Jewel in the rough

She's a guitar-playing,
million-selling, denim-wearing,
honest to goodness trailer-trash
icon. She went from dirt poor to
superstar in one effortless jump.
Now she's turned to poetry... 

Sunday May 2, 1999 


'Why are you smiling like that? Why is
that interesting? How am I supposed to
answer a question like that? Is my tone of
voice disappointing you? Am I not being
generous enough? Why did you choose
that particular word? Where is the
question coming from?' 

It is normal practice in interviews for the
journalist to ask the questions and for the
celebrity to respond with answers. But, as
in many other respects, Jewel Kilcher
does not conform to normal practice. 

The 24-year-old Alaskan singer/songwriter
is semi-famous in this country. Most
people have heard of her, but few could
name any of her songs, let alone hum
one. People are vaguely aware that she
grew up in extreme poverty, with no
electricity or running water; that she used
to sing with her dad in biker bars, and at
one point lived in a caravan in California;
that she dated Sean Penn; that her first
album sold 10 million copies (fewer than
100,000 of them in Britain); that she often
yodels at the end of her concerts. Now
there is another piece of amusing news to
add to Jewel's half-fame: her first volume of
poetry, A Night Without Armor, has sold
two million copies in the United States,
making it the biggest-selling poetry book
in American history. 

Sitting in an 'English-style' tea room in a
hotel in Japan ^÷ where she is midway
through a world tour that visits Britain next
week ^÷ Jewel says she was surprised by
the book's success, but no more so than
she was by the success of her debut
album, Pieces of You, which she
dismissively refers to as 'student artwork'.
'I find it freakish that my first album was so
big, don't you? I mean, a record like that
should never have sold 10 million.'

She's right. Pieces of You is a collection
of 14 mostly acoustic songs with barely
three choruses between them ^÷ and a lot
of overwrought lyrics. Its main appeal, as
Jewel recognises, was its 'sincerity'.
                                         
Released in 1995, it initially sold few
copies, but months spent touring (Jewel
famously played 500 shows in a year)
sent it slowly up the charts. By 1997,
Jewel was a fully fledged star, appearing
on the covers of Rolling Stone and Time. 

Last year's follow-up, 'Spirit', was a much
stronger album, but has sold a 'mere' five
million copies so far. Jewel seems
unfazed by this. 'What happened to me
was kinda like being Homecoming Queen
for a year,' she says. 'If I want to have a
career that lasts 30 or 40 years, it's bound
to have ebbs and valleys and dips.' Her
role model, she claims, is Neil Young. 

But Young never wrote a best-selling
poetry book. Nor did he star in a
Hollywood movie ^÷ unlike Jewel, who was
cast in Ang Lee's forthcoming film, Ride
With the Devil, despite having no acting
experience at all. 'I didn't know anything,'
she admits. 'I didn't even know they shot
scenes more than once.' So why was she
chosen? 'My character grew up
lower-class, working the earth with oxen,
ploughing, stuff like that. So I guess my
background^‰' she trails off
self-consciously (she is sick to death of
talking about her Alaskan childhood). 'But
the main reason Ang wanted me was my
teeth.'

Jewel has crooked teeth. This may seem
unremarkable, but among American
celebrities, it is a bit like having three legs.
Jewel's teeth have become a kind of
symbol ^÷ of her 'unspoiled' upbringing, of
her naturalness. Her teeth, and her
undemonstrative taste in clothing. For our
interview, she wears a baggy black
sweatshirt, old blue jeans and a black
wool hat that she pulls down over her eyes
whenever she doesn't like a question
(which is quite often). 

In the song 'Barcelona', Jewel describes
herself as 'super-paranoid'. It turns out
she's not kidding. She seems to detect a
hidden agenda in almost every inquiry.
After an hour or so, her responses
become so ludicrously wary that I can't
help laughing. You seem very analytical, I
say. 'Am I analytical? Yeah.' She pauses.
'I feel very uncomfortable,' she says finally,
and blushes. 

Why do you feel uncomfortable? 'I don't
know^‰ interviews are tough. You begin to
feel so incredibly retarded, talking about
yourself as if you're important. I'm a pretty
natural person ^÷ I create pretty
effortlessly. So when I turn a magnifying
glass on myself, everything becomes
disjointed. It's an odd experience.'

After this mini-crisis, Jewel relaxes a bit
and talks less self-consciously about her
early days, playing in coffee bars in San
Diego. On her first tour, she supported
Peter Murphy, former singer with the goth
band Bauhaus. How was that? 'Well, it
was a challenge. A lot of kids with fangs.'
We laugh. And then I ruin it by asking her
what she thinks of Phoebe from Friends^‰ 

Five hours later, backstage at the
1,000-capacity venue in downtown Osaka
where she will play tonight's concert,
Jewel is taking part in a meet-and-greet
with a shy bunch of Japanese fans. She
looks awkward, but grins her way through
it. Afterwards, she comes up and fixes me
with a cold, unwavering gaze. 'So.
Phoebe, huh? I asked someone about her
[Jewel claimed to have seen only one
episode of Friends] and they said she was
a real ditz. I feel insulted. Is that what you
think of me? Do you think I'm a ditz?'

