Jewel’s Journey to Now (Part 2 of 4)

Continued from Part One…

The way it’s often told, the circumstances of your “discovery” some years ago are kind of a fairy tale story…

That was a very intense and interesting time in my life. I think the whole world knew I [had been] homeless. I talked about why I was homeless, but at the time, it just never got picked up. Nobody [thought] it was interesting. I was asked to have sex with a boss, and when I refused, he wouldn’t give me my paycheck. I ended up living in my car, and then my car got stolen. But the stories that came out at the time were like, “That lucky girl, she lived in a car to chase her dreams!” That was the story over and over. I was like, “What!?” And it really wasn’t until the #metoo movement happened that anybody even went, “What?”

I found that fascinating at the time. I found it fascinating in the ‘90s how the culture was just not geared towards women in this business. And that whole story was somehow missed; it was not a fairytale moment. That was really awful. But it ended up being the “best worst time” of my life, because it forced me to develop tools to handle my panic attacks, to get a grip on my shoplifting, to get a grip on my agoraphobia, all so that I didn’t die.

And I thought, “You know what? I grew up bars, singing. Maybe I can get a gig in a bar.” But nowhere would pay me to sing. Every coffee shop and taco stand thought it was a “signing venue,” and they would charge musicians to play there. I was like, “Pay to play? It’s not what I am. I am not trying to get signed. I am trying to get [money to pay] rent.”

So I found a little coffee shop that was [in danger of] going out of business, and I said, “Would you give me a month? And if I can bring people in, would you give me all the door money and you keep all the [money from selling] coffee and the food?” And she agreed; we shook hands. The first Thursday, there were two people. The second Thursday there were six people. The next Thursday there were 20. And by the end of that month, I bet there were 25, 30 people. Small, but we saw some momentum, and Nancy, the coffee shop owner, could keep her lights on.

And by the end of the year, it was standing room only. Two shows a night, and I was doing five hour shows. There were people standing in the rain watching me sing through a window. And I knew something special was happening. I didn’t know that would lead to a record label, but I knew I learned to be honest in my music, and I learned that honesty mattered. And I felt less alone when labels started coming. It was like being Cinderella. It was Sony Records and then Atlantic and then RCA and then Columbia, and then a huge bidding war. I was offered a million dollar signing bonus. But I grew up on a ranch; nobody gives you a single thing for free.

At that point, you did some of your own homework, didn’t you?

I went to the public library, and I got a book, All You Need to Know About the Music Business by Don Passman. It taught me about contracts, taught me the math, and I was able to see that I would make pennies per album. How many albums would I have to sell to recoup that million dollar advance? And it was astronomical. And when I asked myself what I really wanted, I wanted a career. I didn’t want a million dollars. And I realized the million dollars was like putting a bounty on my first album. It put so much pressure on that album to be successful, and I hadn’t even made it yet. Going back to agriculture, you just shouldn’t try to sell a crop before you have a crop.

So I turned it down. I bought myself creative freedom to make what I wanted, which was a folk album. And I knew the odds of that doing well at the height of grunge were very slim.

So it was with not wanting to be famous that I began to make decisions that I hoped supported those goals and turned down huge opportunities on the front end, like being on that reality show, Big Brother. I would have gone from homeless to living in the house, making the album on TV. By the time I launched the album, I would have been world famous. But I turned it down, and my label was like, “Come again?”

And then my album failed for two full years, and I was like, “Whoa, maybe I should have taken the money. Maybe I should have done the TV show.” But that’s when Bob Dylan asked me to tour with him. He believed in me, and I thought, “You know what? If Bob’s the only one that likes me, we’re good.”

When Bob toured with me, he was like, “F radio, F being famous. Are you a singer-songwriter or are you not? It’s a calling. You may never be famous. You may never do well; we don’t know, right? But you either are this or you aren’t. I think you are, and I think you should stay solo – no band – and just keep going.”

And so I did. And then Neil Young took me out [on tour], and he had a very similar attitude of, “You’re a singer-songwriter; come to terms with it.” That really gave me the courage to keep going. And then the album went well.

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