From This Moment On (39 page)

They also had a team that set a good example for me in this early time when I still had everything to learn about being filmed. I saw Bo and John as real partners, and Kerry, Bo’s sister, was John’s assistant photographer. Bo’s mother did hair and makeup, and Ramon, who was their personal horse trainer, was the guy who rolled up his sleeves to do whatever had to be done. This was a close-knit group, a team.

I have always been incredibly impatient when it comes to waiting
for something I can’t do myself but wish so badly I could. To me, John also seemed impatient in a similar way, only he was a man of more experience who knew what he was after, with a strong intent to get it. Creatively, this is a very important strength to have if you expect to actually make your vision materialize. If you are leading the show, you have to be able to direct clearly with no wishy-washy fussing around. If you have capable people around you, there is a better chance of getting what you want from them if you know what it is
you
want yourself. John and I both knew what we wanted; however, it wasn’t always the same thing. One afternoon in the middle of the “Any Man of Mine” video shoot, John kept directing me to do something, and I kept reminding him how I wanted it instead. He’d then tell me again what he wanted, and I would again remind him that wasn’t the way I wanted to do it. So John came out from behind the camera, walking straight up to my face and telling me, “Look, sometimes I can be an asshole—” but before he could finish explaining that as a self-proclaimed “asshole,” he insist I do it his way, I cut in, took his face in my two hands, and eye to eye said, “Right now, you
are
an asshole.” I calmly but surely spoke my mind, and without letting on outside our nose-to-nose discussion, he let it go, and we carried on with the shoot. He respected my stance, and there was not another word said.

Unfortunately, it’s a familiar story in the music industry that once promising young artists reach a certain level—typically when they’re on the brink of stardom—the manager or management team that worked so hard to get them there no longer has the expertise and influence necessary to navigate the unfamiliar waters up ahead. The stakes become much higher than before, and the learning curve can prove too steep for the manager who excels at guiding artists through the early stages of their careers to follow through with the demands of this new environment. This was not the immediate case with me and Mary, however, as we found ourselves still together as Mercury Nashville was readying my second album for release. I also felt a
loyalty to her, as our relationship transcended business. Although she had officially represented me since 1991, I had known her for years through her friendship with my mother. I think we both felt a lot of pride that the two of us—a couple of small-town girls from Canada—had made the bold, brave leap to Music City together. It definitely took some courage and a lot of faith.

I was forever indebted to Mary, and to her husband, Bob, who had generously advanced us some money to get through the tightest of spots until I was able to pay him back. Mary’s faith in me was unconditional, but neither she nor anyone around us could possibly have known that day was just around the corner.

Eventually having to end our professional relationship was painful for both of us. Mary was like family to me. She also represented a connection to my mother, which made our bond all the more personal. I am happy to say that over time, we renewed our friendship beyond our professional association, and Mary remains a very precious friend to me today. At the time, however, the thought of carrying on without her by my side was scary. It dredged up feelings similar to when my relationship with Paul ended, and I felt a separation anxiety come over me, like I was leaving a part of myself behind.

Before even the first single was released from
The Woman in Me,
I set out on a tour to introduce the new music to radio. Prior to asking anyone to actually put it on the air, I sat with programmers in a listening session, just for the sake of letting them sample what we had. Some stations were open enough to just put me on the air in a live interview and even play one of the songs. I was out there representing the new music in what felt like the front line, while Mutt and the label waited patiently for reports of how it was going at the end of each day. I was meeting all hours of the day with radio programmers, one after the other, who in some cases didn’t even want to listen to the music due to Mutt’s involvement, and others who were big rock fans who’d spun many of the AC/DC and Def Leppard records in the past at previous stations, so they welcomed me with open arms.

It was a hot and cold experience with a bit of warm here and there. There was nothing certain about how things would go from that promotional period pre–single release. It was exhausting sustaining my energy and heart through the love/hate responses to the new record, and it was getting under my skin that industry institutions were even able to stand between an artist and the public, as time went on and the resistance grew. With the Internet not yet part of public mainstream media, radio was largely able to control what their local listeners heard. This type of monopoly could kill a record, if that was the desired effect. Instead of being dictated to, I felt strongly that the public should be able to decide for themselves what they do and don’t want to listen to.

“Any Man of Mine” was the one song off the album that I was most anxious to play to radio during the promotional touring period, and it was equally the one I was most concerned they would reject me for, due to its radical twist of rock and country combined. During
The Woman in Me’s
introductory tour, I primarily played a choice of three songs for the programmers, “Any Man of Mine,” “Whose Bed Have Your Boots Been Under?” and “(If You’re Not in It for Love) I’m Outta Here!” If they were responding well, I’d play “You Win My Love” and “The Woman in Me.”

My choice for the first single of the album was “Any Man of Mine,” but it was true that programmers were showing mixed reactions to it, and the record company felt safer going with the more country-flavored “Boots.” I wanted to hit them between the eyes with the true blend of genres that I felt best represented who I really was, the variety of childhood musical influences that had shaped my personal taste as a singer-songwriter. I agree now, though, that it was probably best to warm up with “Boots,” so if the public liked what they heard and wanted more, we’d have less risk of losing “Any Man’s” chance to reach its full potential. This was a very exciting time for everyone involved, as we could feel the friction behind the scenes, yet a positive, buzz-like commotion at the same time. It made it hard to make
decisions about the release order of the singles, as it was too early and all we had to go on was radio, and it was like they were almost divided and confused as a whole.

