Debbie Millman: One of the things I loved reading about was how you loved The Beatles so much you had a Beatle haircut, Beatle boots, Ringo rings, you collected Beatles trading cards that came with sheets of bubble gum. You felt that if you could not have Paul, you would be Paul, and your love of The Beatles seemed to really help you undergo a social and spiritual metamorphosis, and rock music at that point became your Bible. But one thing that I loved was that you didn’t want to be a girl singer or The Beatles’ girlfriend. You wanted to be a Beatle, and there’s a big distinction there.
Rickie Lee Jones: That’s the key, isn’t it?
Debbie Millman: Absolutely.
Rickie Lee Jones: And maybe that’s the calling. I just don’t know, but I could never have settled for any of the roles that were offered to the girls. It was just automatic that I would be them.
Debbie Millman: Over the course of your early life, in sort of preparation for your career, you had a number of incidents that you turned down, which took a lot of bravery and courage. And the first was when you started singing, your dad was so impressed with your ability, he took you to an audition for the Lew King show, which was a local television talent show, and you won. But then a decision had to be made that really did impact one direction that your life could have taken. Can you talk a little bit about that?
Rickie Lee Jones: Sure. The Lew King Rangers show was, like you said, a talent show for kids. Who is the famous guy in Vegas, [singing], what was his … he was a star on that show. I auditioned and I was a good singer as a kid, but they told my parents that they would have to buy an insurance policy if I was going to be on the show. An insurance policy was just gangsterism. It would’ve cost a lot of money, from what my parents earned. When we were driving home, I was in the backseat, and I remember this so well, lots of talking, lots of talking about it. Then finally they put it back in my hands and said, “If you really want to do this, we’ll find a way to do it.” And I said, “No, I don’t want to do it—it’s wrong what they’re doing,” and I turned down what I lusted for, which was not only to be on television, but to sing in front of people.
Debbie Millman: You write that the Lew King show and that decision was your first lesson in the dark corners of the music business, where favors are exchanged and sins offered up as collateral. You go on to state, of the many exercises and integrity you have achieved or endured or failed, this was your greatest. Why is that?
Rickie Lee Jones: Because I was a little kid and didn’t have the years that come as you get older, the years of reason. And I instinctually knew it was unethical, but a little kid wants what they want. So I think it’s a harder decision for a little kid to make, maybe not.
Debbie Millman: You describe how that decision really gave you a compass of sorts, which is the one that comes to children who sacrifice their dreams for family, and all around you, your childhood was slipping away. But you write, to your North, you had a dream and only one direction you could call your own. Was that when you knew you wanted to be a professional musician?
Rickie Lee Jones: I knew that I wanted to entertain. I wanted to act, I had been in tap and ballet. I was also swimming, hoping to go to the Olympics. So whatever I was going to be, it was going to be a self-made thing, not a thing I went to school to learn to be. It would be on my shoulders.
Debbie Millman: Yet when you tried out for the school choir, you were turned down.
Rickie Lee Jones: Yes.
Debbie Millman: Not only were you turned down, but the music teacher singled you out in front of your friends and stated that your voice was too unusual and would not fit into his chorus. How do teachers like that even exist?
Rickie Lee Jones: He kind of looked like a Marine. They’re just kind of people that are about everything being the same. Why they’re in the arts … I think there were a lot more of them in the arts. He was teaching everybody that if they wanted to be in music as a profession, they’d have to sound like this and sing like this, and maybe they’d get a job in this choir. You remember in the mid to late ’60s, choirs were very popular. They all sang in unison. So that was the job you could get, and I was like, “That is not the job I’m going to get.” But that hurt really badly.
Yet, he was right. My voice was different. There was something about me that seemed to piss teachers off, and they very unceremoniously sent me on my way. Maybe even at 12 or 13, I had a personality that was singular and meant to be a star on stage. I was not ever going to be in the choir. I always liked that little girl who did the long bow. I would always separate myself somehow, but they could have been so much gentler with me. It’s a longshot.
The people who become famous are longshots. They’re the people that teachers and most people around them go, “This guy’s never going to amount to anything,” because we are finding our way to a different plateau entirely. In that realm, we would be a bum; we’re not meant to be there. We’re meant to be up there. Since so few people make it, I guess, are able to define themselves and sell themselves as a singular new and different, because so many people want the same, same, same. So they treat you so badly. It’s a miracle that anybody who’s a little bit different ever achieves anything that they’re meant to achieve, I think. Yeah, that guy was a bad guy. He really hurt my feelings. He meant to hurt my feelings.
Debbie Millman: And that’s the part that makes it cruel.
Rickie Lee Jones: Yeah.
Debbie Millman: Your childhood was abruptly and forever altered by your brother’s injury. At that point you described your family life as something like a nuclear submarine waiting for the signal to destroy all known life. But music became an even stronger solace for you, and you write how Jefferson Airplane was on your turntable every day. Buffalo Springfield, Jimi Hendrix, Vanilla Fudge, and The Mothers of Invention were frequently played. You also love show tunes, particularly from West Side Story. You go on to describe how Jefferson Airplane’s Surrealistic Pillow seemed to be at the eye of a storm you longed to be part of. What storm was that?
Rickie Lee Jones: Well, outside of my house, the hippies were growing. They’d been growing since ’65 and ’66. There’s an article in LOOK or LIFE Magazine about them on LSD, and little slices of them out there, and their long hair and Indian headbands. So first it’s a look that invites a child, but what they’re talking about, peace, protest, that’s way lower on the list. I wanted to be part of all that love and attention. They would have love-ins. There was a love-in or something in Encanto Park. I wanted to be there so bad. Well, all it was was people standing around. It wasn’t anything like what the title … I thought something magical would be happening in there. But nevertheless, I was drawn out of the family circle and all that trouble and drama to a larger picture that maybe I could find a place in.
Debbie Millman: The last song on Side A of Surrealistic Pillow, “Comin’ Back to Me,” was my favorite. You taught yourself how to play the guitar, sounding out each note one phrase at a time by ear. How did you feel when you realized you could play it?
Rickie Lee Jones: It took so long, so many weeks of practice, and memory, and getting … the fingers would hurt so badly pressing on those little steel razors. Then finally I could make that beautiful motion walking down from the C to the A minor. And when you’re making music, it’s like you’re weaving reality. You’re weaving places. You’re bringing the … it’s magic, and bringing these feelings into existence out here before you. Oh my God. I had longed to do it and I was doing it. That’s all I can say about that. It was pretty wonderful.
From: https://www.printmag.com/podcasts/2021/design-matters-rickie-lee-jones/
