Cyndi Lauper: A Memoir (21 page)

I said, “Then wake me up.” I was being cautious because my aunt went in to have a lump removed and they fuckin’ took everything: her breast, the flesh under her arm. She was scarred for life. I don’t think they ever saw a patient do what I did, but I knew what happened when you signed away your rights. I still held out hopes for having a kid, and I felt like, “This is my body.” It sounds extreme but I had my own beliefs and convictions, and I was going to live by them—or die by them. So the doctor went in and took the endometriosis tissue out (there were no lasers back then) and there was a lot of scar tissue. I stayed in the hospital for at least a week, and then I was flown to Boston, where I was wheeled to a car. Dave took me to my friend and producer Lennie Petze’s house on Cape Cod to recover. Lennie was so sweet and his whole family took me in.

After two weeks, when I was starting to walk, Bob Geldof invited me to participate in Live Aid. I really wanted to go, and Boy George was encouraging me, too, but at that point, my stomach was still distended and I could hardly pull myself up. It took a while to fully recover, and endometriosis caused me to be in and out of hospitals for the next few years.

After
The Goonies
sucked up so much of my time, and then my illness, I didn’t even start working on my second album until the fall of 1985. And then I had another operation, and no one was supposed to know I was sick so it was very difficult because I had to first come
back health-wise, to have the stamina to work on the album, and then get myself together creatively.

And then Gregory died.

He gave me his beaded Miss Piggy when he died. He loved Miss Piggy. Gregory and Carl bejeweled almost everything they touched—even me. After his funeral, Carl and I, Diana, and our friends Miss Aida and Bobby came back to my apartment in the Thread Building downtown. We were all dazed with grief, and then the piano tuner arrived. I was crying a bit—we all were—and through it all, there was the piano tuner tuning up the piano, note by note. It was the most bizarre thing, but I couldn’t tell him to leave, because I needed the piano for work the next day.

It was the saddest time. But at that point, my album was late. So I had to get going on it. To me, music was this: You take everything in your life, you put it in your work, and then it transcends and transforms.

I was wearing black all the time then. I needed it to hold myself together emotionally while I was working. It was then that I heard a little song on a demo that Anne Murray had turned down. It was written by Billy Steinberg and Tom Kelly, and it was called “True Colors.” It was kind of a country ballad with gospel overtones. I heard the lyrics and the melody and thought, “Well, if it’s a kind of prayer to feel better, then it should be sung like one.” So I asked Peter Wood (my keyboardist who also did a lot of arranging with me) to simplify the chords and play the kind of chords we play, which is open fifths, gently—we don’t play every part of the chord. I wanted to sing it softly to Carl and all the folks who loved Gregory. I knew it was special, that it was a healing song, and I wanted us to heal a little.

As for the arrangement, it was important to create an archaic drum sound, to penetrate a person’s inner being—to call out to that archaic
imprint that was created when cavemen first heard a drumbeat. I sang the words almost in a whisper, and we kept the music spare because if the sentiment is that strong, you can’t overdo it. I had to give the song depth so I could really speak to a person’s soul (as opposed to singing my guts out, which would have been the easy way to go). I wanted to create an otherworldly feeling on the radio and I worked to make my voice sound like it was whispering in your ear, even if you were listening to it in the car. For that, we used a Dolby processor. It brings the air out and makes more of a
sssss
sound.

By singing quietly and using that effect, I tried to resonate with the smallest and most innocent part of a human being, to convey this heavy sentiment in the most delicate way I could. I used the power of being still and not singing out but singing in. From that experience, I learned that the weight of a feather sometimes can topple a mountain, a lesson I’ve remembered all my life.

We recorded the song live. I had many visions while I sang, one of which was of angels on the ceiling—the whiteness and the wings. I also saw the audience in front of me. With these visions surrounding me, I sang this healing song. I had to get out of my way and know that it was not about me. I had to stand there and wait for the spirits to come, and allow them to go through me. I always want to create music that beckons the spirits, whether it be rock or hip-hop or whatever it is. Some rappers smoke pot to put them in a state to make them them forget, so that they can remember—ya know what I mean?

