Even though they’ve created their own lives, I worry about them, which is a parental privilege. I long fretted that I couldn’t give them enough. Then I worried that I was giving them too much.
So far, they seem to have survived my angst and my parenting, and best of all they seem to love me despite my faults. For that, I’m more grateful than they will ever know.
Credit: Bolotin Family Collection
Chapter Eleven
The Soul of It All
Columbia Records was eager for me to build upon the momentum from The Hunger by producing another big album. Leading the charge was the dynamic new president of my record company. At thirty-six, Donnie Ienner, a disciple of Clive Davis, was the youngest president in Columbia’s 150-year history. Donnie, who had worked his way up from a high school job in the Capitol Records mailroom, had helped develop the careers of Whitney Houston, Kenny G, and Aretha Franklin in his previous job at Arista Records.
I certainly liked the way he described his vision for developing my career shortly after he settled in at Columbia. His focus was to help me become known as “a singer’s singer,” someone who could make music that crossed all genres, thus reaching a wide audience and building a long career. That sounded great to me. With his support, I tapped my songwriting connections to bring in the biggest talents in the business for this important follow-up album. Diane Warren, Doug James, Andrew Goldmark, Desmond Child, Eric Kaz, Barry Mann, and Cynthia Weil signed on. Our team of handpicked musicians, backup singers, and producers (Barry Mann; Peter Bunetta and Rick Chudacoff—known as “Pete and Cheese”; and Guy Roche and Michael Omartian) was also chosen from the A-list.
Record producers don’t receive much recognition outside the industry, but I quickly learned to respect their multitude of talents as well as their power to take great songs to the next level. I’ve worked with some of the best producers in the business, who have amazing track records for turning out singles and albums that sell millions and millions of copies. Theirs is not an easy calling. They and their engineers are always the first ones in and the last ones out of the studio. But the rewards can be tremendous.
A recording studio is a creative hothouse, and the environment can be volatile.
In a studio, you have several explosive elements mixed into a limited, often cramped space: talented, driven, and often insecure performers; musicians; songwriters; and studio techs who have the power to summon sounds not found in nature. These high achievers have high standards and strong opinions. When you pack so many of them into a small space for long hours, the atmosphere can go from warm and fuzzy to torridly hot and prickly. Because most studios we choose (when we can’t record in our homes) are heavily booked at a high price per hour, time is of the essence, but the quality of the product is the priority. We work through the night and into the morning, and often we are reworking a song or portions of it over and over and over again until everyone feels his or her work is the best it can possibly be.
Sometimes feelings get stomped on and egos are bruised, but everyone knows it comes with gold and platinum rewards. Most of the time, all participants are collaborative and respectful because everyone wants to work with the best. When I step into the studio, I am psyched to a level I rarely feel anywhere else except onstage. This is one of the places where I can expose myself emotionally, psychologically, and personally. I approach a vocal performance by stripping away all of the walls that guard my heart and emotions—and I feel more vulnerable in the vocal booth than anywhere else because I’m singing to deliver the soul of the song, whether it’s my creation or that of another songwriter. I put all macho pride aside and let go to the flow of the lyrics and the music.
The feeling of being totally engaged with all of the elements of a song can produce a high like nothing else I’ve ever known. Still, there are always those moments when I’m in the flow and suddenly I’ll hear a producer cutting into my bliss with a chain saw.
“Michael, buddy, that’s not working. I think you should go back to the other melody.”
I can take constructive criticism. Most of the time. Even when I’m not working with great people like this. I’m reminded of the importance of collaboration and one of Deepak Chopra’s favorite words, adaptability, which spills over into other areas of our lives.
The best record producers, the ones with whom I’ve spent the most time and had my biggest records—including Walter Afanasieff, David Foster, and Mutt Lange—are like great film directors. They work not just on the recording of the song but on creating an environment that will inspire the best performance by all participants. Singers and bands seek out record producers who make them want to step up to the microphone and capture the full power of the song as it was meant to be sung, whether it is a quiet ballad or a defiant rock song. Walter, David, and Mutt have produced Grammy-winning songs and albums by the truckload, yet each has his own unique approach and philosophy. All three are sought out by singers because they understand what Frank Sinatra meant when he said, “People don’t buy records for the clarinet player, kid.”
