The Truth Is ... Page 7

  Don’t you think I know there’s so many others

  Who would beg steal and lie fight kill and die

  Just to hold you hold you like I do

  Nobody loves you like the way I do

  Nobody wants you like the way I do

  Nobody needs you like the way I do

  Nobody aches nobody aches just to hold you

  Like the way I do

  I wrote “Like the Way I Do” after Kathleen had told me about someone she had met—someone she hadn’t yet slept with but very much desired. She presented me with her intentions, and it fed my insecurities and doubts. At the time, I used to record songs in a makeshift studio at home, using a four-track cassette recorder that I kept in my garage. That kind of recorder could play music backward as well as it was intended to be heard. I had written “I Want You” and was listening to that song. For some unknown reason, I decided to play it backward—I guess to see whether there was some subliminal message in my music that maybe I wasn’t even aware of. It was a wacky thing to do, but I really liked the sound. What I heard that day is what became the opening of “Like the Way I Do.” The words just flowed from my gut after that, and the rest, as they say, is history. The power of that song still grabs hold of me every time I sing it. Over the years, I’ve made it fit to whatever circumstance I’ve been in. My pride and my ego are wrapped up in all of that gripping emotion. That seeps into the core of who I am—always has. Let’s face it. It must have been painful for Kathleen to see me always having these flings. I never gave that much thought in the moment. Of course, I can look back on it now and realize I was no angel myself.

  Playing the Women’s Music Festivals helped create my early following.

  A poem I wrote while Kathleen was away at the first march on Washington for gay rights

  Kathleen, who inspired me in so many ways

  When I write a song from my gut, when I write it from everything deep inside of me, I get such a response, and people know that’s where it comes from. It’s not that “Like the Way I Do” is such a great song. But it comes right from my center. It burns inside me, and people love that hot place. It’s filled with danger and heat and passion and all kinds of untapped fire. This was the first song that coaxed women to come up to me and say, “Play ‘Like the Way I Do’ ” and request one of my original songs over and over. And the more I played it, the better I became at performing it. I save “Like the Way I Do” until the very end of a concert. I let the tension build, and I invite the audience to share the intimacy of the song. I let the fire grow and my passion spills over until I just can’t take it anymore and I have to let go … and finally, wham! “Tell me does she love you, like the way I love you, does she stimulate you, attract and captivate you, does she inject you, seduce you and affect you, like the way I do.”

  It was so hard for me with Kathleen. Watching her as she drove off to work another Women’s Music Festival somewhere, knowing that she would sleep with whoever she wanted to, with no guilt and no qualms. It was a painful place to be in for me. But, on some level, it was exactly the right thing for songwriting. I lived in a constant state of desire and betrayal, and so many of the songs just flowed out.

  “Bring Me Some Water” speaks to that same raging passion: my jealousy and fears. The song was a big hit, but it’s so riddled with pain. It actually speaks to the double standard I had regarding infidelity. “… all in love is fair … and I haven’t got talking room.” We agreed to be in a nonmonogamous relationship. Those were the terms, but somehow I had a much harder time stomaching the idea of Kathleen in the arms of another lover than I had with another lover in mine. It was killing me—her refusal to commit was burning me up inside. That’s why I need someone to “Bring Me Some Water.” Help me quench this flame. Help me contain my out-of-control fears, insecurities, and wounded heart.

