The record companies heard too. Quickly, the band was offered a modest advance from Chameleon Records, an indie label known for being cool years before an ear for experiment was codified into an Alternative industry. While most bands were signing away perhaps a decade of their lives to recording six albums with their labels, Mary’s Danish got a prized "one-off" or one-record deal distributed through CEMA (Capitol, EMI, Virgin, Chrysalis, et al.) and was able to jump right into the studio to record two new songs and remix the rest of the tracks from demos. Over the next 11 months, helped along by a tour with Stan Ridgway and KROQ’s plugging, Chameleon sold 70,000 copies of the album There Goes the Wondertruck, â prompting a fierce bidding war for their song-publishing rights. MCA won with an offer of $250,000 for co-ownership of the songs. Along with providing each band member $900 a month to live on for a year and giving their manager, lawyer, booking agent and publicist their cuts, the publishing moneys also went to upgrade equipment and pay off members’ debts.
Chameleon, meanwhile, lost its distribution deal and thus had no way of getting records into stores. So at the urging of their new manager, Peter Asher — who also represented big names like Joni Mitchell and James Taylor — Mary’s Danish showcased around town. Capitol executive Tom Whalley expressed keen interest in signing them, but changed labels before an offer was finalized. Epic’s courtship also offered major-label allure, but it had just signed Michael Jackson for a sum equal to the revenue of a developing nation. The smart move, everyone but Julie agreed, was to go with Morgan Creek, which was an upstart label born out of a film company and newly adorned with the likes of former Capitol executives and co-presidents Jim Mazza and David Kershenbaum and such acts as Eleven, Janis Ian and Little Feat.
The band, giddy with the taste of four-star entrées and shmancy wine, was romanced by the sweetest of band pickup lines: "‘Don’t go to the big label where you’re gonna be a small fish in a big pond ’cause you’re gonna be our big fish here,’" Gretchen mimics. "‘We’ll make sure that Mary’s Danish is our priority.’" In low voices, the execs bragged about their success stories — Kershenbaum had produced Tracy Chapman, and the new label was $1 million strong. They invoked phrases like well-endowed, artist-oriented and long-term development, appealing to the band’s poverty and fears. "It felt like having gold dust thrown in your eyes," says Julie.
"What they did," says Gretchen, "is roll out this long red carpet that we couldn’t not walk down. They did everything — wined and dined us, took us to the premiere of their movie Robin Hood at Mann’s Chinese. It was super glam. They offered us a ton of money, too — $250,000 up front — and said we’d be featured on one of their soundtracks."
Two hundred fifty thousand dollars did provide for a healthy recording budget of roughly $120,000, but like their other deal, it sounded better than it actually was. After 15 percent to their manager, 5 percent to the lawyer, several thousand to an independent publicist and equipment purchases, once again the money left for the band to live on was not enough to raise their standard of living — about $800 a month for each member. Still, it did make life feel kinder. They opened a Pro Account at Guitar Center, David splurged on a new stereo, and Julie’s closet got fuller. Nobody moved out of their little apartments in North Hollywood or Hollywood, but everyone spent less time in their kitchens. "We went out to eat a lot," says Gretchen, "and when you’re 20, that’s a big deal." They lived the long, hard hours of recording with delight, traversing the L.A. rock scene with what seemed like E-tickets to success tucked safely in their pockets. "Just being signed has a way of making you feel rich, even if your car needs new tires," says Gretchen. "You feel blessed just to be on that road."
Only several months after signing with Morgan Creek, Mary’s Danish hit that road with the Red Hot Chili Peppers, on the Mother’s Milk tour. "The Peppers hadn’t had a hit yet," says Gretchen, "but three weeks into the tour they were suddenly planning their next one in arenas. You could see them hitting it, and you think, ‘This is gonna be us next. We’ve got all our ducks in a row.’"
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We made it . . . and then we got signed.
—Kurt Neuman of the BoDeans
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The Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland, Ohio, a relic-packed shrine to life backstage, claims to hold the true story of our nation’s rock history, but something is missing from its rockographic chronicling: To its rooms and rooms of drumsticks and Stratocasters and the sequined gowns of the rock elite should be added a wing for all those musicians injured or exploited, robbed of success or too naive to hold it — a sort of Vietnam Wall–style accounting of the industry’s screwed. Call it the Anti–Hall of Fame. Among possible names: Meat Loaf, Michelle Shocked, Agnes Gooch, M.C. Hammer, Gwen Mars, Tim Buckley, Organized Konfusion, Boxing Ghandis, The Knack, The Rugburns, TLC, Psychotica, En Vogue, Jonathan Brooke, K-Borne, Toni Braxton, Donna Summer, Momma Stud, The Geraldine Fibbers, Extra Fancy, Edie Brickell & New Bohemians, Sublime, New York Dolls, Tom Waits, Big L, The Hangmen, Freestyle Fellowship, Suddenly, Tammy!, The Ronettes, The Nymphs, X-Members, Eric C, China, Black 9.
