I liked Mike right away. He was incredibly enthusiastic in telling me how their next album would be leaps and bounds above their first record, and how that one was actually a terrible reflection of them; they had grown so much since those songs were written, and they were searching for a new singer, which is why the demo didn’t have vocals. I couldn’t very well sign them to a major label deal based on four demo songs, especially since I hadn’t heard their new singer. But I was intrigued. Their predicament reminded me of the situation Ray, Phil, and I were in when we were transforming from Simon Dupree & The Big Sound to Gentle Giant and looking for a new label.
‘I like the songs,’ I told Mike. ‘And I’d like to help you out.’
I offered him a development deal, which gave Dream Theater enough money to record six full songs. I told him that if those were as good as the ones he’d played me, we could talk about a record contract. A couple of months later, Mike came back to me with six newly recorded songs featuring vocalist James Labrie, and they sounded amazing. We cut a deal with them for the album that became Images And Words. The musically complex album hit #61 on the Billboard 200 and eventually went gold. But as good as the album was, there was no way it would have received such strong radio and MTV support if we hadn’t twisted the arms of the right people, or at least serviced them with phone calls that made both of our jobs easier.
The best song on the album was ‘Pull Me Under,’ which seemed like it would do well on radio—except it was over eight minutes long. Derek and I met with our radio guy, Harry Palmer, and we all decided the best way to get it on radio was to edit it down to a five-minute single. Some bands—especially those who consider a song to be a complete musical piece—might refuse such requests. God knows, Gentle Giant would have told the label to fuck off if they wanted to transform a fully formed composition into a bite-sized radio nugget. But I wasn’t representing Gentle Giant, I was advising Dream Theater.
We contacted the band and their producer, David Prater, and they agreed to work together to edit the song down. It took them a big of wrangling, but sure enough, they got the version for the video down to 4:49 and made two radio edits, one at 6:01 and one at 5:54. They managed to cut the song down without killing it, which is a remarkable feat. MTV wouldn’t consider playing anything more than five minutes long, but they loved the song, and since it came in just under the maximum length, they aired the video many times. Lots of radio stations played the six-minute version, while those that had strict rules about songs that were that long accepted the 5:54 edit. ‘Pull Me Under’ turned Dream Theater into prog-metal stars worldwide, and the guys were so happy we’d gone to bat for them and figured out a way to get their epic song on air.
I was also expecting big things from one of my other signings at the label. It was a band called Enuff Z’Nuff from Blue Island, Illinois, of all places. They had developed a strong following in the Chicago glam-metal scene, and their song ‘Fingers On It’ had featured in the 1986 film Henry: Portrait Of A Serial Killer. I had seen them a couple of times and heard their demos, and I thought they made some of the best good-time rock I had heard since Cinderella. They had the psychedelic charge of Badfinger, the hooky songwriting of Cheap Trick, and the sleazy swagger of Mötley Crüe. Their frontman, Donnie Vie, was pure eye candy in concert, and the band was a sheer endorphin rush. By the time I was ready to pull the trigger, they had already recorded a self-titled EP, but they didn’t have a home for it yet. I contacted their manager and offered them a deal. Then, after I signed them, they recorded their first album.
We released E’Nuff Z’Nuff in 1989. Sure E’Nuff, the video for the first single, ‘New Thing,’ was embraced by MTV and went into regular rotation at lots of radio stations. The next single, ‘Fly High Michelle,’ did even better, hitting #47 on the Billboard Hot 100, and MTV played the hell of out of it. To keep the band flying and ensure our parent company continued to support them, I pushed hard to convince everyone in our meetings that E’Nuff Z’Nuff were a headline band and should play showcases at all the big music conventions.
Everyone at every record company went to these music conventions, the biggest of which were Concrete Foundations Forum, New Music Seminar, and CMJ. We got Enuff Z’Nuff booked as the headliners of the Foundations Forum. We promoted the shit out of it and told every radio DJ, journalist, editor, and video-company staffer that it would be a legendary gig.
It was memorable, but for all the wrong reasons. The band got fucked up before the show, and their performance was all over the place. The guitars were out of tune, the rhythms were sloppy, and the vocals didn’t punch at nearly the weight class the band usually hit.
It wasn’t a career-ender, but it sure didn’t help us get the support we wanted from anyone at Warner Music Group. I later found out that the band members were self-destructive and couldn’t control their bad habits. They could have been one of the biggest rock bands of the 90s and beyond, but drugs and poor business decisions sealed their fate. We released their second album, Strength, which they worked on while their debut was gaining momentum. But their time had come and gone, and the album charted at #143 before fading from sight. We dropped them after that. It’s a tragically familiar tale. Chemical romance was their ticket to obscurity.
Before E’Nuff Z’Nuff snorted their way off the map, everyone who heard them believed they were heading for greatness. During that time, Pantera were taking off, AC/DC were on fire, and I was trying to suss out what everyone in the Warner family thought of ATCO and whether their goals for the company complemented mine. I was also still trying to figure out the status of my working relationship with Doug Morris. He hadn’t wanted me to be a part of Warners, but now that I was on board and didn’t threaten his job in the least, he seemed to have made peace with me. Our artist trades were amicable—even though they usually benefited me more than him—and I wanted to keep the peace and remain civil, but I was ever cautious.
One day, when we were casually chatting, he showed his true colors.
‘You’ve got a lot of new releases,’ he said. ‘What’s your favorite record coming out?’
‘I’ll tell you now,’ I said without a pause. ‘It’s a band called E’Nuff Z’Nuff. It’s going to be fucking massive. I love this band.’
‘Yeah, you know. I think I’ve heard about it,’ he replied. ‘It’s supposed to be pretty good.’
‘So, Doug,’ I said, in an effort to continue the friendly conversation. ‘What’s your favorite new Atlantic record?’
‘Well, let me show you what I like,’ he said. He brought over a blue and white alphabetized sales sheet and placed it in front of us. He put his index finger at the top line and scrolled down, stopping at a name three-quarters of the way down the page. ‘That’s my favorite,’ he said, pointing at the biggest seller.
My heart sank. He didn’t care about the music. All that mattered to him were numbers. That’s when the shoe dropped and I saw what I was up against. This was the corporate who gives a shit what it is as long as it sells music industry, and I was surrounded by it. That was the writing on the wall.