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— by Gil Kaufman, with reporting by John Norris
It was over.
Done.
After more than eight tumultuous years in the music biz, fragile singer Fiona Apple had thrown in the towel. When she wasn't hanging out in her empty house in Venice, California, staring at the walls and carving figurines out of acorns with a razor blade, the "Shadowboxer" was lazing around her mother's New York apartment in a bathrobe watching "Columbo" reruns and trying to figure out life after music. Faster than you can say "TV Land," years slipped by without a new album.
It wasn't the first time she thought she'd quit the biz. "I didn't come back from the last time and say, 'I'm gonna take six years off,' " explained former waif Apple, looking relaxed and sporting a healthy glow. "Anytime I came off the road I'd kind of be done with an album. ... I really didn't know if I was ever going to do anything in this field again."
But the woman with a bitingly exquisite way of putting down exes who've given up on love couldn't see that she was the one giving up this time.
"I had said I wasn't going to do anything, and then for the longest time nobody was going, 'Please, please do something,' " said Apple. "And I was pretty fine with it. I was depressed, but I was also going, 'Well, I'm not doing that with my life anymore. Let's see when the money runs out and I have to get a job.' "
Then it happened.
It was FreeFiona.com, a spontaneous fan protest forum that sprang up online in late 2004 in an attempt to shame Sony into releasing her Extraordinary Machine record, which fans believed the label had rejected due to a perceived lack of commercial appeal. "My manager called and he's like, 'All these people want to talk to you ... because these Free Fiona people are going to protest.' And I was like, 'Who's Free Fiona?' "
Briefed by her manager on the movement, Apple, still wearing a not-so-glamorous pair of sweatpants, bathrobe and slippers, shuffled into the back room of her mom's place to look up the site. When she saw that fans were scheduling a protest in front of Sony headquarters in New York to demand the album's release she was speechless.
"I remember going, 'Momma, listen to what's happening. There's all these people, and this is what's going on.' And I said, 'Look at me, do you think that they really think that I'm on the phone, like, screaming at Sony, "Let my album go! Let my album go!"? I'm watching episodes of "Columbo," and that's my whole day.' "
And that's when she started to cry.
For an artist known for her mercurial nature — from the oft-cited "This world is bullsh--" speech at the 1997 VMAs to her equally notorious onstage meltdown during a New York concert three years later — crying is not headline news.
But following the tears was a fit of hysterical laughter, more tears, and then, Apple said, "I went, 'Oh my God.' It really touched me. ... I didn't really think I cared if people cared. But once I heard about that ... it felt, you know, really, really good." Apple panicked because she realized her fans didn't know her secret: It wasn't the label who had given up.
"I'm the one that quit," she said.
Which brings us to the present, with Apple releasing her third album and preparing to crank up the touring machine for what could, again, be the final time.
But just in case you've been hiding under an exquisitely carved acorn for the past several years, we're happy to fill you in on the storm before the calm.
The 28-year-old singer, who, contrary to public perception, says she neither writes poetry nor keeps a journal filled with angsty jottings, debuted in 1996 with the dramatic Tidal, which won a Grammy and sold 3 million copies thanks to offbeat hit singles like "Sleep to Dream" and "Criminal." The video for the latter, in which a rail-thin, hollow-eyed Apple rolled around in her underwear, drew criticism from some who saw it as verging on child pornography, and years later even Apple seems a bit conflicted about it.
At a time in the late '90s when the all-female Lilith Fair tour was putting female pop singers in the spotlight, Apple's husky, emphatic voice over cabaret-style pop, percussive, jazzy piano and booming drums was unique. She followed up with 1999's even more experimental When the Pawn Hits ... (actually, it had a 90-word title, but we'll spare you), drawing raves for the tricky arrangements and looped drums on songs like "Paper Bag" and "Fast as You Can." Despite (mostly) positive notices, though, sales were soft.
Then ... nothing.
Once the Pawn tour was over, Apple disappeared.
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Photo: Autumn de Wilde
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