From This Moment On (37 page)

It was as though I’d come to the end of a volume in my life. Timmins, my family, Paul, Canada—none of it was coming with me. After saying good-bye to Paul, he went to our little cabin on the bank of the Kenogamissi Lake to be with his family; and I to my manager Mary’s
house in Kirkland Lake, two hours south. Emotionally drained, I pulled up to her and her husband Bob’s log cabin, which they’d built themselves between a wide river and a white birch forest. I don’t remember much about this brief interlude of mourning, as I was in a fog the whole time, but I do recall sitting on her basement sofa sobbing for three days straight and going through boxes of tissues.

I was gutted that Paul and I were over, even though I’d realized that he wasn’t the one I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. After crying every tear I had, I left Mary’s to head back to my new world of Mutt and music in Nashville.

Mutt and I agreed that label executives would likely be leery to learn that I was collaborating on songs with an Englishman by way of South Africa who also happened to be
that AC/DC–Def Leppard guy.
They might think I’d gone rock. You could just imagine them worrying that I’d be grinding my Spandex-clad body in front of skyscrapers
of amplifiers while flashing the devil’s-horns sign, or whatever it is, at the audience. So we kept the news from Luke for the meantime.

Without going into detail, I did my best to reassure Luke that I was not just goofing off sightseeing in Majorca. “I’m working really hard,” I told him. “I just need a little more time before I share it with you.” I’m not sure I was all that convincing, as I sensed some skepticism from the other end of the transatlantic call. But as I was being vague in my attempt to avoid lying, I probably gave the impression that I was being unappreciative.

“I promise I’ll come back next week and let you have a listen, okay?” Before Luke could press me for more details, I feigned not being able to hear him due to the poor connection (well, that part was true; the line was a bit static-y) and quickly got off the phone.

Believe me, I would have
loved
to have played Luke some samples right then and there, because I knew these songs were magical, even in their raw state: just the two of us playing acoustic guitars and me singing with Mutt joining with harmony and vocal counterparts. Mutt and I were rockin’. I was feeling charged creatively and having the musical time of my life. Especially after the less than fulfilling experience of feeling like a ghost during the recording of my first album. In contrast, Mutt expressed that he appreciated the way my mind worked as a songwriter and genuinely loved the sound of my voice, commenting that the tone reminded him of Karen Carpenter at times. Whoa, that was a huge compliment to me, as I considered her style so exquisite. Mutt had sensitive ears, and it’s not surprising that her sound was a noticeable influence on my own style. Even with his track record of success and my lack of one, he respected me as a fellow artist and treated me as an equal.

His confidence in me encouraged me to push my own boundaries. He pushed me, too, challenging me again and again to strengthen melodies and tweak lyrics. “Good enough” did not exist in his vocabulary, and rightfully so. It wasn’t good enough unless it was a hit. But when a song hit the mark, he’d say, “That’s it, you got it, Woody.” (The
nickname, dating back to when we first met, is a joking reference to the fringe-cut bangs I wore at the time, à la Woody Woodpecker.)

There was no time to waste on ideas that wouldn’t make the album, but something like “Man! I Feel Like a Woman!” was just there. I was inspired right off the bat with that one, for example, by a riff Mutt had going, and the lyrics and phrasing just came out of the blue. Mutt gave that one a thumbs-up, no questions asked. He could recognize a hit idea when he heard one. His groove flowed easily, and that song came together between the two of us, without any push and pull.

I knew during this songwriting phase that I was privileged to be working with such a genius as Mutt. He is a great writer and doesn’t need anyone to help him craft a hit song, but he wanted me to make the material we wrote together my own. So he might come up with an irresistible chord progression, I would listen to it a few times, and then start shaping a melody that fit. We’d duel back and forth, adapting the melody and chords until everything just started to click and Mutt flashed a thumbs-up. Something that adds to the fun of songwriting is that every song comes together in a different way. Mutt was incredible with the feel and groove of a song, and my challenge was to write lyrics and melody to his phrasing for a lot of the time. We pretty much both did a bit of everything in the way of patching the songs together, and we’d often go off separately to write things on our own, then come together to see how we could combine our individual ideas. Some of our writing notes contain both of our handwriting, as we shared the same paper pad, taking turns jotting lyrics down as we went. Some of what we wrote together stemmed from what I’d previously written as well, and he’d morph his ideas into my lyrics, and mine into his. Some songs evolved from foundations we’d each had in storage for years, with the other person building upon the existing framework. I learned so much from Mutt about songwriting during this time, and I learned it fast.

I made good on my promise to Luke Lewis and flew back to Music City a few days before a meeting about my future. Let me
tell you, was
I
a pack of nerves wondering how he would react to the news that I had run off with the “rock” guy.

Sitting across from Luke felt like being in front of your school principal, who clasps his hands on his desk and intones seriously, “So, young lady, what have you been up to in your absence?” I beat around the bush for a minute, squirming in my chair, restless and anxious as I tried to find a comfortable position and begin explaining myself. I felt naughty for being so secretive about things since I was signed to a serious contract, and I felt obligated to be honest with them about my plans musically. I was in a vulnerable position not knowing what Luke’s reaction would be, if I’d be dropped from the label because of my careless decision to run off writing with a “rock” guy when I was supposed to be making country records. What if he expelled me? I guess I’d find out.