Later, when “True Colors” came out, it was very hard to perform, because I’d be standing there in front of all these people who were keyed up, and I was keyed up too, and I’d have to sing from that place of emotion. When I did get to that place though, this radiance would come from my heart and travel to my arms and hands. It made a bow
that encompassed me, like a hug, and it would go out in the world and do the same thing to the audience.

And when “True Colors” became a hit, I realized that I had fulfilled Gregory’s dream—I sang something about him that became popular, like “That’s What Friends Are For.” I didn’t know it would inspire so much activism until later on, in 1994, when I sang at the pier for Gay Pride in New York City. At rehearsal, when I was sound-checking the song, a sweet-looking man handed me a rainbow flag. He said he was inspired by the song to design it. When he told me that, you could have knocked me over with a feather. I wasn’t sure if it was true, but I wrapped that flag around myself that night and told the crowd about how Gregory wanted a famous song for him—and this was the one. I saw him in my head so clearly. I sang into the breeze where I imagined he was and told him he got his wish because his community had taken the song I sang for him and for us. It had become an anthem. Ever since that night when I sang “True Colors,” I never heard the song the same way. Not ever again. It had become a song of healing, of inspiration, for the community.

Originally I had talked with Rick Chertoff about producing my second album, but he wanted to control everything, while I wanted to coproduce, so that I could grow. So I ended up not working with Rick, and because I didn’t work with him, I couldn’t work with Rob Hyman, either, because they were affiliated. So there went the band and the sound that I created with them.

Anyway, for
True Colors,
I coproduced the album with Lennie and this time we hired session guys. I was always used to being in a band and felt amiss that I wasn’t. And even though we were working with really good musicians, I didn’t know how to articulate anything to them. I mean, I had Adrian Belew on guitar, who was the greatest player ever, and the fantastic Peter Wood, and Lennie brought in
Aimee Mann, who was on my label, to sing background. But you can’t tell Adrian Belew to play like the Four Tops or get in the funk—it’s Adrian Belew, motherfucker! He was in King Crimson! Get with the fuckin’ program!

So I wrote with a bunch of different people and just felt kind of lost. When you’re on the bottom and everything changes, it’s good because it can only change from bad to good. But when you’re on the top and everything changes, you worry that the other shoe will drop. But I wanted to continue my work. I didn’t want to stop.

I teamed up with Tom Gray (he wrote “Money Changes Everything”) and we started writing a song called “A Part Hate,” because I felt strongly antiapartheid and was very upset about Nelson Mandela’s imprisonment. The problem was that I had also covered “What’s Going On,” because I loved Marvin Gaye. And with those two songs and the title track, all of a sudden
True Colors
became a very heavy, serious album. So the label didn’t want “A Part Hate” on it because they thought it was too political.

I couldn’t believe it. They said it was too much of a change—that the Girl Who Just Wanted to Have Fun couldn’t suddenly become political. I said, “‘Girls Just Want to Have Fun’
was
political—don’t you get it?” They didn’t. They were frightened. They were fuckin’ pussies. They paid lip service to being politically aware, but they weren’t really activists. So I couldn’t put “A Part Hate” on
True Colors.
(In fact I didn’t put it out for seven more years.) Me, I still believed rock and roll could change the world and I had seen how it had been done. I made a big impact on Japan and opened up their minds, and what I didn’t do Madonna and Janet Jackson went in and did.

The label kept saying, “Where the hell is the
music
on the ‘True Colors’ single?” Because that single was very spare. I guess they wanted more upbeat pop. But you know what? Unlike a lot of people, I lived
a lifetime before I was even twenty. And I had been through so much that year. I had been in the hospital; I almost thought I was going to die. No one at the label except Lennie knew I was sick. I should have let them know—let them feel like they were going to lose me. Then maybe they would have welcomed my second record a little more than they did instead of fighting me all the time. Of course, there were a few lighter moments on the album, too. Paul Reubens—you know, Pee-wee Herman—was a telephone operator on the track “911.” We met in 1985 when he was the MC at the MTV New Year’s Ball and we became fast friends. He was so easy to be with and funny and we had a similar sensibility. We would figure out things to do together on television, like we went miniature-golfing together on
Entertainment Tonight.
Then when he developed his own TV show,
Pee-wee’s Playhouse,
he wanted me to sing the theme song. I told him I would, but I couldn’t have it under my name because I was going to put out
True Colors,
which had a serious tone. In our superficial world, people couldn’t accept both at the same time. So I sang the theme song using the pseudonym “Ellen Shaw.” And then Paul sent me back a tape that was so hilariously funny, of me singing the theme with him in between saying, “Oh no! My career is ruined, oh no!” He’s a nut. I love him.

