Madonna

by J. Randy Taraborrelli

  Of George Harrison, she observed, “He’s a sweet, hapless kind of character without a mean bone in his body.”

  Sean was blunt about the experience, telling Playboy’s David Rensin, “[During filming] I just said, ‘I don’t give a fuck.’ I just stayed drunk the whole fucking time. I was so pissed off and preoccupied with other things that it’s the one time I took a movie entirely for the paycheck.”

  Friends noted that the failure of the movie marked the beginning of Madonna’s ambivalence about her marriage to Penn. “The fights were incessant,” says Todd Barash, a friend of Penn’s at the time. “She stuck around, I think, because she thought there might be an ‘up’ side with the movie. But when the movie tanked, she began wondering what she was doing married to a temperamental guy who hated publicity.”

  What Sean didn’t know at the time — but found out many years later — is that Madonna would often have her press agents call the media ahead of time to alert them of dinner or movie plans the couple had made. Then, when they arrived at their destination to find themselves surrounded by photographers, Madonna would act chagrined.

  “My understanding of the direction that Madonna was choosing was a misunderstanding,” Sean told David Rensin, choosing his words carefully. “And to the degree to which she would be choosing, and chosen for, such an intense spotlight was not something that I had seen in the cards. So that was a surprise. It was a big surprise. I started to get the idea very shortly after we were together, but by then there’s that heart thing that gets involved, you don’t walk away so easily just because something is a little difficult. And you don’t know how long certain things are going to last. That might have passed. It could have just neutralized itself.”

  “When it all would blow up into a physical altercation between Sean and the media, she would become infuriated with him,” said Todd Barash. “I was at their home the day after Sean had spat on a reporter, and he was still fuming about the incident. He was going on and on and, at one point, he said, ‘What I don’t understand is how the hell these guys know our every fucking move. Everywhere we go, there’s a sea of fucking cameras!’”

  Madonna was preoccupied with something else, on her knees organizing books on a bottom shelf (“They must be in alphabetical order,” she had said, “or how will we find anything?”) when, under her breath, she observed, “Well, look at who we are.” The tone of her voice was distant and bored, as if she had said these words to Sean many times in the past. “We’re stars, Sean. People take our picture. So, what’s the big deal?”

  According to Barash, Sean turned on Madonna. Standing above her, his face instantly crimson, he shouted, “And you love it, don’t you, Daisy? [His nickname for her was “Daisy Cobb,” which he had tattooed on one of his toes.] You can’t get enough of it. You don’t care how much it interferes with our lives, do you?”

  Never one to back away from a good fight, Madonna stood up and faced him. Immediately, she seemed to be trembling with rage; it never took long for her to meet Sean at his level. “Look, I worked hard to get to a place where people care about me, and damn it, I’m going to enjoy every moment of it. So what? Get used to it, or get the fuck out!”

  “One of these days, you’re gonna have to choose,” Sean countered, glaring at her. “It’s gonna be me. Or them.”

  Her eyes blazing, Madonna reached out and grabbed Sean’s arm. She dug her nails into his skin. He twisted away from her and yelped. “Jesus Christ, Madonna!” Then, he raised his hand. For a moment, it seemed as if he might strike her. Rather than recoil, though, Madonna took a step towards him as if daring him to smack her.

  Perhaps because a witness was present, Sean took a breath and just shook his head. “You bitch,” he said, massaging his arm. “I’m bleeding here. Look at this.”

  Ignoring his small wound, Madonna narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth to say something, but then checked herself. She returned his angry look with a steady, unblinking gaze. Suddenly, the mood changed. Madonna sidled closer to Sean and ran her finger down the side of his cheek. She nuzzled his neck. “I’m sorry, Sean,” she said. “I choose you. Not them. You. I will always choose you.” She dropped her voice to a confidential whisper, her manner unexpectedly conciliatory, and said something in his ear. His face lit up with a grin. They embraced.

