I know the way *Kiss from a Rose* will slither into the world—first as a slow, smoky whisper on late-night radio, then as a bassline thrumming through club speakers, its melody curling around the edges of every conversation by summer. The song is already written in my bones: the way Seal's voice cracks on the high notes like a man stepping onto thin ice, the way the strings swell like a held breath before the chorus. His self-titled album is still a phantom in the studio, but I can hear it—the way the bassline hums like a tuning fork struck against the ribs, the way the lyrics will lodge themselves in the back of the throat, sweet and aching as a secret.
This is the perfect opportunity to profit from the musical industry. I told my agent Richard Lovett to contact Seal agent John Wadlow, so I will be able to get in contact with Seal so we can work together on his album. Luckily he was in Los Angeles, so he very local and not in our Native London where i thought he might be located. I went to meet him in the studio and showed him the lyrics and wondered if he wanted the song on his album and possible single. I thought these will be the perfect song for his voice. This would also would be perfect for soundstracks.
I Started writing songs that i knew that would be popular in this year and future years to come, Being a song writer and not being required to perform these songs all the time and getting 50 percent of the rights sounds like the perfect way to make money in the entertainment industry. One of the song i concieve in these thinking sessions is I Swear - All 4 one as it was one of the best selling songs for the year.
Then there is "I Will Always Love You"—no, something slower, something that moves like warm water. "I'll Make Love to You," a promise wrapped in velvet, every note a hand extended in the dark. The irony is not lost on me: a fourteen-year-old girl, barely acquainted with the thing itself, architecting its most tender choreography in language. But that is the strange alchemy of songwriting—you do not need to have lived inside a feeling to build it a room. Boyz II Men will inhabit it completely, their harmonies rising like steam, and no one will ever think to look for me in the walls.
I know the power of love from Celine Dion, which came out this year and is one of the best-selling songs. So it can be a very valuable prospect. It would be good to have in my catalogue before I start my future record label.
Hero has been circling my mind like a bird that won't land—Mariah at the absolute peak of her powers, her voice climbing those impossible intervals the way only she can, as if the notes were rungs on a ladder no one else could see. I can already hear the way it will lodge itself into the chest of every person who has ever needed to believe in something. I pull out my notebook and begin transcribing, song after song, each one a vessel I am building for someone else to sail.
I keep rewinding *"All for Love"* on in my mind until the tape hisses like a nest of disturbed hornets—Bryan Adams' gravel voice, Sting's archangel croon, Rod Stewart's whiskey rasp all tangled together in that anthemic, three-way vow. The song isn't just a hit; it's a blood oath set to music, the kind of thing that makes your sternum vibrate when the chorus hits. I can already see it: the slow-motion shot in some future blockbuster, rain-slicked leather jackets, a final stand against the world. That's the kind of song you write when you're building a legacy, not just a discography.