LeAnn Rimes: a victim of too much, too soon?
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Today, the photo looks like a time-capsule relic: LeAnn Rimes on the cover of her 1996 national debut, "Blue." She's fresh-faced, dreamy, even in her simple red dress. Her blond hair cascades down her lightly blushed cheeks. At 13, the sparkle of youth mingles with impending adulthood.
Five years later, a startlingly different LeAnn Rimes graces the cover of "I Need You," her sixth studio album. She struggles to look like a grown woman - heavy makeup, teased hair and a leather-and-fur choker blouse - ignoring the little girl hidden underneath the vixen facade.
The transformation - shocking or calculated, depending on your level of cynicism - happened mighty fast, even by the image-conscious standards of the pop-music world. Just a handful of years ago, the country heard the ingenue with the big pipes sing "Blue," a song written for the legendary Patsy Cline.
In just five years, Rimes watched her career peak in a glowing heap of Grammy awards and multi-platinum albums, stall through a pair of critically and commercially disappointing CDs and then sink in a sea of lawsuits against her father, former co-manager and record label. Now, she's living in Los Angeles, away from both her parents, and she's disavowed the "I Need You" disc in a long letter she wrote to her fans on her Web site.
What an adolescence. Her lightning-quick rise and equally speedy fall is yet another case of the too-much-too-soon disease that plagues most artists, from singers to actors, unprepared for sudden stardom. Yet today, when teen-dreams dominate and wide-eyed kids from pop princess Britney Spears to country cherub Billy Gilman are catapulted into the national spotlight, Rimes' story is a sad example of what can happen to children playing in a grown-up world.
A smashing start
For Rimes, who was born in Jackson, Miss., and grew up in Garland, Texas, it all began with great, yet head-spinning promise. She sold 12 million copies of her first three albums - 1996's "Blue," 1997's "Unchained Melody: The Early Years" and "You Light Up My Life: Inspirational Songs" - and enjoyed huge pop crossover success with 1997's 3-million-selling single, "How Do I Live." Earlier that same year, she became the youngest artist to win a Grammy in a major category when she took home the best-new-artist prize.
But by the middle of 1998, she lost considerable commercial luster. Her fourth effort, "Sittin' On Top of the World," stopped at the 1 million mark. Ditto for 1999's "LeAnn Rimes." The sales dive accompanied a personal blow, the divorce of her parents. Then, she spent much of 2000 awash in legal wrangling. She sued her father, Wilbur Rimes, who once co-managed her career, and his partner, Lyle Walker, claiming they fleeced her out of more than $7 million in five years.
Six months later, Rimes countered with a lawsuit against his daughter's management company, Dallas-based LeAnn Rimes Entertainment Inc. As if that weren't enough, late last year she sued her record label, Nashville-based Curb, which sought to void the recording contract she signed when she was 12. She recently dropped that suit.
Neither side is talking publicly. "I Need You," her latest CD, hit record stores stained by a public dismissal from the artist. She disowned the record in a Feb. 1 Web-site letter she wrote to her fans. "As you can imagine, I was shocked! This album was made without my creative input. It consists largely of unfinished material and songs that didn't make other albums. I have not heard the album so I cannot tell you my opinion on it."
Those are strong, negative words at a time when the positive promotion machine usually cranks into overdrive. And yet, that comment is just another ugly reminder that Rimes remains stuck in an artistic and personal limbo. She lacks direction, guidance. She still hasn't found the proper channel for her pitch-perfect voice, an instrument that wowed the industry and fans five years ago.
Creatively, her best work remains her debut. Aside from the title cut, a traditional gem with a timeless melody, "Blue" found Rimes trying several styles of country and succeeding every time. She was effervescent on the country-pop hit "One Way Ticket (Because I Can)," emotional on the torchy ballad "Hurt Me" and engaging on the smooth number "The Light In Your Eyes." Heck, she even managed to turn in a convincing reading of the country standard "Cattle Call," recorded with legend Eddy Arnold.
But since then, her artistic choices have been spotty at best, embarrassing at worst. Some of that blame must go to her handlers, from her father to Curb Records president Mike Curb. Since she signed a recording contract at 12, Rimes has been surrounded by adults who have a stake in her career and probably pressured her into recording songs they thought would hit commercial paydirt. It's a common landmine for child artists - they have the talent but lack the thoughtful life experience to follow their creative muse and make wise artistic decisions.
Rimes oversaturated the market with one half-baked, ill-advised album after another. There's "Unchained Melody: The Early Years" - that title says it all - and "You Light Up My Life," in which she not only covered the much-maligned Debby Boone hit, she actually aimed for the contemporary Christian audience.
With 1998's "Sittin' On Top of the World" and 1999's "LeAnn Rimes" we got more innocuous pop-country ditties ("Commitment," "Big Deal") and a slew of cringe-worthy covers, from Prince's "Purple Rain" to - gasp! - Janis Joplin's "Me and Bobby McGee." All the while she wailed, eager to showcase her vocal octaves.
On "I Need You," the album Rimes has shunned, she's actually not over-singing. The songs are mostly disposable pop, but there's a sweeter tone to her pipes that gives the record warmth, makes her sound more accessible.
She could use some of that casual accessibility right about now, especially in her personal life. LeAnn, now based in Los Angeles with a new, high-powered manager, has been acting "like a spoiled brat," according to the lawsuit filed by Wilbur Rimes in Dallas County late last year. Rimes states that in 1999 his then-16-year-old daughter was living with a 20-year-old boyfriend, actor Andrew Keegan. He claims she was spending money frivolously, buying a $150,000 Ferrari that Keegan "immediately wrecked" and a $350,000 Bentley that she "immediately wrecked."
Sadder yet, Wilbur Rimes says "he discovered from LeAnn's credit card bills that she was also buying liquor." That eventually led to a Family Court judge in Texas ordering "family counseling and drug testing."
The private is public
At the heart of all these accusations are a father and daughter whose relationship has broken down so much that they are dealing with each other through lawyers and subpoenas. The dirty laundry is air-drying on a public clothesline. Gawkers are welcomed.
There's the heartbreaking aftermath of fame and fortune. But Rimes' story is, unfortunately, a sign of the times. In Texas, Beyonce Knowles, leader of Houston's mega-successful R&B trio Destiny's Child, is also managed by her father, Mathew Knowles. Knowles and three girlfriends formed the group and signed a recording contract with Columbia Records before their 17th birthdays.
Both father and daughter - Knowles manages the group as well - have already seen their share of legal troubles since two original group members left, citing "creative differences," and one replacement member, Farrah Franklin, exited after missing three major performances.
Now, 14-year-old Mikaila Enriquez enters the teen-pop fray with her just-released, self-titled debut album. Pint-size country sensation Billy Gilman, who just turned 13, is still basking in the platinum success of his first outing, "One Voice." Contemporary Christian singer Stacie Orrico, now 14, has also stirred up sales with her debut, "Genuine."
They will have LeAnn Rimes as an example, just as she had Tanya Tucker, whose tumultuous child-to-adult country music career was juicy and sordid enough (drug abuse, illegitimate pregnancies, a couple of comebacks) to spawn several hands-full of classic country tunes. Tucker didn't follow the lead of legendary country and pop vocalist Brenda Lee, who managed to grow up wholesome, surrounded by the simpler, calmer ambience of the 1950s and '60s.
Learning from the mistakes of those who came before you is idealistic thinking these days. In an age of big money, glitzy fame and demanding public personas, Rimes and her contemporaries are bound to endure the hardships that come with being a green superstar. There's no avoiding the bumpy road to maturity.