I only wish it hadn’t taken me so long to work with them. The monetary rewards of success were a great relief, but there is no greater benefit to success than the ability to collaborate with and get to know such creative and gifted people. They are all songwriters as well as record producers, which helps them understand that a song with a strong composition captured in a compelling recording can outlive its creator.
Mutt and David are command and control guys. They are intense and demanding, but respectful. David, with whom I’ve also done some touring and television specials, reads his singers, picking up on their moods, their health, and their readiness. He has a gift for working one on one with singers, and he always can tell whether I’m in the zone or not, and whether he’ll get the performance he wants.
“Michael, man, you’ve got to stay away from that G note because it’s not happening.” Or another of his classic lines: “Michael, I’ve been where you are trying to go.”
Like the director Clint Eastwood, who is known for allowing his actors great freedom, David—who has at least sixteen Grammys and has produced huge records for stars such as Mariah Carey, Whitney Houston, Celine Dion, Andrea Bocelli, Barbra Streisand, Michael Bublé, Madonna, and Josh Groban—also respects my decision when I tell him the magic just isn’t there some days due to dry air or a cold, even though he may want to kick my ass for shutting down the vocal cords and going home. David knows how to create an environment of mutual respect and collaboration, but he is strong in his convictions about what a song needs and doesn’t need. I’ve seen the same attributes in one of his protégés, David Reitzas, who is one of my favorite engineers, mixers, and friends.
David Foster enjoys a good joke and friendly teasing, which is a good thing. He and Mutt Lange have this friendly rivalry driven by enormous mutual respect, calling each other “Foz-Man” and “Mutt-Man.” They each can claim impressive bragging rights. Mutt co-wrote and produced the huge Grammy-winning Bryan Adams song “(Everything I Do) I Do It for You” from Robin Hood and David produced Whitney Houston’s blockbuster Grammy-winning hit “I Will Always Love You” from The Bodyguard. These were two of the biggest records in the history of the music business and they generated a fortune in sales, impacting the careers of everyone involved in many wonderful ways.
Mutt, who grew up in South Africa, is a mystic among producers—a serene, sage-like Obi-Wan Kenobi. You must take your shoes off upon entering his home south of London, and he’s always kept me on my toes. I’d be lucky to get in five hours of sleep before Mutt would come knockin’ on the bedroom door. “Michael! Time marches on!”
He’d let me get showered and dressed, and he’d even have hot coffee and scones waiting at the breakfast table. But while I was having my wake-up meal, Mutt would strap on his guitar and play a bridge he’d been working on—in his sleep, I presume. Many performers say Mutt works them hard, but they are glad for the opportunity because he produces one great
record after another. His artists have included Foreigner, the Cars, Bryan Adams, Maroon 5, AC/DC, Def Leppard, Nickelback, and most recently Lady Gaga and Carrie Underwood. He is strong, too, but in his own way. Instead of saying, “No, Michael, I don’t want you to go in that direction with the song,” he will say, “I see where you are trying to go and I’m thinking we should try this.” And then Mutt will sing it and suggest we try a few takes both ways.
I will sing the song twenty or even fifty times for him, even if what he wants doesn’t make sense to me at the time, because of what Mutt can do with a recording. I don’t say that about many producers because I’m very demanding myself. I know my range and the power and intensity a song needs. But I trust that Mutt has a plan, and he has an incredible ability to transform a song. He will say, “Okay, go away for a while and let me do my thing, Michael.” And when I come back and listen to what he has done, I’ve often said, “I don’t remember singing it that well.” Mutt will reply, “I knew you had it in you.”
Mutt and I co-wrote one of my favorite songs, “Said I Loved You… But I Lied,” which has both romantic and spiritual elements that give it an exotic quality and spirit. The song does have special meaning for me. When I perform it, I have to quiet myself and sing it from a certain place to do it justice.