The PR, sensing an ugly scene,
intervenes to explain that Phoebe is by far
the nicest and most natural of the six
friends. 'The others are all like cartoon
characters. She's the one people really
respond to.' And she's really creative and
spiritual, I add. 

'Yeah,' says Jewel sarcastically, 'and she
sits in a bar and sings about a smelly
dog.' A smelly cat, I correct her.
'Whatever.' Jewel is not really like Phoebe
at all ^÷ she's too grounded, too sensible,
too hard-working ^÷ but for some reason,
the comparison bugs her. Brady, the
drummer in Jewel's band, walks past, and
I ask him what he thinks of Phoebe. 'Hey,
man, I'm not getting involved in that shit!'
he says, looking petrified. 

For the first time in her career, Jewel is
touring with a band ^÷ two guitarists, a
keyboard player, a drummer and a
bassist, all of them men. She is flirty with
all five ^÷ asking one guitarist to kiss her
neck, massaging the shoulders of the
other, stroking the drummer's hand ^÷ but
each responds with a kind of paternal
reverence: the way the Scarecrow, the
Lion and the Tin Man treated Dorothy. I
imagined she had known them for years,
but it turns out they had only met six
weeks before. 

The other person who always
accompanies Jewel on tour, apart from her
English manager, is Lee, a friend from
Alaska whom she has known since she
was 16. Lee is tall, camp and funny. I ask
him what his role is on tour, and he says:
'I do things for Jewel.' 

These things include keeping her healthy
(he carries around B12 vitamin pills and
homeopathic eye drops) and well-fed.
Japan, apparently, is a nightmare for food.
'I mean, if you're into dried fish heads and
icky, gooey things that look like eyeballs,
then I guess it's good,' says Lee.
Backstage in Osaka, Jewel tucks into a
big box of fried chicken. 

>From where I'm sitting, the gig seems fine.
As with most Japanese concerts, the fans
are completely silent during the songs,
and then applaud wildly when each one is
over. Jewel starts out quiet and intense,
and becomes looser and rockier as the
night wears on. Her voice is wonderful ^÷
clear and emotive, with a depth not even
hinted at on her debut album. She wears
black leather trousers and a top that airs
her Monroe-like decolletage. Despite
reviews to the contrary, however, she
doesn't really dance and looks ill at ease
without a guitar in her hands. She does
not yodel at the end. 

It is only 9.30pm when the concert ends,
but Jewel looks shattered. 'That was
weird,' she says. 'Right from the start, I
could tell there was a bad vibe. Plus I was
tired. I was not in a good head-space
before I went on.' 

Jewel goes off to have a shower, then
arrives at the hotel bar looking refreshed.
As the gin and tonics are lined up on the
bar, she gets gradually more sociable and
giggly ^÷ despite the fact that she doesn't
touch a drop. 'Look at me, I'm really
hyper,' she says after half an hour.
'Imagine what I'd be like if I did start
boozing.'

Finally, she starts to talk freely, without
dissecting every other word. She tells me
about rubbing Bob Dylan's nose ('He just
presented it to me ^÷ it's a great nose!');
about the surreal exploits of her maternal
grandfather ('He invented the first
snowmobile'); about her childhood
experience of slaughtering cows ('You had
to shoot them in the head ^÷ it was never
easy'). She talks about her mum, with
whom she has set up a scary-sounding
charity organisation called Higher Ground
for Humanity (motto: 'Be the difference
that makes a difference'), and about her
dad (a 'musical entertainer'), who used to
call her 'my little Emmylou' because
Emmylou Harris was his heroine. Jewel
invited him to play on stage with her and
Emmylou one night, and he wept. 

We even talk about her love life. She's
been single for 'about a month', she says,
after a relationship that lasted 'about a
year'. How does it feel to be single? 'It's a
huge relief, to be honest. It was getting
really heavy towards the end. He's a great
guy, but^‰ this is not a job that's
conducive to romantic relationships. I've
only had two relationships, post-fame ^÷ if
that makes any sense ^÷ and both those
guys had trouble with the fact that I was
the one with the career, getting all the
attention, making all the money. I think
that's hard for men.'

Were either of them celebrities? 'No.
Maybe that's the problem. I always
thought it was a bit odd that celebrities
chose to go out with each other, but
maybe they're the only ones who can
understand. It's funny: people always look
at this job and think it's so glamorous.
They think I'm always out on the town with
all these handsome men. But it's so not
like that. I never meet men.'

By 1am, Jewel is lounging next to Brady,
singing Public Enemy lyrics in a breathy,
girly voice, and blaming me for her lousy
gig. 'I was standing there, playing my
guitar, and all I could think was: "Is this art
or entertainment?" God damn it, I'm still
not sure ^÷ you really screwed me up!' 

Someone offers her a choice of
sandwiches, and Jewel wrinkles her nose
with indecision. 'Now, let me think,' she
says. 'What would Phoebe do in this
situation?'