Here's
an interview from a
Love
Jewel. Hate Jewel. Fear her manipulative mom. Laugh at her poetry. Give
her
props for not fixing that snaggletooth. Marvel at her staying power.
Almost
seven years ago, I interviewed the fresh-from-Alaska Jewel Kilcher,
before
she'd sold many copies of her first album. At the time, she'd just
parked
the van she lived in prior to her fabled rags-to-riches saga, was
happy
not to be a waitress anymore, and promised herself and her growing
public
a long career. Two albums and a book of poetry later, Jewel is still
Jewel.
Emerging from a hiatus with a bull-ridin' boyfriend (rodeo champ Ty
Huff
(Celine Dion, Reba McEntire, Shania Twain), Jewel seems back in the
saddle.
Until, literally, she was thrown from a horse during an April riding
mishap.
While recuperating, Jewel again answered a barrage of probing
questions.
Q:
How bad was your accident? What happened, exactly?
A:
We had a branding in
cowboy
gave me, and he bucks with you a little bit when you first saddle him.
So
my boyfriend got on him and rode that out of him. But it wasn't out of
him.
As soon as I got on him, he bucked me off. Pretty wicked. I broke my
collarbone
and a rib.
Q:
What's changed since 1995?
A:
Everything has changed, and nothing's changed. Whatever ghosts you have in
your
head follow you anywhere, which I knew before I got into this. So far,
I've
been able to stay true to my goals, which were to try and create a
career
that would give me longevity and artistic freedom. And somehow in the
meantime,
I sold a shitload of records!
Q:
Did that success take something away from you?
A:
If you stop ringing true, then people are going to stop being touched. You
have
to really, really fight in this business, and you have to keep writing
true.
You also have to take a lot of risks and not care about record sales
and
not care about radio hits yet really care about how you're evolving and
maturing
and how you're metamorphosing as an artist. I fight for that more
than
anything, and it's a hard thing to fight for. By the end of Spirit, my
second
record, I'd had it. For years, I quit. That was it: no more chick
singer.
I didn't know if I'd ever come back. I started feeling more like a
pop
star than something useful. It wasn't very fulfilling, and I had to do
something
that would make me happy. So I quit until I knew what it was. I
think
part of it was extreme fatigue -- I worked endlessly. Another part of
it
was, you know, your head gets too full with other people's voices --
statistics
and things that are just garbage. As long as I can get away to the
quiet
and a place like I was raised with open space all around me, I can
rejuvenate
and feel pretty gregarious and forthcoming again.
Q:
Did you really think about quitting music for good, abandoning your
childhood
dream?
A:
When you're 18, you dream a dream, and when you're 25, it may not look
like
you anymore. And you've got to face that. I could have continued for
quite
a few more years, living on the vapors of something that truly wasn't
me
any longer. It would be like a tree that has died but is still standing.
And
unless I found something that made me burn again, that made me need it
again,
I just wasn't going to come back. It just makes me really unhappy to
be
that way. Fame was never enough to go, "Gee whiz, isn't this cool?"
I've
always
been able to beat the system, whatever that means. I need to feel like
I
have integrity. But the game got boring -- constantly being on tour, never
being
home, never writing, always talking. But I do still enjoy it, and it's
nice
to know I'm still in love with this. I was definitely worried I wasn't.
Q:
Why did you make your new album in Nashville?
A:
I like it there because a lot of people just want to make a record. They
don't
care if your haircut's the coolest or what the Goo Goo Dolls' latest
guitar
tone was -- you know, all that shit that sort of insidiously creeps
into
a record. Or you suddenly have this producer trying to give you his idea
of
what radio sounds like. I wanted to get away from all of that and find a
producer
that would do nothing but, well, my bidding, really. And Dann was
that
guy. He has an ego that's really in check. He was there to make a record
for
me. That may sound strange to you, but I can't tell you how important
that
is. This is the first record that sounds like me.
Q:
Have writers asked you about some of your chores on Murray's ranch -- like
castrating
bulls?
A:
Yes, quite a few have asked. But I mean, I don't think it's a big deal. I
mean,
golly, it's just part of life. I got a letter from somebody saying, "Do
you
enjoy their pain?"
Q:
How did you and Moby become friends?
A:
He was playing a little show here in San Diego, no more than 200 people. A
friend
and I went backstage, and we just hit it off instantly. He's a fax
friend:
He draws cartoons and I draw cartoons, and so we send each other
faxes.
Q:
Doesn't he give you shit about rodeo's treatment of animals?
A:
He's curious about it, but Moby's never given me shit. Moby's not didactic
at
all -- he does what he believes in, but he doesn't act like a Nazi. Plus,
it
isn't an issue because there isn't an unfair treatment of animals, in my
opinion.
A lot of that is mythology; I don't know how it got built up. I
guess
people just don't have any comprehension; they don't understand because
they've
never been around animals. They don't understand that people are
managing
animals in the most humane way possible. Those animals are -- those
animals
cost $50,000! That's like saying people are going to abuse a car that
cost
them $50,000. You have to take really good care of those animals,
because
if they don't perform, you don't get paid. So you can't starve an
animal
or hurt an animal. I think the funniest argument is that people think
they
always put something around the bull's testicles to make them buck. (
Laughs)
But if you had anything around your testicles, would you buck?
Q:
I'm not sure -- would I?
A:
No. You'd be very still.
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