  True Blue

  It’s been said that the third album is actually the most important one in an artist’s career. Generally, recording companies aren’t run by sentimental people. If a label asks an artist to record a third album, it is usually only because the first two were a success, not out of a sense of duty or loyalty. The debut album that finds an audience creates the need for a second album, which then serves to feed a suddenly acquired appetite. The role of a third album, however, is tricky and not so easily defined. The third time around, the artist can simply give his or her audience more of what was found on the last two albums and risk boring them, or explore new musical terrain and risk alienating them. Or, the artist can do what Madonna did with 1986’s True Blue: build on the musical theme she’d already established in such an honest and creative fashion that the results actually reflect legitimate musical growth and maturity. She was getting a lot of attention because of her exploits with Sean Penn. However, there was more to Madonna than her headlines, and she wanted people to know as much. She was an artist and not a tabloid cartoon, though it was admittedly sometimes difficult for some of her public to reconcile the two.

  In creating the recordings that were included on True Blue, Madonna again turned to Steve Bray, who obviously knew his exgirlfriend’s musical tastes well, in part because he actually helped to develop them. Of course, she knew his musical strengths as well, which is why she turned to him when she wanted to create up-tempo songs with a classic Top 40 commercial sensibility.

  Madonna’s other collaborator on the album was keyboardist/songwriter Patrick Leonard. Leonard had collaborated with her on “Live to Tell.” Pleased with the outcome of that track, she decided that Leonard would be a great new musical voice with which to work. For the most part, Madonna worked with Bray and Leonard separately, with the three minds meeting on only one track.

  One could sense that True Blue was a vehicle of growth for Madonna simply by looking at the cover artwork. The washed-out color photograph of Madonna with her head tossed back and eyes closed in seductive meditation is understated, especially when compared to the sexier poses with which she had been associated in the past. The album’s inner sleeve didn’t feature any photographs at all, devoted instead only to song lyrics and production credits, an indication that Madonna may have wanted to be best represented by just her work.

  “Papa Don’t Preach,” the album’s opening track, began with an odd, classical-sounding synthesized string arrangement that gave way to an urgent, driving beat. The song was written by Brian Elliot with additional lyrics by Madonna. How incredible it must have been for an unknown songwriter like Elliot to one day answer the telephone and hear that Madonna wanted to record one of his songs. Even though she contributed some lyrics to the tune, according to the credits she didn’t even take a percentage of the song’s lucrative publishing points.

  “Papa” tells the story of a young girl who suddenly finds herself pregnant and insists to her stern father that she is “keeping my baby” and marrying her teenage lover. (The staid string arrangement at the beginning of the song might have been specifically designed to symbolize the parental authority of this girl’s strict, doting father.) “Papa Don’t Preach,” as produced by Madonna and Bray, succeeded in telling a dramatic tale in the time-honored tradition of Top 40 tragic songs from the 1960s — such as Diana Ross and the Supremes’ “Love Child” and “I’m Living in Shame,” or either of pop/country artist Bobbi Gentry’s hard-luck songs “Ode to Billie Joe” or “Fancy” (later recorded by country artist Reba McEntire). These kinds of records were usually about working-class people faced with simple but dramatic circumstances, songs that have the listener sitting
on the edge of his seat while following the story and hoping for a happy ending. Madonna was rewarded for her skill at delivering such an intriguing tale — “Papa Don’t Preach,” the first single from True Blue went to Number 1 in the pop charts. (“Live to Tell,” also featured on the album, had gone to Number 1 before “Papa,” but was from the movie soundtrack.)

  Before “Papa Don’t Preach” was even issued, Madonna alerted the media that the song was bound to be an eyebrow-raiser by announcing that it was “a message song that everyone is going to take the wrong way.” The storm of publicity that Madonna had predicted occured, of course, but in a way that may have surprised her. Conservative groups who had previously spoken out against Madonna’s image, now applauded her for what they thought of as an antiabortion song. Meanwhile, her liberal supporters blasted her. Other groups, like NOW, attacked the song for (as they saw it) condoning teenage pregnancy. Magazines put her on the cover with headlines asking “Should Papa Preach?” and “Does Madonna’s Hit Encourage Teenage Pregnancy?”

