by Richard Marx
“Should’ve Known Better” would eventually be released as the second single from my debut album and would match the chart success of the first single, “Don’t Mean Nothing,” peaking at number 3 on the Hot 100. Thirty years later, it’s still one of my most played songs on radio. I’ve mostly forgiven myself for its source material, though I never forget the upset it caused. We were all young, and I’d like to think it was a life lesson that turned into a big hit song.
But that song becoming a hit was still a little ways off. At the time Humberto and I recorded it, “Should’ve Known Better” was merely the song that led off my then-new four-song demo tape. Suddenly, while not getting an actual deal until 1986, I was getting more positive responses to the songs by some record execs than ever before. And though still as busy as ever with background singing, I’d found myself in an exciting new romance.
10 “MANHUNT”
One night in 1983, a buddy of mine rang me up one night and said, “Let’s go to the movies. I want to see this one called Flashdance. The girl in it is hot.” He was referring to Jennifer Beals, of course, and he was right. But midway through watching the film, it was the girl with short, spikey, blond hair who got my attention.
Her dance routine to the song “Manhunt” was incredibly sexy, and I liked that she seemed to have both a sweet, girl-next-door appeal and a wild side, too. The credits rolled. As we stood up to leave the theater, I turned around to watch them and made a point to catch her name: Cynthia Rhodes. There was no plan to do anything with that information, but I wanted to know. I filed it away in the back of my mind and we left the theater.
Within six months of seeing Flashdance, I was hired by Paramount Pictures to be the demo singer on a song for a new film in production called Staying Alive. It was the sequel to the classic Saturday Night Fever and starred John Travolta, Finola Hughes, and, yep, Cynthia Rhodes. When I arrived at the studio, the only people in the control room were the guy producing the demo, the recording engineer, and Cynthia herself.
The demo we would record, called “Never Gonna Give You Up,” was intended as a duet between Cynthia and John Travolta, but John ended up being replaced on the soundtrack by Frank Stallone, whose brother, Sylvester, directed the film. My vocal was used as a guide for John to learn the song.
Cynthia and I spent the afternoon recording our vocals together, and I found myself with a massive crush on her instantly. I was nineteen. She was twenty-six. Six years later, we began a marriage that lasted twenty-five years and gave us three incredible sons.
Once again, I saw something I was attracted to, and within a few months it was within my grasp. Few things changed my life as profoundly as Cynthia did, but it all started when I saw her on film in that black leather getup dancing in front of a painted brick wall.
11 “SOMEBODY LOVES YOU”
One afternoon in the spring of 1985, I received a call from a very nice woman named Mary who said, “Hello, is this Richard Marx?”
“Yes.”
“I have Mr. Paul Anka on the line.”
Before I could even process that sentence a voice came on the line and said, “Hello, Richard. Paul Anka.” His voice was authoritative and becoming of a man who had been a hit songwriter for already thirty years at that point.
I said, “Mr. Anka. What can I do for you?”
“Well, you can start by calling me Paul. I’ve heard a few songs you’ve written, and I’m impressed. I’m always looking to write with new, young talent and I’d love us to get together and collaborate.”
I said, “Wow. I’m very flattered. I’ve always had great respect for your songwriting.”
I wasn’t simply being polite. Although I was obsessed with Peter Gabriel, U2, and the Police in those days, I was well aware of the many songs Paul Anka had composed and I always had an admiration for the era of the Rat Pack of which Paul was a peripheral part.
“Great!” he said. “Come by my place in Century City tonight. Seven o’clock.”
I said, “Uh… tonight??”
“There’s no time like the present, Richard.”
Click. Buzz.
* * *
I arrived at Paul’s condo that evening. He had a tan George Hamilton would envy and was well-dressed and impeccably groomed. He greeted me warmly as we made our way to a living room with a beautiful Yamaha six-foot grand piano. We chatted a few minutes as he asked me about myself. I still recall him at one point asking me, “You have a girlfriend? Boyfriend?” This was 1985, and it kind of shocked me to be asked about my sexual orientation.
“I’m single.”
I had just begun dating Cynthia but even then I didn’t discuss my personal life with people I didn’t really know. That habit has served me well my whole life.
There was a large cassette boombox on the piano. He said, “I just recorded a track with my live band last week that I think could be a good song, but it’s not finished. Needs a verse melody and more lyrics.” He reached over and pressed Play on the box and sang along with the chorus section. “Somebody loves you… somebody loves you…” He stopped the tape after the chorus and said, “That’s really all I have so far. Should we finish it?”
I had never written this way. I always either composed a song from scratch in my head or began a song with someone else playing a guitar riff or chords on a piano. This already sounded like a finished record but without any melody or vocals, and it was inspiring to write to.
“Can you play it again?”
I began singing a melody over the verse section.
“That’s nice!” Paul said. He started suggesting lyrics to fit the melody I was singing. In a matter of about thirty minutes, we had written a complete song to the music track, obviously titling it “Somebody Loves You.”
“Richard, I had a feeling we’d be a good team, and I was right. We should write again soon.”
* * *
A few weeks later my phone rang. “Hello Richard, it’s Mary. I have Mr. Paul Anka on the line.”