Patti LaBelle, who had become a friend, was supposed to be on
True Colors,
too. But she wanted some royalties, and Lennie and Dave wouldn’t do it. I didn’t give a shit but then I agreed with them and I lost my chance to sing with my friend on a record.

I met her when I was in LA, when I went to one of her concerts after my “Fun” tour ended. I’ve always been a huge fan of her voice, and she was awesome, as usual. I got backstage and I remember sitting there just crying, because her performance was so moving. Then she invited me up onstage—talk about totally unprepared. I think she
was doing “Stir It Up” and I ended up singing background. Then later I just started singing and jamming with her and we became friends.

Then she had a Thanksgiving TV special in 1985 and asked me to be on it. She invited some other people too, like Luther Vandross and Amy Grant. Poor Amy—she was like a deer in the headlights onstage. Patti can sometimes just run you down with her singing when she gets caught up.

On that special, when I heard Patti sing “Time After Time,” it made me feel like, “Okay, I’ve arrived.” We sang together: She called, I responded, and lucky for me I could do whatever she wanted me to. Until I did that special, I had no idea how my work actually affected the African-American community (I heard a lot that black radio was “not my market”). Years later I’d be on the street and African-American people would come up to me—postal workers, all kinds of people—and tell me that they remembered me from that special. That always moved me.

We also sang “Lady Marmalade” together. Like I said, in my first band, that was the go-to song if everything was going amok—my bandmates would go, “Get out there and sing ‘Lady Marmalade’!” Being able to sing with someone whose songs I sang as a kid, whose voice I connected with, and who was singing one of my songs was one of the more remarkable moments of my career. That was a big one for me.

While I was finishing work on the album, Annie Leibovitz shot the album cover. I would go do shoots and come back and work on the album. I stayed up all night sometimes and then I’d work out because I had to look good. I tried not to eat past six
P.M
., ever, because I had lost a lot of weight when I was sick and wanted to keep it off.

Then we shot the video for “True Colors.” The concept is that I’m a storyteller beating an African drum while a girl is shown moving
through childhood and adulthood. A shell symbolizes the turning of the tides. The video and the song are about learning to love yourself and accept yourself. I was supposed to codirect it but once I put that stupid headdress on I couldn’t even move. So Pat Birch, who also directed “Money Changes Everything,” was the sole director.

And once again Dave was in the video. I wanted to show the spiritual connection between people and to convey an angelic vibe, so we became solarized when we kissed. (But I don’t think I should have had him in that one scene with his bare chest, pulling the white sheet up from me like he did. Everyone made fun of him for that.)

When I had the
True Colors
listening party in New York, I invited a bunch of wrestlers, because they were part of my family, as fucked-up as they were. But the whole wrestling thing had gone to shit because Vince and the World Wrestling Federation crew had turned into these weird, greedy people who pushed Dave and me out, so not too long after the party, I decided to end the whole wrestling thing. I got a lot of shit for being involved in wrestling from the critics, because it wasn’t serious. So somehow it made my music less serious. But I don’t think that was the case at all and I stand by it.

After the album came out in late summer 1986, I went on
Late Night with David Letterman
again to sing “True Colors” and I was so freaked out. I kept thinking, “Oh my God, how am I going to perform? I have to win all these people over and I have to do it quietly, without singing my guts out.” I remember my hair was bright yellow with some red extensions—it was very exciting. I had on a Vivienne Westwood skirt and a hat from the World’s Fair and this really beautiful vintage cowboy shirt that was all kinds of green, so pretty.