  After two rather solemn singles, Madonna and Warner Bros. Records brightened matters for the fans by releasing the album’s title song, “True Blue,” one of two light-hearted, fun tracks for the project written and produced by Madonna and Bray which had a retro s feel to it (“Jimmy Jimmy” was the other). “True Blue” soared to Number 3 on the pop charts, clearing the way for another Number 1 for Madonna, Leonard’s big, anthemic production of a song she penned (with writers Gardner Cole and Peter Rafelson), “Open Your Heart.”

  Madonna may not be remembered in the annals of pop music history for having the greatest singing voice ever to grace a recording. That voice, however, will most certainly be noted for its emotional quality. In her own way, Madonna sold “Open Your Heart” as convincingly as Aretha Franklin sold “Respect”; as heartfelt as Barbra Streisand rendered “A House Is Not a Home.” The record couldn’t help but go to Number 1; it was a tune people could understand and latch on to, which is what makes a pop song memorable — when audiences adopt it and apply it to whatever they’re going through every day.

  Nevertheless, the pride of True Blue would turn out to be another collaboration with Leonard (and Bruce Gaitsch), the exotic “La Isla Bonita.” An enchanting, up-tempo Spanish-themed song with an equally enchanting melody, “Bonita” was unlike any song Madonna had written or recorded before, its tropical attitude able to bring warmth even to the synthesized production. This romantic number went to Number 4 on the pop charts. (The music track for this song, composed by Leonard, was originally intended for Michael Jackson, but he rejected it.)

  For her “True Blue” video, Madonna displayed a new look — leaner and blonder than ever before. Always searching for ways to improve herself, she had hired a personal trainer to assist her in a relentless exercise program. With trainer and bodyguards in tow, she would run ten miles a day, no matter what the weather conditions, in the hills when in Los Angeles and through Central Park when in New York. After the run, she would continue her exercise regimen by working out for another hour. She also took her diet seriously, sticking to a strict vegetarian menu with pasta and nuts, no junk food. Because of her grueling schedule, her trainer tried to include foods in her diet that allowed a protein and carbohydrate base.

  In the end, True Blue, which went to Number 1 on Billboard’s album chart and would go on to become Madonna’s most internationally successful album (selling seven million copies in the USA alone, and another thirteen million worldwide), wasn’t a great album. A less intriguing artist might not have survived it. Even the organic percussion work of the legendary Paulinho da Costa could not help the record’s musical identity rise above the cold, synthetic sound so typical of the “drum machine records” of the era. Nevertheless, several of its songs showed considerable artistic growth and fortitude on Madonna’s part, keeping the Madonna phenomenon musically humming along.

  Trouble in “Paradise”

  By mid-1986, twenty-eight-year-old Madonna’s musical career was nothing if not monumentally successful; she couldn’t have been happier with the results of her True Blue endeavor — artistically and commercially. Her personal life, however, was not as stellar; her marriage had fallen further into disrepair. The couple seemed to argue over everything, including her refusal to be tested for the HIV virus. At this time, there was much less known about HIV, and also a great deal of discussion about the pros and cons of being tested for it. Today, Madonna — an AIDS activist — would most certainly suggest that a sexually active person be tested for the HIV virus, and often. However, in, she seemed just as confused about the dangers of deadly HIV as most of the population.

  “But why should I get tested?” she asked Sean in front of two people from her management company. She was preparing to take “test shots” of the wardrobe that would be seen in a new video. Frustrated, she ran her hands through her new platinum pixie cut. “What if I’m positive?” she asked. “What then? I’m dead, right?”

  “Well, if you’re positive then at least I’ll know, won’t I?” Sean said, clearly annoyed at her.

  “So, what are you saying?” Madonna pushed on. The two witnesses present became more uncomfortable with the exchange. “Are you saying that you won’t make love to me if I’m [HIV] positive.”

  “Hell yeah, that’s what I’m saying.”

  Madonna vanished. A few minutes later, she reappeared wearing a black corset tied tightly in the back with gilded breast cups, mesh stockings and high heels. She looked stunning. She could always manage to make the trashiest of outfits look classic. A designer’s assistant walked out clutching what appeared to be a Norma Kamali fake leopard-skin coat. “Is this what you wanted?” he asked her, his tone tentative. Madonna ignored him.

