Cyndi Lauper has never been a quiet girl and even today, 40 years after becoming a pop icon, she continues to make quite a mess. She has started the Girls Just Wanna Have Fun Farewell Tour which will take her to arenas across North America until December, a farewell to the stage in style with people like Aly & AJ, Amanda Shires, Elle King, Tones and I, Gayle and Trixie Mattel at the opening. It is the celebration of an eccentric musical journey that began with the debut album She's So Unusuala feminist manifesto in the new wave era that contained classics such as Girls Just Want to Have Fun And She Bop. Lauper was the New York girl who stormed MTV with the trashy-vintage look, street sass, pink hair and insanely high-pitched voice. The world fell in love with her both when she broke hearts with Time After Time, True Colors And All Through the Nightboth when he went wild with Money Changes Everything.
And it was only the beginning. Lauper won a 2013 Tony Award for the musical Kinky Bootsruns the Girls Just Want to Have Fundamental Rights foundation, was the subject of the documentary last year Let the Canary Sing. At 71, he still has the same independent and irreverent nature. And during the interview she almost choked on milk and biscuits. He talked to us about his experience in the music world, about his farewell tour, about how difficult it is to do things your own way. And then, of dressing well, of crashing rock concerts, of finding (and losing) his voice, of his obsession with Barbra Streisand.
Congratulations on the farewell tour, it's gigantic.
Oh my, I wanted this so bad. I haven't done an arena tour since '86 and I'm thrilled because all these amazing girls will be with me. For many years they told me that I couldn't do an all-female tour, because no one would come to see us. “Women don't sell like men.” Then I went on tour with Cher and we played for a million people. All bullshit.
What advice would you give to young Cyndi?
I would tell her not to always insult those who hinder her. Better to find a way around them. You have to look beyond to see what's there and how to get there. There's no point in throwing yourself in headfirst and fighting everyone, it doesn't always work.
What happened to you arguing about?
They told me a lot of bullshit. “Why don't you sing like this person? Why don't you just wear jeans and a t-shirt?” I replied: “Okay, we'll talk about it again when I've had a lobotomy.” There was a guy from a record company who, after looking at my boobs, asked me why I didn't wear jeans and a t-shirt. But I also found allies and like-minded people. Things go better when you deal with people who see things the same way as you. This is how it should work, we shouldn't just stand there and fight.
Who were the first idols to inspire you as a child?
My mother listened to Broadway show soundtracks all the time. I discovered Barbra Streisand when it came out Funny Girl. I'm Italian, so I learned early on to do housework: I did the laundry in the basement while singing at the top of my lungs with her. Then, one Christmas, my cousin gave us a gift Meet the Beatles And Meet the Supremes. At that point, suddenly, a gap was created between my mother's music and mine. In those days, radio stations played everything mixed up: Sly and The Family Stone came on, then Sonny & Cher, Eric Clapton, Joan Baez and Otis Redding… it was like a wonderful palette of songs. I always watched James Brown on TV, with the scene where they put the cape over his shoulders to accompany him off the stage and he got angry and threw it away. I never thought I would get to do it too.
Photo: Ruven Afanador
How did you start making music?
I started out as a folksinger, playing guitar, weird stuff. In high school I was kind of a lost soul wandering around immersed in music and art. I studied fashion, my family came from that sector. They made patterns, sewed, cut, things like that. But I wanted to sing. I didn't finish school and I did many jobs. I also worked at Belmont Racecourse, as a cool down. I hitchhiked to Vermont, cleaning cages at a dog pound. I failed at every job I tried to do, I lived many different lives before I became famous.
I thought singing rock was very difficult and that a girl couldn't do it. It was only for men, except for Janis Joplin, who tore out her voice and gulped whiskey. Janis and Grace Slick were my heroes, the women I looked up to. Also Joni Mitchell, who lived her life as a man and wrote about it, and even did her album covers. I thought: wow, he can paint, he can play, he can write. Isn't it perfect? Isn't that the best life you could ask for?
When did you realize you could do it too?
I was fascinated by the groupies, how they dressed and how they looked: they were so rock'n'roll. At the Fillmore East, if you didn't have a ticket to a concert, you could make friends with the cool girls outside, they were amazing. Now that was a nice place. I went there once after work: the Allmans were playing and Johnny Winter was opening with Rick Derringer and Elvin Bishop. I was out with the girls, very smoked, without a ticket. It was the girls who said to me: «Do you know what you can do? When the band comes, come in with them.” When Johnny Winter and Rick Derringer arrived I slipped in behind them. The road manager, Red Dog, saw me, I thought he had caught me but instead he said to me: «What are you doing? You're late! You should be on stage now!' He thought I was one of the backup singers. I stood at the side of the stage watching Elvin Bishop and his backing singers, I thought I could do it too, that it wasn't that difficult.
How did you find your voice as a singer?
During an audition I made a mistake and I didn't stop, because you have to always go straight ahead, as if nothing had happened, right? If you make a mistake, ignore it. You can't go back, you have to hold on. I sang I've Got to Use My Imagination by Gladys Knight, it was for a cover band. I was so nervous that I went up an octave and suddenly there were sounds coming out of me that I didn't even know I was capable of making. I looked at people's faces during the audition and thought, “You guys are surprised, but you have no idea how surprised I am.”
It was the beginning of my journey. Very soon I happened to lose my voice. But it happens, over the course of a career. The first time I was gone, a doctor told me: «Miss Lauper, you must never sing this rock'n'roll again, it hurts you. She should do country & western, like Dinah Shore.” And I'm like, “Oh Jesus, Dinah Shore? Are we kidding?”. I walked out of that Bette Davis type doctor's office in Sunset.
How did you manage to recover your voice?
I got a voice trainer and enrolled in a jazz school. But they kicked me out, because I didn't want to give up my rock band. They thought I had a natural talent for jazz singing, that I should continue with jazz, that that was my path, not rock'n'roll. However, I learned a lot there. They taught me how to sing Lester Young's saxophone solos note for note. And then Billie Holiday, Ella Fitzgerald and Frank Sinatra, the '50s stuff contained in The Capitol Years. But then they kicked me out, so I couldn't delve into Frank's years at Capitol.
But you didn't give up.
I never do it. My band rehearsed on Eighth Avenue and I always passed a post office. Every time I saw a sign that said: “Neither rain, nor snow, nor the heat, nor the darkness of the night prevent these couriers from quickly completing the delivery round.” I read it and thought: yes, just like me. Snow, rain, ice, nothing stops me. In the end you will make it, if you don't give up.
What are the most important rules you follow?
I try to be kind to the people around me. You have to meditate, do physical exercise, try to enjoy life, because it is short and then you die. It is important to create with joy.
You have always had an independent spirit. How have you maintained that throughout your career?
I've always had very little tolerance for bullshit. In life they throw a lot at you and after a while you have to learn to understand what's underneath, to take a step back and say: I don't have to throw myself into this thing. When something doesn't add up, let it go. Moving further away you have a better view. It's like when you paint a canvas and the teacher says, “Okay, now take a step back and look at what you're doing.” This is how you see the picture more clearly.
From Rolling Stone US.
