, This is how I’ve always wanted it to be.
After that first trip there were many more, and even though I tried to establish some boundaries, I flunked in saying no to my girls. I had a lot of catching up to do.
Those were wonderful trips because I finally felt that all my striving was reaping rewards. The one area of my life that had not yet borne fruit was my singing career. My first album and single for Columbia faded fast after a promising launch. I feared that yet another record company would tell me, once again, that I was now free to “see other people.”
My contract had an option for a second album. But it was not a guarantee.
Still, Columbia Records president Al Teller put his arm around my shoulder and essentially said, “We still believe in ya, kid.”
Columbia allowed me to make that second album, another solo arena rocker titled Everybody’s Crazy, which was released in 1985 with a music video for the title track. Hard rock radio stations gave the title single a decent run, and it was picked up for the sound track of the Rodney Dangerfield movie Back to School in 1986. Other than that, the second Columbia album was less successful than the first.
This is where Rod Serling, creator of the famed 1960s television series The Twilight Zone, appears in my dreams and says in grave tones:
Singer Michael Bolton landed his first record deal at the age of 15, his second at 18, his third at 21, his fourth at 25, his fifth at 26, and his sixth at 29.
Some of these recordings were never released. Some of the deals resulted in record releases but not major hits. Mr. Bolton recorded nine albums and two singles over eighteen years before his breakthrough to success came with his album The Hunger, which was certified double platinum in the United States.
Singing solo and with bands, the determined but luckless Mr. Bolton lost one recording deal after another. Then, after his fifth and sixth albums did not strike gold, the singer, who struggled for more than seventeen years while trying to make it as a rock ’n’ roller, stepped into another dimension, a dimension not only of sight and sound, but of body, mind, and soul.
Yes, after many years of disappointment and heartbreak, rocker Michael Bolton journeyed into a wondrous land between the pit of man’s fears and the summit of his knowledge.
He was final
ly leaving the Twilight Zone.
My Twilight Zone would soon end after nobody was crazy about Everybody’s Crazy. By then I thought I knew the drill. I’d get a letter quoting poor sales numbers and they’d tell me to feel free to pursue other deals.
Al Teller, who had a Harvard MBA and two engineering degrees, was obviously a very smart man. He had moved up from president of Columbia to the head job at parent company CBS Records by this time. He called and graciously invited my manager, Louis Levin, and me to his office. I figured this would be the final reckoning. I reckoned wrong.
I had a hint of what was to come. On my way to his office, a memory flashed of something Al had said just prior to the release of Everybody’s Crazy.
“Michael, there is a lot of buzz about this album, so it could do very well,” he’d said. “But if it’s not a hit, we’ll have to meet and talk about the direction of your next record.”
My NEXT record?
I’d heard some reports around the recording studio that Al liked my singing voice, but he was not so enthusiastic about my singing arena rock. I’d heard that before. Girls in my teen years often said they liked it better when I played the acoustic guitar and sang to them. Ribs and Marc were always trying to get me to do an acoustic set. “The ladies will love it,” they’d say.
I saw myself as a rock singer, but it seemed Al Teller had something else in mind. As we drove to his office that day, I wondered whether he would be saying good-bye or whether he really did have some new direction in mind for my recording career.
I didn’t have to wonder for long.
Al began the meeting by holding up a peculiar-looking device, which he explained was a CD player, and then he showed us a CD and explained that you could press a button on the player to go to different songs.
“This is the future of our business,” he said. “Soon, fans won’t be buying albums or cassettes. When the people making the CD players bring the price down, fans will only buy CDs.”
Al was right about that, too.
I wasn’t sure what that had to do with me in that moment, but I hoped it meant Al Teller thought I was part of Columbia’s future, too.
“Michael, we’re all aware here that your rock albums have not done well. You’ve had a couple songs do okay, but nothing has hit big,” Al said. “On the other hand, Michael, we are very aware that your songwriting career has taken off. The Laura Branigan ballad, for starters, was beautiful, and that song will be around a long, long time. I don’t have to tell you that.
“But what you may not know is this: I’ve been hearing from a lot of people about the eight-track demos you make to get your songs recorded by other artists. People hear you singing with just a guitar or piano on those demos and they say, ‘Who is this guy?’ In fact, I’m told your demos are the hottest items in the building. Secretaries are trading them and buzzing about them. They aren’t just excited about the songs, it’s your voice. I know you like rock music and that type of production, but people love your voice, and it’s been buried under a wall of sound. They can’t hear you singing because of the layers of guitars and big drums pounding in your rock records. It’s also clear that you should be singing the songs you are giving to other artists. You’ve got to stop giving away all of your hits!
“I’m about to tell you the best reason for keeping your songs to sing yourself…. The best reason is the rest of your life, Michael! You could have a long and great career singing those songs.”
Al Teller was preaching to the choir at that point. (I can take a giant hint from the universe.) I was putting all my efforts as a singer into the rock albums and there were few rewards. At the same time, I found writing songs incredibly rewarding, and, in addition, when we completed a song I couldn’t wait to record the demo myself. Simply writing the songs wasn’t enough for me. Often songwriters will hire singers to do their demos. I loved doing my own. Singing the songs I’d just written had become so gratifying that I’d be chomping at the bit to step up to the microphone.