As 1994 turned into 1995, Mutt and I celebrated three times within five days, beginning with our first wedding anniversary on December 28. We’d moved onto a private lake property in the area of Saint Regis Falls, New York, where the snow was plentiful throughout the holidays. Two days into the New Year, PolyGram released the advance single from
The Woman in Me,
one of the more straight-ahead, you-been-cheatin’ kind of numbers, “Whose Bed Have Your Boots Been Under?” It was one of the real country-sounding songs on the CD, although still pumped with Mutt’s signature layering and power production.

“Boots,” as I always refer to it, had come to me during my time in the bush cabin by the river. Like ten of the album’s twelve songs, it was credited to Shania Twain and Robert John “Mutt” Lange; the other two were solo compositions from each of us. What a contrast to my first album, which contained only one original, and an outside collaborative effort at that. Mutt had liberated the songwriter and recording artist I truly was, and I could not have been more satisfied.

“Whose Bed Have Your Boots Been Under?” would spend a total of seven months atop the
Billboard
country charts. But not right away. In fact, sales were modest at first. “Boots” looked like it would stall several times as the resistance from industry gatekeepers, who complained that the music was too “out there” and that I didn’t belong in country, was managing to block the connection between artist and public. The listeners weren’t hearing me because much of radio wouldn’t play me. This is where radio programmers and consultants make choices for the public: they decide what they hear and take the decision away from the listener, not exposing them enough to form opinions and demands of their own. The democracy is killed, and the choice becomes industry-based and no longer the people’s. I was frustrated and surprised by the lack of control the listener had.

I don’t believe stations that refused to play my record were so much resistant to
me
personally, but more to changes in the style of country music they preferred. This new sound that was so different just seemed plain weird to them, and I heard comments to that effect quite regularly. I was hurt by these opinions, taking them personally. It offended me that they were insulting my music and trying to prevent it from reaching the ears of the listeners, the ones I was actually making the music for in the first place. I felt vulnerable by this lack of access to the people, and it made me feel disconnected from the purpose behind being an artist. There were genuine efforts to stomp out “Boots,” and although they successfully did some damage to the song’s momentum, in April it made it up to number eleven, giving me my first Top 20 hit. It wasn’t a number one, or even Top 10, but “Boots” at least managed to reach enough of the public for the album to show signs of kicking into another gear. But much patience was required of me still, as my one-step-at-a-time climb in the recording industry continued.

On the heels of “Boots” (sorry—couldn’t resist), we released “any Man of Mine.” This was my favorite up-tempo single off the album, a song you might consider as having a split personality. It was especially magical watching this one come together in the studio. As much as I loved Mutt as my husband, it’s possible I admired him even more for the unique way his musical mind worked. I cannot claim to know how it worked, or how he came up with these unusual ideas; all I can tell you is that it amazed me, and things that sounded like they weren’t going to belong all came together in the end to create hit music. But it didn’t just happen “like that”—Mutt worked long and hard, painstakingly developing every single second of sound. It’s just that it wasn’t always obvious where it was going until it pulled together as a unified piece of work. It was as though the only person who really had the whole thing in his head all at one time was Mutt. With “Any Man of Mine,” I witnessed as Mutt combined traditional country instruments with anthemic stadium-rock
sounds. Raspy, throaty vocals punctuated my own vocal phrasing, and the switch from a groove reminiscent of Queen’s “We Will Rock You” to the foot-stompin’ Western-style chorus, which almost sounded like it came from another song, totally worked. This contrasting arrangement of styles Mutt pulled together made me crazy with curiosity to see how the listeners were going to react the first time they heard it. I was crawling out of my skin with excitement to share it.

In July 1995 “Any Man of Mine” went to number one on
Billboard
’s country singles sales chart, spending ten weeks up there. It was the first number one single on that chart by a non-American since Anne Murray’s “Now and Forever” in 1986 and was my first Top 40 crossover hit on the pop charts.

July 22, 1995, marked a career pinnacle for me when
The Woman in Me
and “Any Man of Mine” both went to number one. It was the culmination of two solid years of work, starting when Mutt and I began collaborating on songs for the album. And the groundwork for all of it, really, goes back to my preteen years, when I would slip into the woods near our house in Hanmer and sit writing songs on my guitar—not that I ever foresaw selling millions of records one day.

At least when a mountain climber scales a peak, he gets to take a nice, long break afterward. To continue the music-industry-as-mountain analogy for a moment, in the music business, you expend just as much effort, if not more, to stay on top.

“Any Man of Mine” was the second single from the album. Everyone involved believed so strongly in the quality of the material that as many as eleven singles were planned. That is a lot, even in the country music field, which differs from rock ’n’ roll in that the hit 45—or, nowadays, digital file—still drives album sales. It’s very much a throwback to the 1950s and 1960s, when recording artists routinely put out five or six singles per year: from Elvis Presley and Ricky Nelson, to the Rolling Stones and Creedence Clearwater Revival. Back then, the LP was practically an afterthought, released to provide an artist’s fans one disc containing the two or three hit singles they probably already owned. Except for the Beatles, Bob Dylan, and a few other monumentally talented performers, sandwiched between the hits was mostly filler, consisting of pedestrian cover versions and maybe the artist’s second-rate originals. But starting in the late 1960s, following landmark albums such as the Beatles’
Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band
and Dylan’s
Blonde on Blonde,
the LP began to take precedence over the 45—especially now that there were new rock radio stations on the FM band willing to play album cuts and not just the Top 40 hits that dominated AM music radio. The shift never came to country music, however, which still prizes the hit single.