For our album, Adieu False Heart, much of which we recorded at the Savoy’s farm in Louisiana, Ann presented a great collection of song suggestions. We picked the ones that made us feel like we would die if we didn’t get to sing them. We listened to Fiddlin’ Arthur Smith’s uptempo version of “Adieu False Heart,” slowed it down, and changed it to a minor key and a modal scale. We resolved to record only traditional songs, and then sang “Walk Away Renee,” the pop hit we remembered from the sixties. Ann found “Marie Mouri,” a Cajun song based on a poem written by a slave in the eighteenth century, and “Parlezmoi d’amour,” a song of heartbreaking sentiment that had been popular in Paris between the two world wars. We hung out in our pajamas and rehearsed the harmonies, shared stories about our lives and children, and drank pots of black tea and Marc’s incredibly strong coffee. When we finished rehearsing or recording for the day, we would sit outside in front of a fire that Marc fed with logs the size of boulders, and stare through the trees at the moon or the lowering Louisiana sky.
Someone once asked me why people sing. I answered that they sing for many of the same reasons the birds sing. They sing for a mate, to claim their territory, or simply to give voice to the delight of being alive in the midst of a beautiful day. Perhaps more than the birds do, humans hold a grudge. They sing to complain of how grievously they have been wronged, and how to avoid it in the future. They sing to help themselves execute a job of work. They sing so the subsequent generations won’t forget what the current generation endured, or dreamed, or delighted in.
The essential elements of singing are voice, musicianship, and story. It is the rare artist who has all three in abundance.
Because of the wonder of YouTube, I was able to reconnect to the singing of Pastora Pavón, the voice I heard rising from the 78 rpm recordings owned by my father when I was three. Known as La Niña de los Peines, or the girl with the combs, she is viewed, in the long lens of history, to be among the greatest flamenco singers Spain has ever produced. It was a thrill to hear that voice again after some sixty years, and interesting to examine the elements of a great voice that was able to affect me so strongly as a small child and as an experienced singer later in life. What is it that makes her singing inimitable, searing, and able to leap cultural and language barriers while she addresses the most essential yearnings and expectations of humankind? What is it that she shares with her other European singing sisters, Yanka Rupkina of Bulgaria, Amália Rodrigues of Portugal, Edith Piaf of France, singers who can make me feel like they have grabbed me by the throat and told me, urgently, that I must listen to something they have to tell me, even when it’s in a language I don’t understand? I don’t know the answer.
I sang my last concert on November 7, 2009, at the Brady Memorial Auditorium in San Antonio. I was performing with my beloved Mariachi Los Camperos, and a wonderful folkloric dance troupe, Ballet Folklorico Paso del Norte. My old roommate Adam Mitchell, an enthusiastic fan of the Camperos, was in the audience. After the show, we went back to my hotel to laugh and reminisce about our Malibu days and how carefree they seemed compared to our mature lives, with children and responsibilities that we could only vaguely imagine in our precipitous youth. Adam felt that of all the bands I had toured with, some were as good as, but none surpassed, the Camperos. He also felt, in the times that he had heard me perform with a still-healthy voice, he had never seen me as happy or relaxed in any performances as I was while singing the Mexican shows. I agreed.
Epilogue
I LIVE THESE DAYS with my two children, and am watching them navigate the wonderful and strange passage from teenager to young adult. They both play instruments, have a lively and active interest in music, and use it to process their feelings in a private setting. This is the fundamental value of music, and I feel sorry for a culture that depends too much on delegating its musical expression to professionals. It is fine to have heroes, but we should do our own singing first, even if it is never heard beyond the shower curtain.
My father died at home in 1995, with all four of his children at his bedside. In the forty-eight hours before he died, he recited a twenty-verse limerick from memory, sang us a beautiful Mexican song, “Collar de Perlas,” and read us funny passages from the book he was reading, Gabriel García Márquez’s Love in the Time of Cholera. At some point he put down the book and devoted his entire attention to the strange work of dying. He faced it with great courage. It changed the way I feel about death. While I don’t exactly embrace it, I no longer fear it in the same way.
In Tucson, my sister, brothers, and cousins assemble on the third Sunday of every month to eat great food and sing the old family songs. My cousins John and Bill Ronstadt play regularly in musical establishments in Tucson. My brother Michael tours the United States, Mexico, Canada, and the British Isles with his group Ronstadt Generations, performing original material and traditional songs of the Southwest. In addition to my brother, the group includes his two sons, Mikey, who sings and plays the cello, and Petie, who sings and plays bass and guitar. My beautiful cousin Britt Ronstadt sings in several rock bands in Tucson, and there is always a line around the block to hear her when she is performing. At nineteen, my niece Mindy Ronstadt, another local Tucson performer, recorded a duet with me in Spanish, “Y Ándale,” that was a hit in Mexico. My sister’s son, Quico, writes songs and performs. My cousin Bobby George and his wife, Susie, sing in a vocal group with my old Stone Poneys bandmate Bobby Kimmel, who moved back to Tucson. My two brothers and my sister, plus cousins Bill and John, have sung backup on several of my recordings, and I could always rely on their genes to supply the family vocal blend.
