The Roxy
It was 1994, I was all black boots, sheared dye-black hair and a nose ring, and I had just performed at The Roxy, the legendary rock club of West Hollywood’s Sunset Strip. Backstage, my beloved manager Carter introduced me to a man by the name of Bobby Colomby, and at that very moment, a Northridge aftershock shook the house. Bobby and I huddled in a doorway, quieted by the earth’s power. But then he launched into an obnoxious roast, deriding my whistle solo on “Hitler’s Brother’s”. My thoughts raced, “who IS this outrageous person?” He reminded me of a boy in second grade giving me hell! My New England sense of decorum softened as I was able to read his character further; a Jazz-head, a Miles-worshiper (like me), a tease, a lover of Paula Cole music. Bobby was a colleague of Carter’s from their days at Capitol Records, back when Carter resurrected Tina Turner’s career with “Private Dancer”, and the label poured forth hits of the 80’s. There was powerful synchronicity of the moment, the huddle, the earthquake, the two managers of my career and me.
It was 1997, I was all mittens and a fuzzy hat over long, natural hair, “Where Have All The Cowboys Gone” was soaring and my schedule was becoming one continuous nose-bleed. I fit in a favor for the ebullient, obnoxious person I met three years prior (Bobby Colomby, he of whistle-derision.) We met in brittle winter at Sony Studios in Midtown, Manhattan for a live jazz session he was producing. Being too busy to do any background checks, I asked Carter on the phone, “Who is he again? A producer? A drummer?” I was to sing a duet part on an old chestnut, “Call Me Irresponsible” with a voice already laid to track. This was one standard I didn’t know, so I requested a lead sheet. “A lead sheet?” Bobby asked…”what vocalist asks for written music to learn a song today?!” That would be me. Visual learner me. (I just absorb it faster that way. I see the relationship of the chords and points in space - notes. I don’t know too many people in pop or jazz who are this way, but it’s just who I am.) So I got to it, recorded my part quickly, reminiscent of the Sarah, Ella and Frank days when vocalists read lead sheets, enjoyed some ad lib freedom at the fade and that was that. Bobby was intrigued and I was simply happy to be singing some jazz.
…Years later I find Bobby as producer of Jaco Pastorius’ debut album. I find him to be the one who convinced Epic/CBS to keep the Jacksons on the label, which then lead to a multi-platinum album and “Off The Wall”. Bobby sings along to Miles’ solos in the car (and Coltrane’s, and Herbie’s). I find him as a friend…
Year 2004 with my label-life and hits in the rear view, a broken marriage, a baby and sinking sense of self, Bobby emails Carter asking how Paula Cole is doing. Carter replies, “She could use a friend”. We strike online rapport. He asks me to sing more standards. But this time at Capitol Records studio A, where Frank and Sarah did sing, along with Chris Botti, Vinnie Colaiuta, Christian McBride, Billy Childs. Again, more fun; deep listening, interplay and respect among musicians. And a fast pace, recording in one or two takes. (In my book, the only way to work. It’s about the energy.) This funny guy Bobby is becoming a presence in my days and months, weaving in my life over years; a familiar friend on a daily phone call, a trusted partner.
I’m back at the Roxy. It’s 2011, June 7th and it’s Carter’s memorial. His dear friend Sammy Hagar has generously brought all of us Carter fans together to grieve and celebrate the genius, loyalty and passion embodied in this kind man. I enter the Roxy with loud amps screaming for soundcheck. Some wake! I hug, belly laugh and cry my way through the evening, connecting with the family and friends of Carter. I perform, as does Melissa Etheridge, The Motels, Sammy and Chickenfoot. We watch the video testimonials by Tina Turner, Steve Miller, E (The Eels) and listen to the musicians he championed; Bob Seger among my favorites. Bobby is here too. We are missing our friend; the one who connected us in this very spot in 1994. I have the feeling there is some invisible thread gathering me to this moment, as if I’ve concluded a karmic spiral. This moment, I know, reveals in me something nascent; something yet to be understood.
