Never Broken: Songs Are Only Half the Story (31 page)

Solano was altogether different from Z. There was no group, no followers. Just me and my mom with our own private channeler. It is very hard to sit here and say that I was involved in something so cultlike. It honestly never dawned on me that I was. Before this I felt lucky to have a spiritual teacher like Z in my life. It was much like church. Z taught love, tolerance, and basic spiritual beliefs like in any other religion. It certainly
began to take some bizarre turns near the end, as Jacque channeled Jesus and even an alien at one point. Yeah. It sounds weird to me now as I write about it.

All I can say is it’s hard for me to adequately describe the scared girl I was then, how deeply compartmentalized and disassociated I’d become emotionally. What an extension of my mother I had become. How eager I was to believe her, how desperate I was for her love at any price. I was told I would get cancer if I dared decrease my frequency by thinking “low” thoughts. I saw my mom as a visionary and great leader. She had the charisma and influence to draw an army of believers around her, though inevitably there were a few detractors who may have had their doubts and they moved on. I believed Solano was a free and clear third party with no skin in the game who I could use as a neutral sounding board. How dumb I was. I never told a soul about Solano. I never told Ty, although slowly he began to suspect that something was not quite right about my business and my life.

It was around this time that my former manager Inga filed a lawsuit against me for being cut out of future earnings, one that would take years to resolve. All this stress and pressure were making me want to hide, and I thought at least thank God I had millions in the bank to make these problems go away. And that I could afford to take a break and regroup. I wasn’t aware that I didn’t have the money to do this. My mom played it cool and let me take the time off. Everyone remained on the payroll. It would be a year until I felt ready to work again.

Ty’s ranch was beautiful and full of large, wide-open spaces. I wrote and drew, but over time I could see Ty wasn’t ready for me to be there full-time. He became uptight and withdrawn. He was a self-professed commitment-phobe, and without asking him about it or making a big deal, I decided to move out after the year. He had been clear from the
start that he didn’t ever want to be married, and I knew my mom wanted me to be with someone she deemed a spiritual match of some sort. I went back to making records. The single off
This Way
was “Standing Still,” about my inability to see where Ty was and what his feelings were with me.

Cutting through the darkest night are my two headlights

Trying to keep it clear, but I’m losing it here

To the twilight

There’s a dead end to my left

There’s a burning bush to my right

You aren’t in sight

You aren’t in sight

Do you want me

Like I want you?

Or am I standing still

Beneath the darkened sky

Or am I standing still

With the scenery flying by

Or am I standing still

Out of the corner of my eye

Was that you

Passing me by

Work was always easy for me. When I worked there was no onus from my mom, no programming kicking in—I was free of guilt, shame, and controllers. I thrived on making music and I knew the business inside and out, and called the shots. I took my music in directions I felt it needed to go, following my instincts without doubt. It was a stark contrast to
dealing with my mom and money and the things that became crippling, as I was asked again and again to forget myself and my instincts, forgoing my needs for hers.

I lived in a bubble. I had no close friends other than Ty. I never spoke to my lawyer Eric anymore because my mom laced comments into each conversation about him that made me doubt his ability and made me thankful she was there to do the work for me. There was no business manager and I had no other talent manager. One day Ty asked me whether I ever saw bank statements. I said I didn’t even know what one was. Everyone else did those things. And the beauty of having your own family involved is that you can trust them. I could just be an artist. Ty said it seemed like something was wrong. A lot of money was going out—did any business
make
money? I didn’t know the answer. Ty asked me if I knew how much money I had. I said no. He said I should see bank statements and see what my monthly bills actually were. I sat down with my mom to have a talk.

It was the beginning of a long, slow slide into heartbreak as I unraveled the truth about my finances. It’s not that my mom was intentionally trying to ruin me. My perception is that in her mind, I was an extension of her to do with as she pleased. I felt like a sweater she put on and took off. I truly was in the land of Oz. And it wasn’t until Ty came along that I was able to see a bit more clearly.

