When I was in seventh grade, I had my first professional recording1 session. I didbackground vocals3 on a few original songs, including a cover of the classic R & B ballad“Feel the Fire,” originally written and recorded by Peabo Bryson. The session took placein a dinky little home studio, but it was a real job, and I got paid real money. It was alsowhen I began to discover how to create nuances and textures4 in vocal2 arrangements andhow to use my voice to build layers, like a painter. This was when my romance with thestudio began. This was a major moment that began my journey, my drive to succeed.
One session gig led to the next. I was a little big fish in a puddle5. The Long Islandmusic scene was pretty small, and word of mouth was the method of marketing6 yourself.
By the time I was fourteen or fifteen, I was writing songs and recording backgroundvocals and jingles7 for local businesses. I was doing background vocals regularly for theseyoung Wayne’s World type of guys. They were into wild, loud guitar riffs and stuff, whileI was listening to (rather, I was obsessed8 with) contemporary urban radio, which wasmostly R & B, hip-hop, and dance music. I lived for the radio. Though our tastes wereclearly very different, I liked the work nonetheless. I was making demos for songs andcommercials, and learning how to adapt my voice to the task, whatever it was. The studiowas my natural habitat. Like being in the ocean, when I was there, I felt weightless, and allmy outside concerns fell away. I focused only on the music, and even if I didn’t like theirsongs, I respected the work it took to make them. One day, while we were working on oneof their mishmashes of a song, I told them I was a songwriter too. I figured if we couldwork on their corny stuff, why couldn’t we work on my stuff?
Technically10, I had been writing since before I was a teenager. I wrote poems andsketches of songs in my diary. Every once in a while I would be alone in the house, or mymother would be asleep, and I would have a moment of lightness in the small, dim livingroom, sitting on the wooden piano stool at my mother’s surprisingly well-kept brownupright Yamaha piano. I would prop11 my diary on the music shelf, feet dangling12. I’d hum abit of a melody, search for the keys that were the closest to my voice. Then, very quietly—nearly whispering—I’d sing a few words with the melody.
I trusted the music I was hearing in my head. I believed it was akin9 to the popularsongs I heard on the radio. My songs didn’t mimic13 the style or sound of what I heard;rather, I would always search for the right sound, the one that felt like me. And I believedmy sound would fit in with, or even break through, what was on the radio. I reallybelieved that. I knew what I was hearing was advanced for my age, but luckily I wasworking with two guys who were very collaborative and open to working with such ayoung and female artist. So it was there in their mother’s house, in a sad little slapped-together studio, that I wrote and produced one of my favorite demos, “To Begin” (I stilllove it, but sadly it’s among one of the many lost tapes of little Mariah). I was confident Ihad a solid song.
They were like, “Why are we listening to this little kid?” Honestly, I just don’t thinkthey understood the culture, genres14, and tones I was working with. They really were weirdlittle garage-band hippieish-type guys. Indeed, I was a little kid, but I also knew where thepulse of the culture was—and that they were not anywhere near it. The discipline ofworking with them was good for me. But by the time I was fifteen, I had outgrown16 them.
One of my first regular gigs was with these two sketchy17 guys who made demos. Theyliked my sound because I had that young-girl quality that was popular at the time, largelybecause of Madonna’s success. But I was actually a young girl, and my vocals could getinto that high pitch range naturally. I could emulate18 the popular Madonna studiotechnique, but with my voice alone.
I auditioned19 by singing one of the songs they wrote, and they hired me on the spot. Sothe sketchy guys began paying me to sing demos. This was the official start of myprofessional career—and of a never-ending succession of sketchy characters that camewith it. I had entered the treacherous20 territory of the “music industry.” Though my journeywas just beginning, I would soon be initiated21 into the complicated dynamics22 that femaleartists have to endure. As I now know, most don’t make it through.