And so the timing of Al’s meeting could not have been more perfect, and he could not have been more patient and generous. I’d done two albums for Columbia, then the world’s biggest label, without creating a hit. In most scenarios, that second album would have been my last for Columbia, and maybe the last of my career. But Al had the vision and the courage to give me yet another opportunity. If it weren’t for him, I might have missed the soul of it all concerning my career. I’d developed my voice to deliver the songs I was writing. I’d essentially trained myself to sing in a different style by doing the demos for my own songs. Because Al believed in me and because he had evidence from his office staff and could see their response to my demos, he concluded that I should move away from rock toward more of a pop and R & B style. I might never have tried that approach if he had not confronted me and pointed the way because he believed in me.
I don’t have a tape recording of our meeting that day, so I can’t give you Al’s exact words, but that’s the gist of what he said, to the best of my recollection. He was only saying what I’d been telling myself for a long time. I had fallen in love with the songwriting process, finding a title and creating a story around it. Often, I’d begin writing on a napkin in a restaurant and then join with a trusted friend and co-writer to expand on my original thoughts and stir each other’s creativity. We always strive to move people with words and melodies that convey a specific emotion. The demos were the delivery device. Al’s advice also reinforced what I’d been hearing from friends and others in the business about moving away from rock and embracing the R & B and pop music I had been giving away to other artists.
I’d been afraid to make the change from rock singing, even though it wasn’t working. How many people make the same mistake? We all do it at times. We hang on to what is familiar and what we’ve always done in the past, even when it hasn’t worked for us. I was very grateful to Al Teller for his honesty and even more grateful for his loyalty and support. He was giving me that rare gift, another chance. When I look at the music industry today, I am inclined to think that gift is even rarer now than it was back then. How many artists do you think would survive six failed record deals over nearly eighteen years?
Twilight Zone or not, I did step into another dimension of my career during that meeting. I’d become one of the hottest songwriters in the music industry, and the bulk of my songs that were picked up and turned into hits by other artists were not rock.
Teller was telling me the truth. Now I was ready to listen.
THE HUNGER ENDS
With support from the parent company’s top guy, Columbia agreed to another album, called The Hunger, which would feature a different sound and feel. I’d done these more soulful songs before, but they were usually buried among harder rock songs and didn’t get much attention. Now they were to be the focal point of this new album featuring my new sound.
That was the bull’s-eye, and I honed in on it with more hunger than ever before. I went to work writing, performing, and producing songs for the album that we hoped would take me to a new level, by a route I’d never anticipated. Because of my success as a songwriter, I was able to call upon some of the best collaborators in the business, including Diane Warren, Jonathan Cain, Neal Schon of Journey, and Eric Kaz, who has written songs for Linda Ronstadt, Bonnie Raitt, and many others.
Jonathan Cain and I wrote the lyrics for The Hunger’s title song, and they definitely reflected my mood at the time: “As the hunger calls, then you run to the passion that takes you over. / No lookin’ back. / The chance will never come again. / You risk it all, for your dream won’t let you go.”
Never before had I felt so intensely driven, so in the zone creatively, or so in control of my own album and my own destiny. I’d been given many, many chances—an incredible number when I reflected on them all. But I didn’t see that there would ever be another opportunity to succeed as a singer if this album failed. The pressure was always on, but with this album it felt more like inspiration
to me.
I was writing the songs, choosing my own collaborators, and singing in the studio with musicians of my choice. The top-notch producers were Jonathan Cain; Keith Diamond (who’d worked with Mick Jagger, Donna Summer, and Billy Ocean); and Susan Hamilton, the Jingle Queen who’d played a major role in my success in that field.
I was especially excited about the song I wrote with Eric Kaz because it was chosen to be the first single from the album. As Columbia released it, I could hardly contain my excitement. I was working day and night, often taking the last train to Milford out of Grand Central Terminal after working at the recording studio. I used the two-hour train commute to work more, prompting the conductor to finally ask, “Don’t you ever stop working?” With my headphones on, I looked up, thought for a second, then smiled and nodded. “No.”
I was in the final stages of working on the album one night in early 1987 when I walked into a commuter car for the train ride home and saw a familiar face; one that had inspired my very first original song, “Dreaming Dreams,” and many that followed.
“Hello, Cory,” I said to my boyhood muse.
“Why hello, Michael, what a great surprise,” she said.
It came as no surprise that talking to Cory Morrison was just as easy for me at the age of thirty-three as it had been twenty years earlier. Her sweet spirit and her soulful blue eyes had always had that impact on me.
She’d been living in California, and though she’d heard about my marriage to Maureen, Cory was surprised to learn we had three daughters.
Cory, who had been through some hard times, was about to begin a marriage herself. She’d found a guy who she said was “very nice” and a straight arrow, unlike most of the old crowd we’d run with. We laughed about our “hippie” days in New Haven and Greenwich Village. She hadn’t realized that I’d written Laura Branigan’s hit recording of “How Am I Supposed to Live Without You.” I told her my songwriting successes had finally brought me into the highest levels of the music business and, suddenly, I had a world of opportunities.
The Soul of It All Page 16