She began waging war against Ty. I was told he was spiritual heroin and that he was lowering my frequency. Solano was gravely concerned for my welfare and my health. I was sure to get cancer. My stress levels were off the charts. I was very much in love with Ty, and he continued to lovingly help me ask questions about my finances. When I showed him the financial documents I’d been given, he looked at me dumbfounded. “These aren’t official documents, Jewel. This is a printout from a
computer, a document an accountant made. You need to ask to see actual bank statements.” He cared and was deeply concerned for me.

I went back and insisted on real bank statements. My mom’s team met with me. I saw what I spent per month in bills and salaries and it shocked me. I did not think it was sustainable. We were hemorrhaging money. I told her we had to cut back. Instead, she said, you should go look at ranches for yourself, I know you have been wanting one, it’s time. And I had been wanting one. I never spent money on myself. My mom booked private jets for me to go look at ranches with a real estate agent. I had no idea that in reality there was no money for a ranch. I made all my music decisions never caring whether I had a hit because I knew that I personally never spent what I’d already made. And I believed whatever my mom was spending was easily made back because eventually her empire would pay off.

As I looked at ranches, Ty came with me and advised on whether a place was worthwhile or not. But in the end I decided to put off the search for a while. I wanted to see where it went with Ty, plus I had to get back on tour and back to dealing with the lawsuit with Inga. We filed a countersuit and the battle went on for years. It had finally come to a head and it was time for me to get in a room with her. In the judge’s chambers in Los Angeles I saw Inga for the first time since we’d fired her in my house in San Diego. She looked exactly the same as the day we’d met, when I was a homeless kid singing in a coffee shop. I remembered first seeing her show up with Jenny Price. Inga had long, thick hair and deep, dark brown eyes. She was of Russian Jewish descent and had traces of an accent left. She was young, bright, a go-getter. I remembered how she’d sat with her mouth open as I’d sang. As that night wore on, she and Jenny both had their heads propped up on their hands, looking like they had fallen in love with me. And now here we were, sitting next to each other
in a judge’s chambers. The judge had asked to see us alone, no lawyers. No momager. Life was a funny thing.

“What do you guys want?” the judge started. I studied his hands as they moved like the wings of an exasperated bird, fluttering open and closed as he spoke. I was quiet. So was Inga. It didn’t seem like he was really asking us. “Look. You guys can take this case to court. You can fight it out. And honestly I have no idea who will win. Except I know one thing for sure—no one wins.” I looked at Inga, who had a habit of clearing her nose just before she spoke and did so, but must have thought the better of speaking. She looked down at her lap. The judge said, “What would it take for you to just settle this?” I can’t remember how it happened, but we agreed to settle. I was tired of fighting.

I felt relief as we walked out of the chambers. I was just happy to be over with it. The judge communicated our agreement to our lawyers. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mom walk up to the lawyers and judge. She asked to speak with me and my lawyer privately. I was gathered and we went into a small windowless room off to the side. We were standing in a triangle, facing one another. My mom spoke, but the words seemed unreal. “Jewel doesn’t have the money to pay her.”

I stared at her dumbfounded. She chose this moment to tell us that I was broke. She was one hell of a poker player but her hand had been called and she had to show her cards. The next thing I knew I was back in the judge’s chambers with Inga and her lawyer, my mom, my lawyer. I could only hear the blood in my head and my breath straining to remain even. The judge said I was broke and asked what we would do about it. Would Inga accept less, would I make a payment plan? Inga charged in, incredulous. “How can she be broke? She sold seventeen million albums! She wrote every song!” We both looked at my mom. “Where did it all go?” Inga said. My mom sat still as a desert day. Her hands peacefully folded in her lap. A Buddha’s smile on her face. Calm. Tranquil. A
payment plan was devised. I don’t remember leaving. I don’t remember the payment plan. I do remember going back to work.