  BRING ME SOME WATER

  Tonight I feel so weak

  But all in love is fair

  I turn the other cheek

  And I feel the slap and the sting of the foul night air

  And I know you’re only human

  And I haven’t got talking room

  But tonight while I’m making excuses

  Somebody bring me some water

  Can’t you see I’m burning alive

  Can’t you see my baby’s got another lover

  I don’t know how I’m gonna survive

  Somebody bring me some water

  Can’t you see it’s out of control

  Baby’s got my heart and baby’s got my mind

  But tonight the sweet devil, sweet devil’s got my soul

  When will this aching pass

  When will this night be through

  I want to hear the breaking glass

  I only feel the steel of the red hot truth

  And I’d do anything to get it out of my mind

  I need some insanity that temporary kind

  Tell me how I’ll never be the same

  When I know that woman is whispering your name

  Oh, Devil’s got my soul

  Sometimes my desires hit a little too close to home. I met a woman in Kathleen’s acting class named Jamie, who I was totally crazy about. She was a model-actress who lived in Los Angeles. Jamie was beautiful, sweet, interesting, and smart. She had never been to a lesbian bar nor had she ever been with another woman sexually. There’s always been something about women like that that I find so attractive. It’s not the idea of “turning” a straight girl; it’s more about getting the unattainable. You show me something I can’t have and, damn, I want it. I want it right now. Jamie started to come down to the bars to see me play. I’d watch her from the stage as I played and she listened. I’d take her dancing at women’s clubs in Hollywood. She used to do this thing where she would turn around and there was a bar on the wall and she would sort of do this dance with the wall. Jamie was very attractive and it wasn’t uncommon for men and women to just lay themselves at her feet. She commanded that kind of attention. I knew that her curiosity was piqued. We’d meet at Vermie’s and the Que Sera, and I opened the door to Jamie having her first gay experience. I would ask her if she was sure that she wanted to go there with me. And she was cautious, but sincere. I would meet her during my breaks, and we would kiss in the back of the bar. We kissed a few times and we’d talk on the phone, but we hadn’t slept together. There was always this kind of spontaneous bathroom sex going on in the bars. There is a dark side to my world, and I never wanted Jamie to see the difference. I promised to protect her from the bad part—the fear, the prejudice. She was so brand-new to this alternative lifestyle, she was like wet paint. Fresh and unspoiled. I wanted to be the one who took her for the first time. Eventually, I did sleep with Jamie. We saw each other quite a while. And then the relationship spun. Jamie wanted to get very serious with me, and I was involved with Kathleen. I couldn’t fulfill her desire for that kind of relationship. She wanted from me what I wanted from Kathleen, and I just couldn’t give it to her. Ultimately, she said that it wasn’t working for her any more and that it was time for her to move on. She had met another woman and was seeing her.

  The next time Kathleen went to work at one of the Women’s Music Festivals, I thought it would be a good idea to give it a whirl with Jamie. No such luck. Jamie completely shut me down. She told me about the new woman in her life, and that was, like, ouch! We had so much fun together, and we used to love to go dancing. We’d laugh the night away. I couldn’t have all of the pleasure with Jamie without paying for it in some way. I would have had to give up my relationship with Kathleen and fully commit to Jamie, and I simply couldn’t bring myself to do that. There was a rush that came with having an affair, having this secret life. It was too much to handle. You get to a point where you don’t want to be having an affair any longer; you want a committed relationship. It’s so easy to get caught up in that bliss, that adrenaline bliss, but if you want that from someone who is simply not available, then eventually you have to pull
out of the affair for your own good. That’s what Jamie had to do. I respect that, and “You Used to Love to Dance” is really an homage to her and that decision—and to my decision to keep on dancing.