There were weird15 vibes from the start because I couldn’t really tell if these guys werepervy or not, but I believed nothing crazy would happen because they both had wives whowere around all the time. Na?vely, I thought these women might take on big-sister typeroles with me. They were all full-blown adults, and I was still just about a child, butunfortunately, my age and talent caused friction23. Even though I was a scrawny littleteenager (I mean, my body was pretty much a straight line at that age), one of the wiveswas threatened by me. She was always close by, prancing24 around in short shorts, givingme evil energy. I didn’t understand what was going on. I was too young to get it, and also,I was there to work. Maybe my own short shorts were inappropriate around these oldermen. I didn’t know. I was just a kid getting her first whiff of independence, and besides, afew pairs of cheap shorts and tops were all I owned. I was in a battle of the short shorts,and I didn’t even know it.
I continued recording demos of songs for the guys, making a little money. But again,just as with the garage-band dudes, we were putting down their songs, though I believedmy songs were stronger. And again, I asked if they were open to me writing some songs.
Initially25, they refused. It was totally frustrating26: here I was singing weird, corny songsagain. Didn’t these people even listen to the radio? I wondered. Didn’t they know whatwas popular? I studied the music on the radio closely, constantly analyzing27 what was inheavy rotation28. I knew the songs they were writing weren’t good. Despite not liking29 thematerial, I sang it because it was my job, and I really needed the money. But now that I’dhad a taste of making demos, I knew I needed to get my own songs down, and quickly.
Later I was able to make a deal with one of the guys who owned a studio: I would singdemos for him if he would let me work on my own. I brought in one of the songs I hadbegun at my mother’s piano at the shack30, called “Alone in Love.” I sat in a room aloneand began to make my very first demos. My own.
Swept me away
But now I’m lost in the dark
Set me on fire
But now I’m left with a spark
Alone, you got beyond the haze31 and
I’m lost inside the maze32
I guess I’m all alone in love
—“Alone in Love”
I figured out the setup. I experimented with the songs. I did dance tracks, straight down theline, all different sounds. I learned how to produce under pressure. I was in the studio,doing it. “Alone in Love” was one of the first tracks on my demo. A version of the songeventually made it onto my first album and remains33 one of my favorites.
You haunt me in my dreams
I’m calling out your name
I watch you fade away
Your love is not the same
I’ve figured out your style
To quickly drift apart
You held me for a while
Planned it from the start
All alone in love
I was in eleventh grade.
I distinctly remember one night—bleeding into morning. The pink of dawn was seepingthrough the edges of the deep-purple night sky, and I didn’t know where the hell I was,again. Somewhere on the Taconic Parkway, or maybe the Cross Bronx Expressway?
Clutching the hard-plastic steering34 wheel of my mother’s rickety old Cutlass Supreme35, Itried to stay focused on the road and not stress over the needle of the gas gauge36 that stayedtwitching on E.
Every day was a struggle, with me trying to find my way home after work just to graba few hours of sleep before I had to get to school. I’d recently graduated out of the LongIsland music scene. My brother (who was also trying to make a name for himself in themusic industry, as a manager or producer—I’m not sure what) had introduced me to a newcrop of session musicians and studio engineers in the city—New York City. I begancommuting to The City to do sessions at night and then would turn right back around andhead to The Island to get to school the next morning. So began my first double life (kindof).
Very few of my peers at school knew what I was doing. They didn’t know I wasdriving alone on highways, getting lost at midnight, collapsing37 on my bed, then draggingmyself to school. They didn’t know why I was late every day. I didn’t talk about itbecause I knew it would sound crazy—and most people didn’t have the ability to reallybelieve as hard as I did. Besides, the kids I knew didn’t need to believe. They were gettingnew cars, Camaros and Mustangs, for their sixteenth birthdays. They had their pathsmapped out and were well financed for generations to come. Most were certain they weregoing to go to college. They had a guaranteed life already planned out for them.
I remember that once, one of the most popular jocks in the school asked me what I wasdoing after graduation. I usually didn’t tell any of the kids around about my dreams, but inthis case I did. I told him I was going to be a singer and songwriter. His response was,“Yeah, right; you’ll be working at HoJo’s in five years.” (HoJo’s was short for HowardJohnson’s, the chain of hotels and restaurants that was still widely popular then.) Thedegradation was totally intended.