“First, I just want to say that I’m really excited about my new music, and I cannot thank you enough for giving me the chance to show what I can do as a songwriter.” Of course, if he didn’t like what he heard, the A&R department would be taking me shopping at the Music Row publishing companies again. Luke wanted to know what song direction I was interested in, so that A&R could match me with a suitable producer. Of the two producers on
Shania Twain,
Harold Shedd was no longer with the label. As for Norro Wilson, he was an obvious choice, but, Luke emphasized, no decision had been made yet.

I finally just came out with it.

“I’ve been cowriting for weeks with Mutt Lange, and we’ve pretty much finished a full album’s worth of songs.”

I was on edge waiting for his response, like the anxious feeling of waiting for an important test result. Luke’s a laid-back kind of guy, and although he has plenty to say, he gets to the point and sums things up with few words. He sat up in his chair as his eyes widened slightly, and all he pretty much said was, “Holy shit, that’s cool!”

You cannot imagine the relief I felt. However, I was not about to press my luck and start talking about my hope that Mutt would produce
the album. It was enough to break the news that my intentions were to record my own songs this time around and more, that they were cowritten with the rock legend Mutt Lange. Actually, Mutt had not even raised the suggestion of producing me yet, since we did not know if PolyGram would balk at my recording our collaboration, and besides, he already had other projects on the go, so time was also an issue. Luke conceded that the news might be viewed unfavorably in some quarters of the country music field. Nashville wanted Nashville songs and Nashville producers, and Nashville musicians recording in Nashville studios. It was bad enough that I was a foreigner and pushing to record my own songs.

“Personally, I like the idea,” said Luke. “A lot.” Frankly, I could not imagine anyone offering a logical objection. Just look at all the popular songs that bore Mutt’s name. Not only that, but in spite of his rock ’n’ roll pedigree, the man was a lifelong fan of country music. And besides, wasn’t a great song a great song, period, whatever the style? But then, record companies make illogical decisions all the time.

I was quick to phone Mutt to fill him in on the good news that Luke was on board. This was going to be a very controversial approach to making a record for a Nashville record company, and we were bracing ourselves for what was next, but with Luke behind us, we hoped Mercury Nashville might favor the collaboration and not kick me out of town.

We gained a second ally at the label when I played rough sketches of the songs to A&R man Buddy Cannon, who was known to have some of the best ears in the business, as they say, meaning that he knew a hit song when he heard it. Although I think he was surprised by my new direction, Buddy knew it was special and powerful. Norro also had a listen, and he perked up along with Buddy in his reaction. But I’m still not sure what was going through their heads, to be honest. I could tell they were caught off guard by something that sounded so different from anything else coming out of Nashville, but they seemed sincere about their support regarding the
quality of the arrangements and the strength of the songs. My sense was that they had mixed feelings about their personal taste toward the music, but were experienced enough professionals to understand that it was special and powerful. At least, that’s how I read their perception.

Overall, I felt that both Norro and Buddy supported what Mutt and I had done. I was over the moon to have them on our side, and I realized that it was especially important to have Buddy’s support, as he was part of the label team. It meant a lot to me personally, too, as Buddy was also one of the sweetest people I’d ever met. He was so good to me when I first came to Nashville, treating me like a daughter. I used to go to his house for his lovely wife Billy’s amazing Southern cooking. Afterward, out would come the guitars: me, Billy, and his girls tightly weaving our voices together on bluegrass tunes, playing, laughing, and just having a great time. I loved these blissful moments with the Cannons. My parents had been gone for seven years already, so I relished the comforting feeling of being part of a family again, with parents, kids, warmth, security, and sincerity. I will be forever grateful to have been invited into the Cannons’ hearts and home. Their generosity and kindness were fulfilling, with me being so far from my Canadian life. The fact that their family was so musical reminded me of the times I’d sat with Kenny and Carrie in our family home as small children, singing in harmony.

From 1991 to 1993, the stage between my showcase at Deerhurst and the first signs that real success in the music industry was just around the corner was pretty quick. I was lucky to get the succession of breaks that kept the steady climb rolling: the signing itself; Luke giving me another chance for a second album; Mutt discovering my writing ability; me not being kicked out of “country music” despite the obviously controversial news that Mutt Lange had not only cowritten my next album but had also produced it; and Luke putting his neck out to take the chance with it, as I think we were all pretty nervous
about how radio was going to react. I’m not saying it was easy, but other than the temporary financial strain and overall adjustment to the recording industry during those two years, the struggle at that point was relatively manageable.

The two years between signing my deal and the promise of success actually seem short to me now in relative terms compared to the fourteen years that would follow. The next fourteen years would pose many more challenges and struggles than the first two did. It was with success that I would work the hardest and sacrifice the most. The transition between pre–record contract and the release of
The Woman in Me
was intense, and emotionally it was challenging as well. Too much was new, and as natural as it was for me to grow with the new life that was before me as a recording artist in America, I was sad to leave Canada on what I knew would now be a more permanent basis.

Mutt was now gearing up to produce the next album, and Luke Lewis was all for it, although he was still getting resistance from his team at the label and was concerned about the budget Mutt was proposing to make it. That record really happened largely because Mutt agreed to absorb much of the cost himself. It has been well documented that Mutt is a legendary perfectionist in the studio, but I see him rather as a man with a deep passion for the quality of his work, and my record would be no exception. He insisted on having the freedom to take whatever time he needed to make the music we both wanted to make, without having to be constrained by someone else’s budget. He had a lot of faith in what we were doing and put his money where his mouth was. He also put a ring on my finger.