  YOU USED TO LOVE TO DANCE

  Lying in a city night

  A million fingers tingling my skin

  Out there in the sea tonight

  I thought I saw you clutching your sin

  You rolled me over long ago

  And told me you were strong enough to go

  You needed more than this lover’s dream

  You need the steel and the concrete beams in your life

  In your life

  We laughed and drank in the jukebox light

  And we tore the rug in that downtown dive

  Every Saturday night for fifty cents we’d dance all night long

  And each new tune we said that’s our song

  Oh it felt so right

  Well ecstasy ain’t free

  But compromise is chance

  I remember how

  You used to love to dance

  They told me you have found your love

  You moved in locked up and put out your blues

  Well all God’s children got to grow up

  And play house make vows to hang up their shoes

  Do you sit and talk over coffee cups

  Do headline mornings satisfy and fill you up

  I kept your eyes and your cigarette kiss

  You couldn’t keep the lies the adrenalin bliss in your life

  In your life

  I’m gonna go out tonight

  I’m gonna drive up to the hill

  I’m gonna dive on into those city lights

  And I’m gonna dance, dance

  Dance till I get my fill

  I was getting paid to write music during the day and paid to play music at night. But it had been over a year now, and there was no recording contract in sight. Sure, there was interest. There’s always interest. But the thing about Hollywood is that no one ever wants to say “No.” So people would come see me at the clubs. Get all excited and start talking that talk with Bill and me. And then things would just fade away. Interest would turn to silence. It was frustrating. I needed to take that next step in my career. I needed to make a record.

  I had decided that if I wasn’t signed by the time I was twenty-five, in May of 1986, I was going to just tour America with Kathleen. I was going to call lesbian bars and say, “Hey, it’s Melissa Etheridge, you probably never heard of me, but let me come play your bar, I’m traveling through town, let me come and play for fifty bucks.” Another friend would come with me, a saxophone and percussion player named Barbara. We were a duo.

  Just as we were getting ready to leave, Dino Airali, who worked in promotion at A&M Records, brought Chris Blackwell down to the Que Sera to see me. I had no idea who Chris Blackwell was. So this Brit, dressed in beach pants and flip-flops, walks up to me after my show. And he says, “I’d love to have you on my label. I believe the future of rock and roll has a female face.” And I’m, like, “Cool … but who was that?” Turns out that Chris is the founder of Island Records and is responsible for bands such as U2 and Bob Marley and the Wailers. He got me for the same reasons that no other record company executive was able to until then. He is a guy who thinks outside the box. Truly a visionary. It was a different time in music. The L.A. music scene was happening with bands like Guns N’ Roses and Mötley Crüe. No one was looking for a dark, mysterious rock singer with an acoustic guitar. But Chris could see beyond all of that with me. Through the years, he has been my mentor, my friend, and someone who has always stood by me. He has always spoken the truth with me, and sometimes it was hard to hear, but I have a huge amount of respect for his unedited candor.

  Me and Mary Ellen

  Driving cross-country, performing anywhere they’d let me play. This trip was the inspiration for “You Can Sleep While I Drive.”

  The story that has circulated for years is that Chris signed me on the spot that night at the club. Nothing’s ever that easy. Chris had to bring some of his A&R people down to see me the next week, to get them on board. After they decided to take me on, we had to deal with the contracts, which could take months. My response was: “Fine, take your time. I’ve got a tour to do.”

  The first stop on our journey was Tucson, Arizona. I looked in every gay brochure, found the bars in every town, and called and said, “Hey, do you have live music? I’m coming through.” I’d played some Women’s Music Festivals, so some places actually knew me. Some people booked me as a real gig in a theater with a couple of hundred people, which was nice. I had my Suzuki Samurai and it was Kathleen; my best friend at the time, Mary Ellen; Barbara; and me. Mary Ellen and Barbara traveled in Mary Ellen’s truck. We packed up my own little PA system, a couple of guitars, and Barbara’s congas and sax, and we set off on the road. That trip was very free-spirited. I didn’t have a record out yet. But we were selling demo tapes that we called “bootleg” at every stop. We went from Tucson to Santa Fe to Texas and New Orleans and Florida. We stayed at Kathleen’s friend Barbara’s home in Nashville. We played Tallahassee, we played Key West, up through the Carolinas, past New York City, and up into Michigan, where I dropped Kathleen off at another Women’s Music Festival. It was getting harder and harder, though, to watch Kathleen in her other life, with all those other women. But those were the rules, right? That’s just how our relationship was.

