Cyndi Lauper: A Memoir

by Lauper, Cyndi

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I WANTED TO DO the dance album Bring Ya to the Brink for so long. I started writing it in 2006, but I couldn’t get it done in time for the “True Colors” tour. I mean, I could have done it really quick, but what was I going to put out—some piece of poop? (You feeling that alliteration?)

  So after the first tour, I got busy. I wrote “Set Your Heart” about the gay community, because I wanted to write something to make everybody feel better, to tell them that I was going to be there for them. A little part of it had a sampling of “Where Are All My Friends” from Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes, because it reminded me of the gays being the scapegoat. If I were gay, I’d be standing there going, “Hey, where are all my friends?” This was an answer to that: “Hey, I’m right here.” But when I played it for the record company, they didn’t want to release it as the first single because they thought it was too commercial. What do you say to that?

  “Same Ol’ Story” ended up being the first single in the clubs instead. I kept the “fuckin’” part for the dance clubs, but when I released it for anything else I had to take it out from the title so it wouldn’t be totally banned. Rappers do the same thing, and as my son told me, “Ma, it has a curse word, it will be a big hit.” My son introduces me to a lot of music when we’re in the car on the way to hockey games, so I listen to Lil Wayne, Ludacris, and 50 Cent. I realized that once I get past the assault on language, 50 Cent’s voice is like butter.

  Anyway, “Same Ol’ Fuckin’ Story” came out of a conversation I had with Carmen Cacciatore, my friend from FlyLife. He was standing next to me in the studio when I was singing to track, and we were upset about something Bush did, and he said, “Yes, same old fuckin’ story.” So I started singing that. I figured, “You know what? You gotta sing what people are saying.” He’s not the first person I heard use that phrase. The rich get richer, the poor get poorer, one for me, two for you. That’s how it will always go, no matter how hard you work. And when you’re poor, or even when you’re middle-class, all you do is work, and there’s no quality of life. I know about that, even though like I said, everybody thinks I’m loaded.

  Then Carmen said to me, “Maybe you should go to England. I could introduce you to dance artists and producers like Basement Jaxx and Digital Dog.” And my A & R guy Daniel thought I should also check out the Swedish music scene, because in pop history the Swedes stand out as having an incredible sense of melody. So in early 2007 I went to England and Sweden to collaborate with a bunch of dance people. At first it was so much fun with Digital Dog. They were kind of surprised that I was into working with them, but they were up for it. Basement Jaxx were up for it too, for one song, and then we tried to work together again and that didn’t work out too good. I think they didn’t think I was cool enough.

  Unfortunately, a lot of these guys never read the credits so they didn’t know I’m a producer and an arranger and not just a singer, and they want to do it all. But as soon as you start telling me what to do, like I’m supposed to listen immediately, I won’t listen—immediately. It’s not bad if somebody says, “Oh my God, try this because when you did that, I thought of this.” That’s collaborating. But not, “Now do this, and do this.” I don’t need somebody to walk me step by step. Though, in their defense, those guys were very eccentric. Sometimes they’d just disappear and even their manager couldn’t find them, which is kind of great when you think about it.

  I think “Rain on Me” was good, but now when I listen to the words I wonder if it was too sentimental. Some inspiration for that song came from a conversation I had with my husband about our son, about how your kid can yell at you—he can rain on you, and it doesn’t matter.

  Then the line “I saw you gather all your hopes with all your dreams” came from the fact that I have met many up-and-coming keyboard players, producers, and writers who I’ve collaborated with who, again, didn’t really understand what I do and wanted me—the singer—to take a backseat, have a lobotomy and just follow. I’m not a silent partner. I’m not going to dumb myself down.

