Paula Cole is a songwriter you’ve heard likely hundreds of times over. Whether it’s her songs like “Where Have All the Cowboys Gone?” or “I Don’t Want to Wait,” both of which were on the airwaves in the 1990s seemingly every hour, or her new work, Cole is an important figure in the music business.
Videos by American Songwriter
In 1998, Cole won the Grammy Award for Best New Artist and that same year she (stunningly) became the first woman to ever be nominated for Producer of the Year at the awards show. A trailblazer and an iconic artist. That’s big time.
[RELATED: Behind the Meaning of Stevie Nicks and Don Henley’s Classic Duet “Leather and Lace”]
But now, Cole has new music coming out, including her newest single, “Green Eyes Crying”, which is out today (January 10), and a new LP, Lo, which is set to drop March 1. So, we caught up with the songwriter and performer to get the scoop behind the new music and her lasting legacy.
American Songwriter: How did you start songwriting and when did you know you had a real talent for it?
Paula Cole: My mother tells me I would make up songs as an infant—pre-speech songs. I had one called, “Gwardin,” to which I’d sing myself to sleep. I probably felt lonely in the dark and music comforted me. Music is there for me, even when a mother isn’t. I remember creating melodies like “My Name is Paula” on the piano, just learning to speak, or, perhaps darkly and presciently, “God May Take The Earth” as a kid. I remember dreaming out the cold, New England colonial window thinking about life and coming up with that one.
It was the ’70s in a very remote town located at the tip of an island, after all. Creating a song, making something out of nothing, requires a connection to the mystery. That connection has been present throughout my life. I’d hit this link when I needed it, or when it needed me, I’m not sure. It’s a divine mystery. I’ve learned motor skills on instruments, language, theory, production, etcetera, but really it’s an inexplicable connection, a trance, an intuition, a healing therapy, a cultural transference worth much more than a reductive recipe, or worse, a digital file costing but $0.00005 on Spotify.
In fact, it’s ridiculous that I try to teach songwriting. I’m hard on myself. It’s difficult for me to think I have a real talent for songwriting. I see new perspectives constantly. I regard myself as a perpetual student, sometimes to my detriment. I didn’t release my collaboration with Dolly Parton (“Heart Door”) because I felt ashamed of my song. I didn’t think it was good enough for Dolly or the world. It didn’t make the album-cut (for Amen in 1999), which I regret now. Instead it came out on a forgettable movie soundtrack. Everyone has some periods of growth and transition. Not every song is a majestic opus. And all the greats had bad songs.
AS: Well, speaking of songwriting, when do you know a certain line or bit of language that runs through your head is fit for a song—meaning, what does it need to achieve for you to be included in a song? When it’s sufficiently melodic, poetic, thoughtful?
PC: I think in the end, I’d rather work fast, remain curious, aim to be prolific and connected, creating work and committing to it, releasing the work even with its potential cringe-worthy moments, rather than be overly precious, honing and honing, worrying and wondering. That’s a lot of life lost. I like to look long. I love artists who’ve changed over their careers, explored, took chances, even when losing temporary fans.
I think about Miles Davis. He liked to capture essence in approximately one-to-three takes. There is beauty in looseness. When it gets overly wrought it feels precious, mechanistic, and I may as well be making shoes. Sometimes I force myself to write—I’m good with homework. Other times, life has me feeling and reeling, and I simply need the music to express what I can’t articulate otherwise. It’s important to identify when one’s inner-editor—that cruel autocrat—is sabotaging creativity. We must dare to fail, be ridiculous or mediocre and move on.
AS: What is it like for you to have songs that have endured and stood the test of time like “Where Have All the Cowboys Gone” and “I Don’t Want to Wait”—what was it like to hear them on the air seemingly ubiquitously during the 1990s?
PC: It has been incredible to hear the songs in culture, in vernacular, even. But it’s more incredible to hear how songs have touched lives. I hear stories—songs help people overcome abusive relationships, survive cancer, come out. Music is so profound. I have felt misunderstood in my career, being seen just for the hits, and I hold faith that over time I’ll be understood for the whole of my catalog and the hopeful, long arc of my life. My success happened too fast in the 90’s. I am a tortoise, not a hare. I want people to know my new work.
AS: It was about 25 years ago when you earned a Grammy Award for Best New Artist and became the first woman to be nominated for Producer of the Year—how did that time change you? Or how did you work to stay the same person you’d always been?
PC: I didn’t mean to crack a ceiling, I was just trying to be authentic to myself. It was very hard pushing to be my own producer. When I was nominated as the first woman for the job I realized that’s why it was so hard—I was naively countering culture. And all that attention didn’t fit this introvert well. I didn’t have a good support system around me. I signed some disastrous contracts—one, a record deal, another, a patriarchal state marriage contract—then I left the business.
One good thing was that I moved back to my hometown. In some people’s eyes that’s failure—in others, an Odyssey. I wanted to heal my personal life, nurture my familial relationships, raise my daughter, and then my step-children, in a grounded way. My daughter would have been unhappy being toted around to Mother’s concerts. Now that the kids are graduating from college, becoming independent adults, I’m able to spread my wings more. I hold faith that people will listen to my new music. I have a lot to say and I’m fortified. In the end, it’s more important to have love over Grammys.
AS: Your newest single “Green Eyes” is out January 10. What does this song represent for you in terms of where you are as a songwriter and recording artist?
PC: “Green Eyes Crying” is daring in its honesty. I allow myself freedom in my songwriting, even if it may sometimes hurt me or others. Writing and releasing this song allowed me to grow. I realized I was holding myself back from loving fully. I had trauma, and the trauma wasn’t allowing me to trust and evolve. This song literally helped me identify my feelings and to choose love. I experimented with an open guitar tuning. I play this song with my thumbs on a very low-tuned acoustic. I think I love that I am in my rock-art power here, and the band is just killing it. “Green Eyes Crying” feels muscular and vulnerable and confident all at the same time.
AS: How does your new album, Lo, showcase who you are today as an artist?
PC: I am back at the helm. I’ve written every song, 100%. I’m producing. My band has been with me for years. I write with them in mind. The songs are recorded live. Every soul (Jay Bellerose, Chris Bruce, Ross Gallagher, Rich Hinman) is a vital character in the Shakespearean drama of Lo. Mike Piersante (the engineer) is our lens. Our light refracts through his board, brain, heart and hands. I have always wanted to be a band, not a solo artist. My drummer Jay and I have been playing together since I was nineteen years old. I’m proud of Lo—it feels like a band album. It’s vicious, it’s tender, it’s true.
Photo by Ebro Yildiz / Courtesy Shore Fire Media
Leave a Reply
Only members can comment. Become a member. Already a member? Log in.