NY Post: Jewel Takes a Stanza

New York Post
May 29, 1998


JEWEL TAKES A STANZA
By LISA ROBINSON
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FOR those who thought of Time magazine cover girl Jewel as just another
pretty pop superstar, her first release since her 10 million-selling debut
album may come as a surprise.

It's a book of poems.

In her just-published "A Night Without Armor" (HarperCollins. $15), the
24-year-old singer/songwriter (born Jewel Kilcher) isn't afraid to tackle
the big themes: love, sex, courage, betrayal, family, lies, revenge, passion.

(Jewel reads selections from her book on HarperAudio cassette and CD.)

Jewel, born in Alaska and raised in Michigan, rose to fame after her 1995
album, "Pieces of You." These days, she's feeling uncomfortable as a pop
phenomenon, is currently filming her first movie (with director Ang Lee) and
says she writes poetry every day.


Lisa Robinson: Why did you start to write poems?
Jewel: My ability to articulate verbally has never been that strong. I've
always been a bit shy. For me, poetry was the way I became intimate with
myself. To tell you the truth, I've felt uncomfortable being in pop music,
especially because I really made a folk album. It was just me singing with
acoustic guitar. I don't think it gets much more folk than that.
The ^radio_ singles were re-mixed, but the album was basically the three
chords I knew when I was 19, and I became afraid that the world would come
to know me just the way the media portrayed me: as this Alaskan, raised by
wolves in an igloo. (Laughs).

LR: Were you?
J: No (laughs), but that's how I seemed to be portrayed and I feared that
people would consume me without ever knowing what I taste like. Even though
I knew that I'd be scrutinized for going from music to poetry, this book was

an opportunity for me to be known in the world for who I am. As a child,
when I read poets like Anais Nin, (Charles) Bukowski or (Pablo) Neruda, it
taught me to live bravely and passionately; without that I'd really feel
half alive.

LR: In one of your poems you write that you're told "you're adored by
millions but no one calls." Was that true?
J: Well, it goes through phases. People think that once you get signed to a
record deal or sell a million records, every insecurity you have - about
your body, your place in the world - disappears. Suddenly you have a
lobotomy and everything changes. But to tell you the truth, I've never found
satisfaction in parties or bars or getting compliments from people who
didn't know me. I need substance and I need truth, and I find that kids are
very hungry for sincerity. So I have to live my life honestly, try and keep
struggling with real issues, do it in front of people and let people take
whatever they can from it.

LR: Did you really say something on "Jay Leno" about your music being
"redundant"?
J: What I meant was that I'd been touring for five years behind one record
that I made when I was 19. After three years, I finally broke some ground
^in the U.S._, then I went to Europe and started from scratch and had to get
asked all about Alaska again. I was just ready for something creatively
different.

LR: Were you concerned about revealing the sexuality in some of your poems?
J: When I put the book together, I made a book for myself that the world
wouldn't see. Then, I thought about what I wanted the world to see. But I
decided to stick with the first one because it's most honest. To me, love
poems are just natural. Everybody makes love, and it's very beautiful. I
also write about the phases before that, when you're too young to know what
sex is or what you're worth. A lot of the poems in there deal with
insecurities: like there's a pretty girl on the face of a magazine and all I
see are my dirty hands turning the page. I felt that my whole life. All the
models ^in the fashion magazines_ are so emaciatingly beautiful and perfect.
And I grew up on a f---ing homestead with dirt under my nails driving
tractors. You never get over that.

LR: You don't think you're pretty?
J: I think I'm OK, but you know, I have days where I just don't want to go
on television because I ate Ben & Jerry's last night and I can't face the
world. I'm not one of those girls who starves herself, but 60 percent of my
school was either anorexic or bulimic, and all that damaged me as a kid.

LR: Is there a man in your life at the moment?
J: No, the last one took a lot out of me, and besides, I'm too busy making a
movie these days.

LR: What's that like?
J: Whoooh, it was tough in the beginning, especially since I came from zero
acting experience. Instead of taking a role like a romantic comedy that I
could have done with my eyes shut, I went to something serious (tentatively
titled "Ride With the Devil") with director Ang Lee. I kind of courageously
jumped out there and then realized that it could be a public execution.

LR: What happened at the Super Bowl? The tape ^of Jewel singing the national
anthem_ began before you started "singing?"
J: That was bizarre. ^The NFL_ insisted on a tape, and the reason I agreed
to do that was because once, I sang the national anthem live at another
baseball game ^in a stadium_ and you couldn't hear yourself sing. The delay
was so bad that you heard what's coming back at you five seconds later.

LR: At the Super Bowl, you just smiled and kept lip synching.
J: What else can you do? I kind of half wanted to just stop, and yawn or
something, be really obvious. (Laughs).