  “You Can Sleep While I Drive” is my recollection of that time on the road with Kathleen saying, “Come on, baby, let’s get out of this town. Let’s do that again.” We were really together during those weeks on the road, and I wanted to try and recapture that bonded feeling we shared.

  So many people have told me, since then, “What a loving thought: ‘You can sleep while I drive.’ ” Most don’t realize that, at the end of the song, the last thing I say is, “Well, if you won’t take me with you, then I’ll go before night is through”; then you can sleep in your bed, “you can sleep while I drive.” Meaning I’m leaving without you. If you’re not going to come together with me, I’ll go before the night is through, and, baby, you can sleep while I drive. It’s funny; a lot of people don’t catch that. I’ve had people come up and say, “Oh, we had that played at our wedding.…” I never have the heart to point out the end of the song to them. I just smile and say, “Thanks.”

  Originally, there was a much longer version of “You Can Sleep While I Drive.” It was filled with personal references to Kathleen, to life on the road, and to her fears of completely committing to our relationship. There is no chorus in the song, simply “Baby, you can sleep while I drive.” The original version was a little more from the gut and it had a chorus. It started out the same, and there are fragments of the original version in the recorded cut, but take a look at how a song can change over time.

  ORIGINAL VERSION

  “YOU CAN SLEEP WHILE I DRIVE”

  Come on baby let’s get out of this town

  I gotta full tank of gas and the top rolled down

  I knew it last night when we were lyin’ in bed

  You had visions of the highway in your head

  I’ll pack my bag and load my guitar

  In my pocket I’ll carry my harp

  We’ll cross the desert and watch the moon rise

  And you can sleep while I drive

  I’ve seen it before this mist that covers your eyes

  You’ll say that you’re searching for something that’s not in your life

  And when the road calls out won’t you take me with you

  I’ll let you sleep while I drive

  We got through winter we’re sheltered from the cold

  We cried through nights and swore we’d never let go

  And so the warm weather came whispering your name

  And you think of all the lovers you knew

  And if I can’t go with you I’ll go before the night is through

  And you can
sleep, sleep while I drive.

  We’ll go through Tucson up to Santa Fe

  And Barbara in Nashville says we’re welcome to stay

  I’ll buy you glasses in Texas a hat down in New Orleans

  In the morning you can tell me your dreams

  Me, I’ve never been to Montreal I didn’t know that you had

  I guess you forgot to call

  We can stay with your friends no I won’t mind at all

  I’m sure they’ll be glad to see you again

  You’ve had others who shared the miles and your night’s bed

  I always let you go free just like we said it should be

  Loving is hard with wide open arms

  I’ve let you come let you go

  Got a good spare brand new stereo

  Just washed my car you know she’s ready to go

  There’s nothing here to hold me down

  I won’t be turning around

  And baby you can sleep while I drive

  Oh if it’s other arms you want to

  Hold you the stranger the lover

  You’re free, why can’t you find that with me

  On the way back to California, I decided to drive through my hometown and stay at my parents’ house. Every time I’d been back to Leavenworth since going to L.A., it just seemed to get smaller and smaller. Other than that, I didn’t think this visit would be anything special. Until I saw the package. My contracts with Chris Blackwell and Island Records were finally done. They were waiting for me at my parents’ house, waiting for me to sign them. After all the years of playing in bars in Leavenworth, Kansas City, Boston, and L.A., I had a record contract. I was going to make a record. I was so pleased and excited. Everything I’d worked for for years was finally starting to happen.

  “Oh My God, That’s Me”

  • • •

  IT TOOK A COUPLE OF MONTHS AFTER I GOT BACK TO LOS Angeles, but, finally, things were all ready for me to go into the studio and record my first album. I flew up to San Francisco with Craig Krampf, a drummer I had worked with the year before, and Kevin McCormick, Craig’s bassist friend. I’d known these two for a while—they’d come to see me in the bars—and I felt comfortable with them. When Island asked me who I wanted to record with, they were my first choice.