People ask me why my career consisted of such rampant eclecticism, and why I didn’t simply stick to one type of music. The answer is that when I admire something tremendously, it is difficult not to try to emulate it. Some of the attempts were successful, others not. The only rule I imposed on myself, consciously or unconsciously, was to not try singing something that I hadn’t heard in the family living room before the age of ten. If I hadn’t heard it by then, I couldn’t attempt it with even a shred of authenticity.
At the time, struggling with so many different kinds of music seemed like a complicated fantasy, but from the vantage point of my sixty-seven years, I see it was only a simple dream.
MY GRANDFATHER Fred Ronstadt as a young man.
THE CLUB FILARMÓNICO TUCSONENSE in the 1890s. My grandfather was the conductor. He can be seen fourth from the right in the first row that is seated in chairs. He is holding his flute.
MY AUNT LUISA Espinel Ronstadt in the early 1920s.
Lansing Brown
MY PARENTS’ engagement portrait.
Lansing Brown
SITTING IN FRONT of my best friend, the radio.
WATCHING THE RODEO at Pete Martinez’s arena down the road from our house in Tucson. (My sister Suzy was Rodeo Queen that year.)
DRESSED UP to attend a concert at age three with Suzy and Peter.
WITH MURPHY, best friend Dana O’Sullivan, and her pony, Little Paint.
AT AGE SIX riding my pony, Murphy.
DRESSED AS A NAVAJO, riding my Appaloosa mare in the Tucson Rodeo Parade,1956.
IN OUR BACKYARD, age eleven.
Dana O’Sullivan
MY MATERNAL GRANDFATHER Lloyd G. Copeman, with a baby raccoon that he rescued and raised.
EIGHTH GRADE wearing my Catholic school uniform.
AGE SIXTEEN wearing the dress my friend Liisa Wilska and my mother made for me.
SUZY, PETER, AND ME recording at Copper State Recording Studios as the New Union Ramblers in Tucson, 1964.
DISCUSSING “DIFFERENT DRUM“ with arranger Jimmy Bond.
Henry Diltz
WITH BOBBY KIMMEL in front of our house on Hart Street, 1966.
Henry Diltz
WITH NIK VENET listening to playback of “Different Drum.” I wasn’t sure about the arrangement. Nic was, and he won.
Henry Diltz
RIDING MY ARABI
AN gelding, Blue, in the suburbanized “countryside” of Malibu.
Marilyn Meadows
BACKSTAGE at the Bitter End in New York with fiddle player Gib Guilbeau, 1970.
PLAYING AT THE PALOMINO CLUB in Los Angeles, 1972. (left to right) Ed Black, Mike Bowden hidden behind me playing the bass, me, Mickey McGee (drums), Richard Bowden, Gib Guilbeau, and Herb Pedersen. In addition to Ricky Skaggs, Herb taught me a lot about bluegrass harmonies.
IN MY BETSEY JOHNSON singing dress that I wore for years. I always carried it wadded up in my purse in case the airlines lost our luggage.
Henry Diltz
SINGING “PRISONER IN DISGUISE“ with John David Souther at the Universal Amphitheater in L.A.
Henry Diltz
THESE DAYS PERFORMING ARTISTS seem to have teams of stylists, makeup artists, hairdressers, and image-makers to create a look to present to the public. In those early years we never had anything like that, plus we didn’t have any money. We wore mostly jeans or cut-offs with some kind of top. My mother was no longer sewing for me and I was absolutely clueless about what to wear. Nicolette Larson and I shopped at a place in downtown L.A. that had old lace and antique clothes. That was before they were called “vintage.” After I had a few hits, I decided to have some clothes made, but I always lost weight during tours so by the time we worked our way to the East Coast they were falling off and looked terrible. I ran into Nicolette in New York and we decided to go look for something we could wear onstage. We went to a surplus store in Greenwich Village recommended by one of the guys in the band. They had a lot of little boy’s clothes that were the perfect size for the little bodies Nicky and I had then. We each bought Cub Scout uniforms and some great old rayon Hawaiian shirts. I also bought some soccer shorts and some boxing shorts. That became my wardrobe for the tour. We played mostly outdoor pavilions that summer, and it would be hot and sweaty under the lights. By late August, the northern venues like Michigan and Minnesota were really cold after sundown. The Cub Scout suit was ideal because I could layer it with long underwear and add the hat and neckerchief for warmth. Perfect outdoor attire.