  Axwell wrote the track for “Rain on Me”. All these guys who write music tracks consider themselves to be producers but I do not. They do have a certain skill but I don’t consider what they do to be real production. Sometimes they make these Frankenstein cut-and-pastes, and once you introduce a real singer, it becomes flat; there’s nothing left in the track for them to latch on to. You might as well not have the voice there. The problem with some of these producers who write and program and mix is that they get too tied into their gadgets and don’t think about what a real record sounds like anymore. And sometimes they are so into their own thing, their trick, it’s difficult for them to work with different people. For me, there is an art form to production, so I purposely make them sign a contract as coproducers and cowriters. But I was glad to collaborate. I was sick of my process; I wanted to see how other people did it.

  Working well with other artists to create a particular vision that I have, without stymieing them in any way, is a challenge. I’m learning more and more how to do this without ruffling feathers, but I must confess that I don’t know how to do it as well as I’d like to. I’ve plucked a few chickens in my time. I have never been a delicate flower. Hopefully I am getting better. Or, as Yoda would say, “Better I’m getting.” I’ve got to be graceful, and smart, and patient, and secure.

  It was hard at first for the Swedish producer Peer Astrom (who has been working on Glee from the beginning). He wrote “Into the Nightlife” and “Echo” with me and Johan Bobeck. Peer wanted something very specific. But me being the guy who was going to go out and sell it, made it all the more important that I could get behind it. But I always thought he was a very reasonable guy.

  Some of the trouble with collaborating also had to do with the language barrier. Although we all spoke English, I’ve always said England’s English is not what we speak across the pond, baby. And when I stop and think about my lack of command of the English language in my own country—well, it’s pretty comical. I speak the Queens English, but the borough—not the person. My experience writing with other artists and producers on that CD was still inspirational though. I always hope to keep learning and collaborating with other artists who inspire me.

  Lisa came with me to Sweden, and I was so grateful because we had an awesome time. At first we stayed in a Sheraton in Stockholm. It was new and nice and had a great gym. I would go every day, I told myself, but that only lasted for the first two days. I watched guys working out with big weights next to me as I lifted my measly eight pounds. But when I met Alex Kronlund, the first writer I met there, he said I should move to someplace more inspiring to write. So I crossed the bridge to the Old Town.

  That’s where Lisa and I went looking for an authentic restaurant to get some real Swedish food, like Swedish meatballs or something. We went down to the big tourist street and passed this place and decided it looked kind of cute and quaint. We saw a guy standing outside and asked him if the place served authentic Swedish food and he said yes. The guy’s name was Danny and he was a bartender there. He became our favorite bartender, and the place became our favorite hang. And it wasn’t just because the food was good, or because we knew how to get to it. It was because of Danny.

  We got to talking about New York and Sweden and things to see while we were there. Danny said we should go up to this square, and he told us the history behind it while Lisa and I sipped aquavit and ate elk meatballs. I was told that aquavit is a very Swedish drink, and apparently the Swedes enjoy a bit of elk, which is drier than beef and tastes nothing like squirrel (which you know I’ve eaten) but is gamier than chicken.

  So back to the square: Apparently in the Middle Ages a very arrogant Danish king crowned himself king of Sweden, too. So this self-appointed king guy pissed the Swedish people off so much that he caused a really big uprising, and the Swedish guys chopped up all the Danish guys, and there was so much blood dripping down the cobblestones that they renamed the square “Blo
od Square.” So said Danny. But when I researched it, the Danes weren’t beheaded, the Swedes were. Then the Danish king crowned himself. So Danny had it a little backward, unless it was the language barrier. Either way, blood was all over that square. Lisa loved that story because she loves murder mysteries. So we went to the square and I fell in love with those little cobblestone streets. I forgot about the blood and the rolling heads, and I had one of my “stepping into history” moments.

  So then we began to search for a boutique hotel in the Old Town—the kind of place that would keep me happily adrift in a world that was split between the then and the now—a place situated on a street where, if you looked down it and squinted long enough, you could see the Vikings and a wagon or two, being led by a horse or an ox.