Paul explained he was soon headed to Honolulu for a weeklong residency in the ballroom of the Hilton Hawaiian Village. “Why don’t you come to Hawaii that week? I’ll fly you there and put you up at the Hilton, and we can write every day before my shows each evening.”
A free week in Hawaii. To write songs with a Hall of Fame songwriter. Tough call.
I bought a ticket for Cynthia to go with me and we arrived on a Sunday afternoon. I was scheduled to write with Paul the next day at a house he’d rented on the beach in the Kahala area. When we checked into the hotel, there was a note for me at the front desk saying, as promised, the room was already paid for and that Paul would contact me the next morning to arrange a time to work.
Cynthia and I had a swim and a great dinner. The next morning, Mary called and said, “Richard, Paul has several things to take care of today. He said to just enjoy your day and he’ll call you tomorrow morning to arrange a time to write.” So, off to the beach we went.
Another fun evening and the next morning, same phone call. Paul is busy. Just hang out and enjoy the island. Call you tomorrow.
This went on for three more days.
Now it’s Friday; I’m tan and I’m flying home the next day, and we’ve not written a note or word. Paul calls me and says, “Sorry I’ve been so busy, but I hope you’ve enjoyed yourself. Why don’t you and your girl come to my show tonight and, afterwards I’ll meet you at my rental house and we can write?”
Paul Anka is a master performer. Even if the music isn’t your cup of tea, it’s inspiring to see someone on stage who truly knows what they’re doing. A bunch of hit songs, a great band backed by a local orchestra, and some pretty funny stage banter. We were really impressed.
I walked Cynthia up to our room and headed downstairs to the Jeep I’d rented and drove to the beach house to meet Paul. Arriving around 11:00 p.m., I thought we’d be lucky to write half a song. Plus, Paul had just finished a week of shows, and I figured he must be a bit fried.
A
butler welcomed me and led me to the living room, which contained a grand piano. Paul would be down shortly, I was told. I sat and started noodling around on the keys when Paul entered the room and said, “That’s beautiful. Is that something for us?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I’m just messing around.”
“I’m hearing the words ‘No more wine and roses’ as an opening line to that melody. Can you try that?”
Within literally twenty minutes, we completed the song “Until the Day We Said Goodbye.”
Paul then immediately said, “I’ve got another music track to show you.” It was an up-tempo Latin groove. Just chords and rhythm. No melody or lyrics. I started singing melodies to the track, and Paul began feverishly scribbling down lines of lyrics. About forty minutes later, we had finished a song called “Say It.”
We walked to the kitchen where the butler had made coffee and laid out some pastries on a tray. As I leaned against the counter having a bite, I said, “Pretty awesome we nailed two songs. Next time we get together I want to show you something I started the other day called ‘One Less Tear.’ ”
“You’re here. Show me now,” he said.
Back to the piano. Another song finished within an hour. Me playing chords and singing melodies, and Paul reciting lyrics that fit perfectly.
We then wrote a fourth song called “Not Me” before finally calling it a night. Four new songs in about as many hours. I’ve never had as prolific a writing session since. Now, this would be pretty impressive simply based on energy and output, but literally every song we wrote that night, as well as our earlier collaboration on “Somebody Loves You” was recorded and released.
Paul recorded “Somebody” and “Until the Day You Said Goodbye” on a solo album two years later, “Not Me” was recorded by Glenn Medeiros in 1988, and “Say It” was recorded by Paul and included in the 1985 film No Way Out, starring Kevin Costner. Every time that movie is shown, I get a check.
I was and still am impressed by his hunger to constantly write new songs. Much like Burt Bacharach even now, it’s cool to see songwriters who’ve accomplished more than most in our field still filled with mad desire to create. I’m grateful to Paul Anka for writing with me, and for the free Hawaii vacation.
12 “IF I TURN YOU AWAY”
I’ve written quite a few songs over the years that have wound up in various films. Sometimes it’s been a case of the film production company screening a rough cut of their film for me, and me writing a song specifically for it. Other times, a song I’d already written was heard by someone attached to the film and requested to be included.
The first song I ever had used in a film was called “If I Turn You Away” for the movie St. Elmo’s Fire in 1985. I had only been in LA a couple years, doing a lot of session work as a background singer, when I met a young singer from Edmonton, Alberta, named Vikki Moss. Vikki had been chosen as one of the vocalists on the film’s soundtrack, and when she recorded the song, I had been asked to come and sing all the backgrounds.
Vikki was about my age (twenty-two at the time), blond, pretty, incredibly sweet, and fun to be around. I wasn’t dating anyone, and upon meeting her at the studio, I immediately turned on the charm and started kidding around with her. As the session neared its end, I was about to ask her to dinner that evening when a young guy strolled into the studio. It was Vikki’s boyfriend of two years. She introduced us, and I knew my dinner invitation was a goner. But her boyfriend seemed like a good guy, so instead of bailing altogether, I said, “You guys want to go grab some food?”
We went to a joint near the studio and had some laughs, and the next day when we returned to the studio to finish Vikki’s song, her boyfriend came along. He and I had really hit it off and he said, “You need to come visit us in Edmonton soon. I play hockey up there and you should come when we have a game.”
