"Sure I absolutely remember you," LeAnn Rimes says. Of course, as there are many reporters and only one LeAnn Rimes, I remember her a whole lot better. I first interviewed LeAnn backstage before a concert at the MGM Grand Garden Arena on October 29, 1999. Just days earlier she'd released her third disc: a collection of mostly predictable—five of the songs are from Patsy Cline's greatest hits—covers. Just as predictable were Rimes' answers during the interview. Rimes, though still a teen, was a slick pro, always on message: sweet, demure, yet offering picture-perfect enthusiasm about her life and her new disc. It was boring.
Rimes could handle press like me on any subject no matter what quicksand was thrown her way. This from an interview in 2000:
Me: "You and Christina Aguilera both recently had to cancel a concert due to voice problems. Why do you think this never happens to Britney Spears?"
Rimes: "That's a funny question. Very cute. I saw Almost Famous. Is your life like that?"
At the end of our first interview, exasperated, I asked, "Is there any question you haven't been asked yet?"
"Honestly, no," Rimes said. Then she smiled, shook my hand and headed down the hall with her boyfriend and bodyguard in tow to get a gander at Faith Hill's new baby.
Right then, her publicist should have escorted me out of the dressing room. But for reasons that would soon become painfully public in lawsuits, Rimes was estranged from her management and label, and no one was there to protect her privacy. I was left there alone with her grandfather, who complained bitterly to me about LeAnn. The details don't matter, and since I don't work for the National Enquirer, I never used it. Not that what he said that day was any big deal; still, I was embarrassed by the man's naive indiscretion to a reporter.
But it was the only glitch I detected that day in LeAnn's carefully polished image, one that she had been delivering to the media non-stop since 1996, when Blue made the 13-year-old the future of country music. Rimes' debut album became one of the fastest-selling releases in the history of country, and though she didn't win, she became the youngest singer ever nominated for Best Country Singer at the CMA.
To the world, the wide-eyed girl with the big voice was presented as little Shirley Temple, except "Blue" replaced "The Good Ship Lollypop." Of course, Blue was delivered in a voice that was anything but cute, a voice that could move mountains. It turned out LeAnn Rimes was a lot like her voice.
'I hate you'
Over the next couple of years, LeAnn Rimes sued her label, Curb Records, and her management company, headed by her father. She had good reasons. Her management team had let her sign a terrible contract as a child and she was now stuck to it as a successful adult artist. Even worse, by some accounts, her father was getting a bigger share of her money than she. The battle was very public and very punishing. LeAnn refused to record for Curb, and they put out an archive release that she denounced on The Tonight Show. The low moment came in open court; after losing a round with Curb a distraught LeAnn said to her father, "I hate you."
As this was developing, I interviewed Rimes at various awards shows and concerts. Remarkably, she could steer the subject of any question about her life into perfect professional spin. Here is a typical answer from backstage at Tiger Jam 2000 in response to the negative press:
"I'm becoming a real person actually and trying to find out who I am and my music is definitely changing with that. You know I love the music that I've done in the past, but I'm growing into my own and it is the first time people will get to see me as an artist."
What music she was talking about wasn't clear at the time, though now I suspect it was the slick, dance-heavy, childhood exorcism released as Twisted Angel in 2002. Neither critics nor fans took to the production-heavy record that buried her astonishing voice.
Why don't you listen to meeee?
Always with her that day were her slimy yet charming boyfriend and her very LA bodyguard, whom the boyfriend had arranged for, and who at times also told me he was her publicist and manager. After the show was over, Rimes' boyfriend—after taking me to her hotel room to meet her dogs—invited me to a party LeAnn was having with friends at the Foundation Room, high atop Mandalay Bay. I had no business there, but how could I say no?
Plus, I had a secret agenda. It wasn't really self-interest, but it was an interest, and so I didn't want to do it on the clock. But as a party guest …
You see, I have this demo that was sent to me years earlier for a beautiful song by a nobody, a woman in her 40s who worked busing tables in Texas. I didn't know the woman well, but I loved the song. I thought it would be perfect for Rimes. Like every critic, I thought artists would do better if they asked me for advice. I knew what my answer to LeAnn Rimes would be:
"LeAnn, you have a great voice that you waste on chestnuts and chest-thumpers. You need material that lets you do more than charm and shout. I just happen to have here …"
If I went to the party, all I needed to do was to summon my nerve and hand it to her.
I failed.
In fact, she never asked for my advice or opinion on anything. Like it was her birthday, LeAnn sat at the head of a large table surrounded by girlfriends. I said hello to her, but mostly listened first to the bodyguard pitch me on stories about a soap actress he claimed to represent, and then listened to the boyfriend explain all his plans for her career. Then the boyfriend's father explained that he knew better than the boyfriend what Rimes should do. My cassette stayed in my pocket as LeAnn seemed to have enough unsolicited advice. I left the party thinking that Rimes was about to enter into an adulthood trusting people even more questionable than the ones she was escaping.
She's all grown up now
But that didn't happen. That was almost three years ago. I underestimated her. Instead, Rimes ditched the gold-digging boyfriend. She fired the bodyguard—who then got indicted by a grand jury for trying to extort money from her. Now Rimes is married to a fellow named Dean Sheremet, who doesn't seek the spotlight. She has abandoned her expensive LA digs for a move to more sedate Nashville. She stopped being around the parties. The tabloids forgot her. These days, Rimes finally does sound real with the tape running. How's this for adult? She no longer burdens herself by claiming her life is perfect—only that it is private.
"I've never really been able to hide anything until now, because I won't let people into my life anymore. My private life is private. I learned the hard way."
Not that she totally can resist a lifetime habit of giving homilies as interviews. "I think that everything that I've been through was all placed in my life for a reason: to make me stronger. It has. Now, I can face anything."
Rimes also settled all the lawsuits. The details of her settlement with Curb aren't public, but she is still on the label, which has just released Greatest Hits. Rimes says:
"I really do believe in artist rights. Curb was there for me at a time when no one else would give me a chance. If everyone works together, it can work out. I have a wonderful relationship with them now. It is different from when I was a child. I wanted to make a stance for my own self. But I am in a good place and I am on a great label. Our communication is great now."
A last bit of advice
Now, with Greatest Hits marking a capstone to her teen accomplishments, Rimes can focus on her biggest challenge: making music as mature as she has become. She is the premier singer of her generation, far more skilled than the likes of Beyonce Knowles and Aguilera. But, unlike them, she has not yet found the material that will define her adult presence. Despite all her success, LeAnn Rimes is where she began: a brilliant singer capable of going anywhere—or nowhere.
On her next disc, Rimes must finally choose between a career of blustering hits and holiday specials like Celine Dion or honoring her talent by growing into a true artist like Emmylou Harris.
I hope it is the later. Of course, she's never asked my advice or opinion. Interviews are sadly one way in that regard. And these days, the people around her know better than to invite me to her parties. But if she ever does ask, I have a song by this woman who buses tables in Texas ...