Henry Diltz
DOLLY PARTON AND ME SITTING IN WITH EMMYLOU HARRIS at the Universal Amphitheater.
JENNY SHORE, ME, AND NICOLETTE LARSON hanging out in Danny Ferrington’ room at my house on Rockingham Drive. Danny’s mother made the guitar quilt for his bed.
Danny Ferrington
Ethan Russell
RUNNING WITH JERRY on the beach in Malibu between the storms that washed away part of my house, 1978.
ME, DOLLY, AND EMMYLOU swinging on the back porch at Dolly’s house in Tennessee.
FALLING HARD FOR KERMIT.
KENNY EDWARDS, ME, AND DANNY FERRINGTON holding the guitar that Danny made for Kenny.
WITH JOHN DAVID SOUTHER during the California Live tour in Japan, 1981.
WITH MY FATHER backstage at the Tucson Mariachi Conference.
Jim Shea
PLÁCIDO DOMINGO, ME, AND JOE PAPP the night in 1984 when Plácido came to the Public Theater in New York to hear our production of La Bohéme.
Martha Swope
BACKSTAGE WITH THE STEP SISTERS on the What’s New tour that I did with Nelson Riddle. (left to right) Liza, Elizabeth, me, and Rita.
J. Roy Helland
REX SMITH, ME, AND KEVIN KLINE in The Pirates of Penzance, 1980.
Martha Swope
SINGING THE ROLE OF MIMI in La Bohème at the New York Public Theater. Gary Morris sings Rodolfo.
Martha Swope
WITH NICOLETTE LARSON trying to get her new single on the radio.
WITH LONGTIME FRIEND and collaborator John Boylan in Egypt, 1983.
DURING REHEARSALS for La Bohème.
WITH ART DIRECTOR Kosh while shooting the album cover photo for Cry Like a Rainstorm, Howl Like the Wind. Kosh designed twenty albums for me, of which three won him Grammys for best album cover design.
Robert Blakeman
Robert Blakeman
GETTING READY TO SING a Mexican show while riding sidesaddle on Chulo, a horse I had just met.
Danny Ferrington
MUSCLE SHOALS John Boylan producing
Acknowledgments
A number of people provided assistance to me in the process of assembling this memoir, and I would like to express my gratitude.
John Boylan, my friend, colleague, and fellow road warrior, has been a lot of help both in general and in particular since I met him in 1971. A consummate problem solver, John provided his excellent memory of the many times we shared, acted as research assistant, helped assemble photos, and was chief encourager and computer Sherpa. His support was indispensable.
My assistant, Janet Stark, who is the nicest person I have ever known and one of the most capable, read what I wrote on a daily basis and kept the rest of my life running smoothly so I could have a quiet place to unscramble my thoughts.
John Rockwell has been both friend and mentor to me since the early seventies, and long ago suggested that I might be able to write a coherent sentence. As this is my first attempt at doing so, I hope I don’t prove him wrong.
My editor at Simon & Schuster, Jonathan Karp, gave me invaluable encouragement and feedback. He also suggested through the elegant prose of his e-mails that I could write about people instead of every horse I knew and loved. Even though I feel somewhat guilty about leaving Gilliana, Mischief, Sugar Britches, Blue, Africa, and Valentine out of my story, I know that he was right about that and many other things.
Copy editor Philip Bashe did such a meticulous job correcting my flagging memory, appalling punctuation, and garbled syntax that I am red-faced and humbled. I wish I could run this sentence by him. From this day forward I will strongly attempt to place the adverb after the verb.
My agent, Steve Wasserman, gave me clear-eyed advice and galvanizing encouragement. I am both flattered and grateful that he agreed to represent me.
John Kosh has provided the design for twenty-one of my album covers, including three that won Grammys for best design, and has done his usual immaculate work for this project. He also endured days of my obsessing about font style without blocking me from his e-mail. My admiration, appreciation, and love for him is boundless.
Sam Sargent helped edit and process photos.
Mary Clementine provided hugs and encouragement. Team members: Peter Paterno, Wally Franson, Sue Ollweiler, and Carla Sheppard.
Finally, early readers who gave much-appreciated feedback include Lawrence Downes, Rick Kott, Sydney Goldstein, Peter Asher, Katherine Orloff, Virginia Baker, Wendy Brigode, Cathy Patrick, Wyatt Wade, and Jet Thomas.
Discography
1. THE STONE PONEYS—THE STONE PONEYS—CAPITOL—JANUARY 1967
Produced by Nik Venet Sweet Summer Blue and Gold (B. Kimmel–K. Edwards) If I Were You (B. Kimmel–K. Edwards) Just a Little Bit of Rain (Fred Neil) Bicycle Song (Soon Now) (B. Kimmel–K. Edwards) Orion (Tom Campbell) Wild About My Lovin’ (Adapted by B. Kimmel–L. Ronstadt–K. Edwards) Back Home (Ken Edwards) Meredith (On My Mind) (B. Kimmel–K. Edwards) Train and the River (B. Kimmel–K. Edwards) All the Beautiful Things (B. Kimmel–K. Edwards) 2:10 Train (Tom Campbell–Linda Albertano)
2. THE STONE PONEYS—EVERGREEN, VOL. 2—CAPITOL—JUNE 1967
Produced by Nik Venet December Dream (John Braheny) Song About the Rain (Steve Gillette) Autumn Afternoon (K. Edwards–B. Kimmel) I’ve Got to Know (Pamela Polland) Evergreen Part One (K. Edwards–B. Kimmel) Evergreen Part Two (K. Edwards–B. Kimmel) Different Drum (Mike Nesmith) Driftin’ (K. Edwards–B. Kimmel) One for One (Al Silverman–Austin DeLone) Back on the Street Again (Steve Gillette) Toys in Time (K. Edwards–B. Kimmel) New Hard Times (M. Smith–B. Kimmel)
3. LINDA RONSTADT—THE STONE PONEYS AND FRIENDS, VOL. III—CAPITOL—APRIL 1968
Produced by Nik Venet Fragments: Golden Song (Steve Gillette)
Merry-Go-Round (Tom Campbell)
Love Is a Child (Steve Gillette) By the Fruits of Their Labor (Robert Ki
mmel–Ken Edwards) Hobo (Tim Buckley) Star and a Stone (Robert Kimmel–Ken Edwards) Let’s Get Together (Chet Powers) Up to My Neck in High Muddy Water (Wakefield–Herald–Yellin) Aren’t You the Girl? (Tim Buckley) Wings (Tim Buckley) Some of Shelly’s Blues (Mike Nesmith) Stoney End (Laura Nyro)
4. LINDA RONSTADT—HAND SOWN … HOME GROWN—CAPITOL—MARCH 1969
Produced by Chip Douglas Baby You’ve Been on My Mind (Bob Dylan) Silver Threads and Golden Needles (J. Rhodes–D. Reynolds) Bet No One Ever Hurt This Bad (Randy Newman) A Number and a Name (S. Gillette–T. Campbell) The Only Mama That’ll Walk the Line (Ivy J. Bryant–Earl Ball) The Long Way Around (Ken Edwards) Break My Mind (John D. Loudermilk) I’ll Be Your Baby Tonight (Bob Dylan) It’s About Time (Chip Douglas) We Need a Whole Lot More of Jesus (And a Lot Less Rock & Roll) (Wayne Raney) The Dolphins (Fred Neil)
5. LINDA RONSTADT—SILK PURSE—CAPITOL—MARCH 1970
Produced by Elliot Mazer Lovesick Blues (Irving Mills–C. Friend) Are My Thoughts with You? (Mickey Newbury) Will You Love Me Tomorrow (Gerry Goffin–Carole King) Nobody’s (Gary White) Louise (Paul Siebel)
Long Long Time (Gary White)
Mental Revenge (Mel Tillis)
I’m Leavin’ It All Up to You (D. Terry Jr.–D. Harris) He Darked the Sun (Bernie Leadon–Gene Clark) Life Is Like a Mountain Railway (Trad. arr. E. Mazer–L. Ronstadt)
6. LINDA RONSTADT—LINDA RONSTADT—CAPITOL—JANUARY 1972
Produced by John Boylan Rock Me on the Water (Jackson Browne) Crazy Arms (R. Mooney–C. Seals) I Won’t Be Hangin’ Round (Eric Kaz) I Still Miss Someone (Johnny Cash–Roy Cash) In My Reply (Livingston Taylor) I Fall to Pieces (Hank Cochran–Harlan Howard) Ramblin’ ’Round (Woody Guthrie–Huddie Ledbetter–John Lomax) Birds (Neil Young) I Ain’t Always Been Faithful (Eric Andersen) Rescue Me (W. C. Smith, R. Miner)
7. LINDA RONSTADT– DON’T CRY NOW—ASYLUM—SEPTEMBER 1973
Produced by Peter Asher, John Boylan, and John David Souther I Can Almost See It (J. D. Souther) Love Has No Pride (Eric Kaz–Libby Titus) Silver Threads and Golden Needles (J. Rhodes–D. Reynolds) Desperado (Don Henley–Glenn Frey) Don’t Cry Now (J. D. Souther) Sail Away (Randy Newman)
Simple Dreams ~ A Musical Memoir Page 18