About three months later, I took them up on their invitation. They insisted I stay with them at their apartment downtown, which impressed me not only by their kindness but how gorgeous their place was. The next evening, Vikki and I headed over to the local arena to see her boyfriend’s hockey team play.
Now, back in 1985 I didn’t pay attention to anything except girls and music and not always in that order. I definitely didn’t follow sports much and had never in my life been a hockey fan, so this was my first hockey game since my dad took me to a Chicago Blackhawks game when I was seven. I didn’t know shit about hockey or the players, but Vikki’s boyfriend was now a buddy, and I was psyched to watch him play. He was amazing! Really skilled on the ice. The place was packed with thousands of fans going crazy.
Our team won the game and afterward, we all went to a local bar and I hung out with the team. We all got pretty ripped and there was a band playing. Vikki knew them and got up on the little stage in the corner and did a song as they backed her, and she then, over the microphone, said, “We have a friend in town from LA and he’s a great young songwriter but also a really good singer. Richard! Come up and do a song!”
I was a few kamikaze shots in and just drunk enough to be dumb enough not to say, “No, thanks!” So I got up onstage and the band just looked at me like, “So, what the fuck are we supposed to do with you?”
I hadn’t had any experience singing cover songs, so I was at a loss when the bass player started playing the bass line to Michael Jackson’s “Billie Jean,” still a massive song on the radio then. I just went with it. But instead of trying to sing it like me, I dove into a full-on MJ impression, with shoulder flips and every “Uh” and “Hoo” from the record. The crowd of hockey players, and especially my new friends, laughed their asses off.
After a few hours’ sleep, morning came and I had to head for the airport to fly home to LA. Vikki was hungover and crashed out, so I asked her boyfriend if I could use their phone to call a taxi. He said, “No way, dude. I’ll drive you.”
We jumped into his very nice Mercedes coupe, and he parked just outside the terminal. This was way before 9/11 and you could still walk someone through security to their gate, but as he did, I started noticing people do a double take and stare.
We got to my gate just as boarding began. I said, “Man, that was such a great couple days. Thanks so much for everything,” to which he responded, “Richie”—he had started calling me that from day one—“you’re the best. I’m down in LA next month for a game and we’ve gotta hang.”
We hugged and as he turned to leave, I said, “Thanks again, Wayne!”
As Wayne walked back through the terminal, he was mobbed by fans. And even I was surrounded by people at the gate saying, “Are you friends with Gretzky? What’s he like?”
That is how out of touch with professional sports I was. I had no idea my new friend Wayne was “the Great One.”
Over the next couple of years, I hung out with Wayne, as well as several other members of the Edmonton Oilers, quite a bit. Large amounts of alcohol were always involved, and though I tried hard to keep up, my young, skinny, five-foot-ten self was no match for big, ripped, pro hockey players.
Wayne and I, for no reason I can think of other than “life,” lost touch, although we both welcomed sons into the world at the same hospital on the same day in 1992. I was walking down the hallway when behind me I heard, “Richie? Is that you?”
Vikki Moss’s song was included in the St. Elmo’s Fire soundtrack, and the album was nominated that year for a Best Motion Picture Soundtrack Album Grammy, becoming my first Grammy nomination as one of the songwriters. We lost to the Beverly Hills Cop soundtrack, which was a huge hit for well over a year.
* * *
After the success of my first album in 1987, I was approached with several opportunities to write songs for different films. One of them was an upcoming crime drama called Tequila Sunrise, starring Mel Gibson, Kurt Russell, and Michelle Pfeiffer. The producers arranged a private screening of the film for me, and I really liked it. The story involved a former drug dealer (Gibson) trying to go straight while both his former a
ssociates are blackmailing him into one more job and an old friend turned cop (Russell) is trying to bust him. And they’re both in love with Michelle Pfeiffer. Understandable.
I went home from the screening and quickly wrote a song that I felt not only reflected the Mel Gibson character but felt was a good rock song all on its own. The music was up-tempo and in a minor key, with rock guitar riffs and solos. I titled it “Wait for the Sunrise.”
Friend to fear and loaded gun
Live life like the owner of a heart of stone
No one touches, touch no one
But the road gets weary when you’re all alone
I’ve spent too many nights lookin’ over my shoulder
And the ways of the world make a heart grow colder
Got nowhere left to hide
The fight in me has died
So I must wait for the sunrise
I recorded a pretty decent demo of it the next day and sent it to the producers. I heard nothing for over a week. By that point, I felt I had only gained, because whether or not the song was used in the film, I was going to release it. Finally, my manager received a call saying that while they liked my song, they’d been hoping for a romantic ballad to play over the end credits.
They’d never conveyed that to me before, but I probably would’ve passed on that altogether. I was already getting tagged as a romantic balladeer based on my most recent single, the number 1 “Hold On to the Nights,” and felt a need at that time to be defensive of the criticism that I wasn’t a real rock artist. I never personally got hung up on labels, but in 1988 being a rock artist who crossed over to pop was cooler than just being a pop singer.