As it turns out, in less than three years, in a simple black dress, with a head full ofcurls and a stomach full of, yes, butterflies, I walked through a packed stadium among thedeafening buzz of tens of thousands of voices. A loud, clear voice cut through thecacophony: “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Columbia recording artist MariahCarey for the singing of ‘America the Beautiful.’” The piano track was recorded byRichard T. I held the little mic and sang that big song with everything I had. I hit a reallyhigh note on “sea to shining sea,” and the stadium erupted.
When I finished, the announcer said, “The Palace now has a queen, and the goosebumps will continue.” It was Game 1 of the NBA finals, between Detroit and Portland. Iknew that the jock who condemned38 me to HoJo’s (no shade on anyone in service work,because I’ve been there), and everyone who had looked down on me, and millions ofAmericans were watching. None of the players, none of the fans knew who I was when Iwalked in, but they would remember me when I walked out. A victory.
Another very early high visibility big breakthrough moment: “Vision of Love” wasnumber one on the R & B charts before it was in the top spot on the pop charts, and so mynational television debut39 was on The Arsenio Hall Show. Arsenio was more than a host; hehad more than a late night show; it was a cultural event, a true Black experience—or,rather, it was a mainstream40 entertainment show seen through a Black lens. Everyonewatched it and talked about it everywhere. I will always be grateful and proud that it wason Arsenio’s stage that most of America got to see my face, know my name, and hear mysong for the first time.
In my teens, living in a constant state of exhaustion41 and exhilaration became my newnormal. But with every mile driven and each dawn met, I was more and more determined42.
My ambition grew to the level of devotion. And the hard-earned blessings43 were beginningto come down. My brother did manage to connect me with a reputable producer and writernamed Gavin Christopher. Gavin had written big hits for Rufus (the band for which ChakaKhan sang lead) and produced songs for Grandmaster Flash and Afrika Bambaataa. Weinstantly clicked and began working together to produce one of my first professionaldemos. I also met his girlfriend, Clarissa, another singer, and we got along well. I likedthem both, and I could feel the stirrings of a new life in the city appearing before me.
Making valuable connections in New York City was certainly crucial to my career, butgetting out of my mother’s house was no longer just a desire, it was a necessity. When Iwas younger I had no control over our constant moves and my mother’s consistently poorchoices in men. In my last year of high school she began dating a guy I despised. He waspetty and manipulative. On Thanksgiving we all went out to dinner, and he actuallyinsisted that I and my nephew Shawn (who was in middle school), Alison’s first son, payfor our portions of dinner. He divided up the receipt evenly among the people present anddemanded we pay our share. So after I gave him the few pitiful, crumpled-up dollars I hadin my pockets, which was just about all the money I had, Shawn and I left and went to themovies to see Back to the Future II. No thanks to him.
When my mother decided44 to marry him, I knew it was my cue to move out. I guess shethought she had struck it rich marrying this guy because he had a boat in the WestSeventy-Ninth Street Boat Basin. But that was where he lived before he crashed into theshack, and trust me, his boat was more tugboat than yacht.
Eventually she ended that abominable45 marriage. The divorce took multiple years andmany lawyer fees, which of course I paid for after the success of my first record. Then thejerk even ended up suing me for the rights to some fictitious46 Mariah Carey doll (if I had adollar for every deadbeat who sued me, I’d be?… well, it’s been a lot). But I was the polaropposite of rich when I moved out of my mother’s house. I was broke and seventeen yearsold. It was the late 1980s, and I was living completely on my own in New York City.
Fate is a bizarre thing. When I was about seven, we were living in that cramped47 apartmenton top of the deli, and I used to love to hear the sounds of the radio coming up into ourwindows. I remember swaying, posing, and singing with Odyssey48: “Oh, oh, oh, you’re anative New Yorker / You should know the score by now.” I didn’t know what “knowing thescore” was, but I wanted that fabulous49 New York feeling even back then. It took ten moreyears, but I had finally arrived.