  The hotel we decided to stay in was dedicated to the memory of the British Royal Navy and Admiral Horatio Nelson and his lover, a Lady Somebody. Lady Emma Hamilton. She was a lady, but not like a “Hey, lady!” She was much fancier than that. The hotel had letters in cases from her to him. It was a love-affair museum. We found out that the hotel was also dedicated to sea captains and seafaring men in the time of Admiral Nelson. Two boat mastheads greeted me when I walked in. One was male and the other female. They were old but newly painted with enamel paint and gold trim, which made them look new and shiny. I felt giddy every time I saw them and I would wink at them.

  Even though the record company had already rented the Sheraton hotel room for me, I found that staying in the historic area where this little boutique hotel really inspired me to write, so it was worth the money. The people at the boutique hotel said they had a suite for me but they actually had an apartment, which ended up being better than a hotel room. It was at the top of a winding stairwell. The furniture in the apartment was old and the antique chairs and the wooden floors echoed my steps against the white walls, which were hung with portraits of women. I wondered if they had paced the same floors, maybe waiting or dreaming of their lover’s embrace. And sometimes when I came back at night, I’d play some Marvin Gaye from my iPod on portable speakers and dance wildly around the living room as I tried to remember what I learned from some classes I took on spirit dancing. A group of women met every month on the full moon to dance in a circle, and once I was invited to join them. I howled like a wolf, and I thought it was cool that you could behave like that and still be invited back. Anyway I danced around by myself and wondered if I and the dames on the wall were in our own circle dance. (But that was after Lisa, my adventurous, hardworking, good-sport manager, went to her room.)

  The bedroom I took in the place was on the second floor and overlooked a courtyard that was a restaurant in the summer. Every dawn (which isn’t so early in Sweden due to the whole dark/light thing they got going on there) I’d wake up to the sound of two young women laughing and talking (in Swedish, of course). And that always made me remember where I was. Then I’d get up and order room service and write poetry in the dining room. I’d also try and do my yoga, but this new world had my head spinning. I just couldn’t stay focused on it, even though rhythm, music, and yoga are kind of alike sometimes.

  So even though I was away from my family, I had a great time in Sweden, immersing myself in the culture and in the dance world. And when I came back, I took a break to understand what I had just done—to look at the good, the bad, and the ugly. (Ya know, my son used to get “time-outs” for singing the theme song of that movie in kindergarten. I still can’t get over how wrong it was to punish him for that. It’s such a great choral arrangement for kids to learn and so much fun to sing together. But I digress.) During this break I realized that touring inspired me. Being able to watch other artists perform and be passionate about their work woke me up.

  So after some time off with the two D’s (Declyn and David) and Mama Grace (my mother-in-law, whom I adore), I went back to Bring Ya to the Brink, and eventually the music fell into place. It’s an exhilarating moment when, after all my worrying about if I’ll ever get the songs right or if I’m good at what I do, suddenly the material comes alive. And you know what? I’ve come to understand that I may never feel that my work is good enough. But I really can’t let my doubt stop me from writing songs. Inspiration can strike anytime, anywhere. Every once in a while, I’ll wake up, and inspiration just comes to me, and I have to write. I have to keep writing and brave out every stupid line of ridiculous poetry for one good line. Which, seemingly out of nowhere, does happen. And when it does, I send out a thank-you.

  Going to Europe to write really made me grow. I returned to my voice as a writer and artist in a way that I had never done before. The funny thing was that I had always heard that travel was a great thing for a writer—that’s the first time I ever traveled overseas just to write . . . and without a minder, too. Of course, I did have help. I had a driver (so okay, I traveled a little like a celebrity, but only a little). But for the most part, I was just myself, without a lot of the usual brouhaha. I wasn’t touring at the same time and doing press, or trying to be a mom or a wife. I wasn’t trying to do anything but write. It was so peaceful and comforting to be able to write down what I felt and saw, because that’s all I was doing. I felt awake for the first time in years.

  Then I started to wrap up the whole album and record my vocals in the studio over my garage with William Wittman, my longtime collaborator. I also researched a great mixer who I had in mind from day one, Jeremy Wheatley from England—he had mixed a Goldfrapp CD and their single “Ride a White Horse.” I absolutely loved his sonic picture for dance. And so I contacted him through the record company but in the end he had a tragedy in his family, so we wound up mixing online together. In other words, it went a little like this: We would pick a time we could be online together with the same board and speakers up, and he would send the mix over to me on iChat (which is able to send big files without compression) and I would take that file and play it. And then I’d tell him what I thought needed to be louder and lower. When I heard the first track, “High and Mighty,” I started to cry, because it was such a modern record. I always try and push people to make a modern record, and finally, there it was.

  Music is so subjective. The great thing now is that you can go into your garage and make a wonderful record. The bad thing is that nobody is weeding out bad songs anymore. It’s like not having an editor. Which is okay—Prince works by himself, but there aren’t a lot of people like Prince. I like a lot of checks and balances and having a lot of different people hear the music and contribute to it.

  Even though I was really proud of Bring Ya to the Brink when it came out in May of 2008, it didn’t do as well as I wanted. “Same Ol’ Story” was number one on Billboard’s Dance/Club Play Songs, but dance radio, I was told, would not play me because I was over thirty. Like I’ve said, people in the music business have a bias against older people because they operate on the myth that music is a disposable art form. It is not. I was watching Nicki Minaj the other night on Saturday Night Live and she ended her song in a pose, just like what I used to do in my concerts. Half her hair was pink and the other half was white, and I thought, “Give me shit all you want, but I inspired stuff like that, and they even get inspired from what I wear now.”

  Bring Ya to the Brink was nominated for a Grammy for Best Electronic/Dance Album. But I lost to Daft Punk. Understandably—their song was sampled in a Kanye West song and it was huge. But just when I was feeling bad about myself, I ran into Nicki Minaj at the Grammys red carpet. She came up to me and said, “People don’t know how obsessed I am with you.” How cool is that?

  The record company and I parted ways before I went to the Grammys. I had one release left but all my allies had left the company, so I decided I should leave, too. Look, it ultimately was a good thing because then I could do what I wanted with my albums. I could own my masters; I could be in charge. I could research how to sell it, how to promote it, and not make stupid mistakes. Anyway, I’ll do another dance album. The music I wrote for the musical Kinky Boots, the f
ilm Harvey Fierstein and I adapted for Broadway, is mostly dance.

  After I left Sony, I did a little two-week tour with Ro called “Girls’ Night Out,” where we asked fans to donate food to local food banks. Beforehand, I met with people from Mark Burnett Productions and said, “Why don’t we film the tour? Then we can do a thing about soup kitchens, too, so it would be about entertainment but also helping people.” They weren’t interested in that because getting the rights from the record company to music in a film can get complicated. Mark Burnett Productions did Survivor and when I saw the pictures of the show on the wall of their office, I said I was worried I’d get voted out of the meeting. But I really liked them.

  So I signed with Mark Burnett to do something in the future. And they introduced me to the people at Donald Trump’s reality show The Celebrity Apprentice, which I hadn’t seen. But Lisa watched it, and came back to me and said, “Why don’t you do Celebrity Apprentice?” I said, “Um, yeah—I’m a musician, why the hell do I want to do that for?” Then they told me that I could raise money for the True Colors Fund and that if anybody knows how to work in a team, I do, because everything I did was in a team. And Lisa was like, “Come on, Cyn—you could do this.” So I said okay.

  We taped it in New York. At first they said it was a nine-to-five type of thing, but it was not nine to five. It was seven A.M. to eleven or twelve at night—like, an eighteen-hour-day type of thing. I’d get up at four A.M. to get my hair and makeup ready by seven, so I got no sleep. And there was no downtime at all—in fact, when you ate, you had to eat standing up. You could never stop because if you did, you’d lose. Consequently I developed really, really bad reflux. My esophagus was burning all the time, and I couldn’t even swallow food. Then I’d have to do these long interviews about the show. I don’t know how to talk—I know how to sing. So I lost my voice, too. Plus the set was dusty and I’m allergic to dust.