Many fights with my mom ensued. I demanded to see every bill, to sign every check. There were hundreds. Long talks over the phone when I called from backstage before going on, after approving a packet of bills I was sent. The overhead was not going down quickly enough. She told me I was like a fire alarm that would not turn off. She said it took time. My heartache and disbelief were staggering. My need to keep up the illusion of my mom’s love kept costing me dearly. It was a confusing web to untangle. My mom was unwavering in her vision and I was still trying so hard to see what she saw.

Ty stood by me through all this. He was sweet and we continued to be in love, but there was a wall there. He was pretty emotionally unavailable and still made it clear he would never marry me. My mom stepped in with extra love, extra doting, extra care. She said she would fix everything. My mom hated Ty. Ty hated my mom. I loved them both. There was a great tug-of-war and I felt like the rope. I knew my mom would love me forever. I reasoned Ty probably would not. He was not kin. He did not want me like I wanted him. Finally, to relieve some of the enormous strain and pressure, I gave in to my mom and Solano and did the right thing. I chose life. I chose being cancer-free. I chose my family. I left Ty.

It broke my heart into a million pieces, and all I can say is it took a hell of a sales job by my mom and Solano to get me to do it. Hours had been spent talking me into it. They said Ty was a fun dalliance but that it was time to return to my position and duty, as if we were royalty and I had to return to the castle and take my rightful place. They said all Ty wanted was for me to cook and clean and fall asleep on his kitchen floor. It’s true Ty was traditional, but he liked that I worked and was a modern woman, I thought. They said again that he was deadening my frequency. Frequency was everything. I deeply feared being sick, and still struggled
with bladder and kidney infections. Maybe if I left Ty, everything would go back to normal. I would focus on work. I would be loyal to my mom. We would go back to getting along. I would earn my money back.

But first I wanted to fully understand my finances, and so I hired an independent auditor to show me what the heck was going on and how to fix it. I was sure my mom and I would then put our heads together and we would come out of this intact. I believed I could still fix it.

twenty-five

truth over fantasy

T
he last time I saw my mom’s face or spoke with her was in 2003. We were in a conference room at my new manager Irving Azoff’s office building. I hired Irving just after I released my pop record
0304
.

Irving is a living legend in the music business. He had come recommended, but with a few warnings. I Googled him and discovered an enigmatic and intriguing figure. He came to see me in New York, where I was working. Several things were immediately evident: He was smart. He was funny—playful and mischievous, really. He was loyal. Irving had a keen ability to get to the heart of any matter. A half hour into our discussion I confessed I had read a lot of confusing things about him—one article went so far as to call him the devil. He chuckled and said, “Well, let me tell you how Don Henley responded when he was asked about that. He said, ‘Irving may be the devil, but he’s my devil.’” Irving would not shy from doing something controversial if he felt it was right for his artist. He proved this to me again and again once we began working together. Irving feared no one and nothing if he believed in your talent. He
trusted my instincts at any cost. He was also a wonderful partner in crime. I remember Irving saying, “I have tried to be nice modern Irving, but I am about to get seventies on his ass!” I almost cried laughing as he told me about the styles of whoop ass he has handed out over the decades. I never saw Irving start a fight, but I have seen him be very creative in ending them. He told me once that he sent someone who had wronged him and his artist a never-ending fax for days that said, “Fuck You,” over and over on the page. He always had my back, and if I needed to make a left turn musically, he simply asked how sharp a turn I’d like to make.

I’d spent the year leading up to this trying to fix things with my mom, but instead of my finances making more sense, the more I looked into them, the more convoluted and bizarre things had become for me. It was like living in a nightmare. Forget Oz—I felt like Alice in Wonderland waking up from a bad trip. I had fallen down a rabbit hole, and now all the pretty colors and cartoon candy faces had revealed themselves to be far less pretty. The auditor I hired discovered I had gone broke several times in my career. Not only was I broke but as we dug deeper I also found out I was in significant debt. My mom had published a book called
The Architecture of All Abundance
, under her new spiritual name, Lenedra. I had helped her promote it. It was about creating abundance in one’s life. In it I felt she made herself sound noble, almighty, all-knowing, responsible for all my abundance, now gone. It made me look like a bumbling, scared kid who knew nothing and needed her.