  “Well, then, all the more reason for me not to get tested,” Madonna said, picking up the argument as if she had never left the room.

  Sean Penn took a beat to stare at his wife in her unusual wardrobe, perhaps admiring her elegance, her elusiveness, her impeccable style. She studied him, as well. Then, without releasing her gaze on him, Madonna snapped her fingers twice. A subordinate ran to her and placed a freshly lit cigarette between her lips. She puffed away. Sean smiled. “That’s my wife,” he said, dismissing the futile discussion in a tolerant fashion.

  “Oh, screw you, Sean,” Madonna said from the corner of her mouth.

  “Yeah, well,” he muttered, “not until you get tested.”

  In the summer of 1986, the epidemic hit home when artist Martin Burgoyne, a good friend and former roommate of Madonna’s from her New York days, was diagnosed with AIDS. Madonna was devastated. Earlier, as a surprise, Sean had flown Martin and Erica Bell out to Malibu from New York for a party to celebrate the release of “Papa Don’t Preach.” Madonna immediately noticed that Burgoyne was not well. A few weeks later, he called her with the tragic news.

  “She was beside herself,” says Melinda Cooper. “From that point on, whenever Martin’s name was mentioned, she would just begin to cry. She leased an apartment for him on West Twelfth Street, so that he could be closer to St. Vincent’s Hospital, where he was being treated. She also arranged to take care of all of his medical bills, which would come to more than $100,000.”

  As a last-ditch attempt to save Burgoyne, Madonna asked Sean to fly to Mexico to purchase an experimental drug there, one that was not available in the United States. She hoped the drug would “cure” her friend. Of course, it didn’t. Martin, only twenty-three, died in November 1986, just before Thanksgiving. At his bedside, Madonna held his hand until he passed away. She paid $4,000 for his memorial service.

  Sean did what he could to console Madonna after Martin’s death, demonstrating a tender, sympathetic side. However, his all too frequent jealous outbursts had become a significant problem.

  One of the first signs that Sean’s sometimes violent temper could be directed not only toward photographers but also toward his own wife had occurred before their wedding when he learned that she had once dat
ed Prince. An argument about the rock star resulted in Sean punching a hole through the wall. Madonna has since said that she was stunned and frightened by the incident. “That’s when I first saw the appearance of the demon,” she said. “I should have known then that there would be trouble.”

  However, Freddy DeMann’s assistant, Melinda Cooper, remembers a different story. “I went over to their apartment one day to pick her up for a recording session, and there was this huge hole in the wall,” she says. “So I asked Madonna what happened.”

  Madonna told the story as if she was recounting the plot of an exciting soap opera on television. “Oh my God, Melinda,” she said. “Sean found out about me and Prince, and we had this amazing fight. I told him to fuck off, that I can do whatever I want. He was so mad, he left the house, and then I slammed the door behind him. Then, he came back in,” she continued, breathlessly, “and, I swear to Christ, Melinda, he was so mad at me, he punched this hole in the wall. Look at that? Is that cool, or what?”

  “That’s cool?” Melinda asked, examining the hole. “Madonna, that is not cool. That’s scary.”

  “What are you talking about?” Madonna enthused. “I mean, how much must he love me, to punch a hole in the wall like that.” (A couple of days later, Madonna telephoned Prince and told him to come to her home and fix the hole, “because you’re responsible for it, after all.” As instructed, Prince showed up with plaster, and repaired the hole.)

  Now that they were married, Madonna didn’t think Sean’s violent streak was so “cool.” When he became angry, he would grab one of his guns and fire off a string of shots at rabbits or birds. He walked around the house with a loaded .22 tucked into the back of his pants, which seemed to Madonna’s concerned friends, if not to the lady herself, a form of emotional abuse.

  One close friend of Sean’s recalls what happened at a dinner party at the Penns’ home. “We were at the pool. Sean had a little too much to drink. Madonna did, too. There was a guy there who had been eyeing her all night. Madonna went over and started flirting with him.”