I’ve also written many songs, including “Soul of My Soul”—which is a father singing to his children—with the brilliant composer and producer Walter Afanasieff. He is the genius who helped me bring in a fifty-piece orchestra for my recording of “Go the Distance” for the Disney movie Hercules, which is one of my favorite records. The renowned record “mix maestro” Mick Guzauski, one of the greatest mixers in the world, agrees. He said, “It might be the best song I’ve ever mixed.” The recording was nominated for both an Academy Award and a Golden Globe award and it hit No. 1 on Billboard’s Adult Contemporary chart.
While David Foster likes to use a live band or orchestra in the studio so he can have all the basic tracks done in two or three days, Walter will build the tracks in the studio for a month. Mutt combines their methods. He loves the organic sound of guitars in the studio, but he can spend a tremendous amount of time on just one song or one part of a song until he thinks it’s just right. Of course Mutt’s idea of “just right” can elude even the most finely trained ears. He is a visionary. When Mutt is finally happy it’s very likely you will be as well. It’s rare to find someone who cares as much about getting it right as Mutt does.
I know I’ve probably frustrated Mutt, Walter, and David from time to time because I always want to have everything perfect (and so do they), but I never take for granted the fact that I get to work with producers of their caliber. I’m always excited to go into the studio and see what they can help me do. Collaboration is all about working with someone whose talents elevate your own work. With them, I know that is guaranteed. They mine for gold. They know my range and what keys to cut tracks in and what the power will be at the top notes and in the meat of the song. David likes to start me low and take me higher. Mutt is all about the nuances more than the power. He enjoys finding things others aren’t aware of in a song. Walter? He just wants it all! Walter suggested that I keep my vocals restrained on the recording of “When a Man Loves a Woman,” but I still sang it in a key that could cause groin damage—a key that David insisted I revisit years later during a duet with Seal. For this 2011 PBS special, David created a brilliant arrangement in which I performed “When a Man Loves a Woman” and Seal sang “It’s a Man’s World” and we merged our songs in the end. David said if I sang in that key the performance would sound more “urgent.” He was right. We brought the house down. Later in the show I sang David’s absolute masterpiece, “The Prayer,” in a far more comfortable key, though I was singing in Italian.
In 2012, I had the pleasure of working on my newest album with another uniquely talented producer, Paul Mirkovich. I first worked with him during the 2011 Emmy Awards show. Paul produced my live segment of the Jack Sparrow medley with the Lonely Island trio. I was impressed with Paul’s skill during rehearsals and then, during a break, he sat down at the piano and played a beautiful gospel song. I sang with him a little, and his singing and piano playing were just incredible. After that session, I sent my manager, Christina Kline, a text saying, “I want to work with Paul on a record someday down the road.”
Paul and I share many experiences in the music business, including having worked with Cher. He was her bandleader and keyboardist for more than fifteen years. He also sang duets with her and married one of her dancers. More recently, Paul has served as musical director for The Voice on NBC. The demands of that show are insane. His job is to cut forty-five tracks in four days for each show, so the pressure is intense. We worked on the new album in L.A., and I was struck by Paul’s complete grasp of every single note on each track, and his ability to stay true to the Motown sound originally created in the Hitsville USA studio.
THE GOLD MARK AND BEYOND
Soul Provider was a unique album on many levels. I’d been working with the best in the business and felt confident enough to take a greater role, as a co-producer. Of course, I had some help from Walter and other veteran producers, including Susan Hamilton, whose talents as a brilliant record producer match her long-term mastery in the jingle business.
I co-wrote the title song, “Soul Provider,” with Andy Goldmark, whom I’d met through Deirdre O’Hara of CBS Songs. Andy had written songs for many singers, including Carly Simon, the Pointer Sisters, Whitney Houston, and Bette Midler. He suggested the name for the title song, which became the title of the album, too. I admit to hesitating at first, because I didn’t want my female fans thinking I was singing about being a “sole provider” by taking them out of the workforce if they wanted careers.
Andy had a different concept in mind. He thought the lyrics would be more about providing a woman with love and emotional support any hour of the day over a lifetime. I was all for that interpretation. I respect Andy as a smart, soulful, and accomplished writer. We also co-wrote “By the Time This Night Is Over” for Kenny G and Peabo Bryson, which appeared on Kenny’s album Breathless, which sold over ten million copies.
Donnie Ienner loved the song “Soul Provider” and made it the first single released. He felt the title helped establish my image and brand as a soulful singer whose music would have a wide appeal. He correctly predicted that it would receive extended airplay across many radio formats.
We had strong momentum, thanks to the success of The Hunger, so we knew Soul Provider had great potential. Still, no one was prepared for the incredible success of this album.
One of the biggest surprises was the second single. Nine years after Laura Branigan’s beautiful version of “How Am I Supposed to Live Without You” hit No. 1 on the Billboard charts, my own version soared to the top. The song I’d written with Doug James became my first No. 1 on both the Billboard Adult Contemporary chart, in December 1989, and the Billboard Hot 100 chart, in January 1990.
We followed that with the release of “How Can We Be Lovers?” which I’d written with the dynamic duo of Diane Warren and Desmond Child in my New York City apartment. Desmond is brilliant and one of the best and most successful songwriters in the business. He has written huge songs for artists such as Bon Jovi, Aerosmith, Ricky Martin, KISS, Kelly Clarkson, Alice Cooper, and Cher. Desmond’s songs feature the power of truth and simplicity, not to mention melodies that stick. Like Diane and me, Desmond will stand up for his lyrics and chords, so the three of us have been known to argue and debate for hours until we all agree that we have the strongest possible song. “How Can We Be Lovers [If We Can’t Be Friends]?”—a simple question that goes to the soul of it all in a relationship—quickly climbed to No. 3 on Billboard’s Hot 100 in April 1990.
The fourth single released from Soul Provider was another song by Diane Warren. I was in the studio working on some new ideas when she first called me with it. I could tell immediately from the tone of her voice that s
omething emotional was going on.
“I was thinking about my dad and this song came pouring out. It wrote itself,” she said. “I want you to listen to it.”
I was aware that her dad had died a short time earlier, and I knew where she must have gone to find this song. Her father, like mine, had been her champion, always encouraging her to develop her gifts. I’ve spent thousands of hours with Diane. She is a quirky, eccentric genius, and she has an emotional depth that serves as the well of her creativity. I knew this song was going to be something special.
I found a quiet spot in the studio, leaned against a wall, and said, “Okay, play it for me.”
On her keyboard she played “When I’m Back on My Feet Again,” and it spoke to me, as it would to millions of others.
“That’s beautiful, Diane,” I said. “Don’t give it to anyone else. I’ll be in L.A. in a week. I’ll do a demo of it and, if you love my version, let me have the song. If you don’t love it, go ahead and give it to whoever you want.”
She met me in an L.A. studio. She played keyboards when I recorded the demo of the song written for her father. I did a first take and barely made it through. I couldn’t look at her and sing it. I refocused for the second take and nailed the demo. Everyone in the studio was in tears, especially the songwriter and the singer.
Diane expected that we would replace her keyboards, but we left her performance on the track because we wanted her spirit on the record. We knew it was a powerful song. “When I’m Back on My Feet Again” was released as a single from Soul Provider and became the second song from that album to hit No. 1 on the Adult Contemporary chart.
The success and impact of the song proved that Diane could deliver deep, emotional material beyond the love songs that she was most known for. Fortunately for me, the song resonated on first listen, reminding me of my father, and further confirming that as much as I love writing, the singer within me recognizes the greater level of importance in embracing the right song. Many people have told me that Diane’s song to her champion has inspired them and helped them get through difficult times. Henry Winkler once told me that he played that song over and over again in his car when he went through a challenging time years ago. I’ve also heard the song is used for inspiration by many healing organizations, such as Alcoholics Anonymous and veterans’ groups. Diane’s song has proved to be a wonderful legacy to her father, the man who fostered her dreams.
The Soul of It All Page 19