To me, the city had a raw grit50 and an impossible chicness. It was in perpetual motion:
masses of people walking fast, no one looking the same but all moving in sync. The citywas crazy messenger bikes whizzing around and countless51 long yellow cabs zigzaggingthrough the streets like a swarm52 of rough bumblebees. Something was happeningeverywhere you looked—huge billboards53, flashing neon signs, wild graffiti emblazonedacross all kinds of surfaces, covering subway cars, water towers, and vans. It was like onebig, funky54 moving art gallery. The main avenues were grand, crowded catwalks filled witheclectic fashion models, business moguls, street hustlers, and workers of every ilk, allstrutting and with no one studyin’ each other. Everyone had somewhere to go andsomething to do. It was a mad and fabulous planet of concrete and crystals populated withmisfits, magicians, dreamers, and dealers—I landed right in the middle of it. Hello baby, Iwas made for this.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
recording
|
|
| n.录音，记录 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
vocal
|
|
| adj.直言不讳的；嗓音的；n.[pl.]声乐节目 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
vocals
|
|
| （乐曲中的）歌唱部份，声乐部份( vocal的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
textures
|
|
| n.手感( texture的名词复数 )；质感；口感；（音乐或文学的）谐和统一感 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
puddle
|
|
| n.(雨)水坑，泥潭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
marketing
|
|
| n.行销，在市场的买卖，买东西 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
jingles
|
|
| 叮当声( jingle的名词复数 )； 节拍十分规则的简单诗歌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
obsessed
|
|
| adj.心神不宁的,鬼迷心窍的,沉迷的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
akin
|
|
| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
technically
|
|
| adv.专门地，技术上地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
prop
|
|
| vt.支撑；n.支柱，支撑物；支持者，靠山 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
dangling
|
|
| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
mimic
|
|
| v.模仿，戏弄；n.模仿他人言行的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
genres
|
|
| （文学、艺术等的）类型，体裁，风格( genre的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
weird
|
|
| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
outgrown
|
|
| 长[发展] 得超过（某物）的范围( outgrow的过去分词 )； 长[发展]得不能再要（某物）； 长得比…快； 生长速度超过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
sketchy
|
|
| adj.写生的，写生风格的，概略的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
emulate
|
|
| v.努力赶上或超越，与…竞争；效仿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
auditioned
|
|
| vi.试听（audition的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
treacherous
|
|
| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
initiated
|
|
| n. 创始人 adj. 新加入的 vt. 开始，创始，启蒙，介绍加入 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
dynamics
|
|
| n.力学，动力学，动力，原动力；动态 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
friction
|
|
| n.摩擦，摩擦力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
prancing
|
|
| v.（马）腾跃( prance的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
initially
|
|
| adv.最初，开始 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
frustrating
|
|
| adj.产生挫折的，使人沮丧的，令人泄气的v.使不成功( frustrate的现在分词 )；挫败；使受挫折；令人沮丧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
analyzing
|
|
| v.分析；分析( analyze的现在分词 )；分解；解释；对…进行心理分析n.分析 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
rotation
|
|
| n.旋转；循环，轮流 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
liking
|
|
| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
shack
|
|
| adj.简陋的小屋，窝棚 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
haze
|
|
| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
maze
|
|
| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
remains
|
|
| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
steering
|
|
| n.操舵装置 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
supreme
|
|
| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
gauge
|
|
| v.精确计量；估计；n.标准度量；计量器 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
collapsing
|
|
| 压扁[平]，毁坏，断裂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
condemned
|
|
| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
debut
|
|
| n.首次演出，初次露面 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
mainstream
|
|
| n.（思想或行为的）主流；adj.主流的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
exhaustion
|
|
| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
blessings
|
|
| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
abominable
|
|
| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
fictitious
|
|
| adj.虚构的，假设的；空头的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
cramped
|
|
| a.狭窄的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
odyssey
|
|
| n.长途冒险旅行；一连串的冒险 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
fabulous
|
|
| adj.极好的；极为巨大的；寓言中的，传说中的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
grit
|
|
| n.沙粒，决心，勇气；v.下定决心，咬紧牙关 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
countless
|
|
| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
swarm
|
|
| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
billboards
|
|
| n.广告牌( billboard的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
funky
|
|
| adj.畏缩的，怯懦的，霉臭的；adj.新式的，时髦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |