83
Excepts from the rolling stones article.
"I want everyone to understand me. I want to be friends with everybody. I want everybody to know how I feel, and I want them all to respect it and to think that it's OK. And that's why I'm sitting here.... I think it was my desperation that drove me to have the will to do it."
Soon she had an album, but not a name. Or, rather, she had too many names. When I sit with Andy Slater, I see one old demo tape marked with the name Fiona Apple McAfee-Maggart. Apple, her middle name, was from her father's grandmother. When she met the people from the record company, she had only one stipulation: "I said, 'Not Apple.'" She thought of finding another name altogether; after all that's what Maya Angelou (real name: Marguerite Johnson) did. Fiona's mother chipped in with a suggestion: "She phoned up and said, 'I've got a great name! You know how you're always alone? You could call yourself Fiona Lone.'" The one idea Fiona considered seriously was Fiona Maria. "Then six months later," she says, "the contract comes - 'Your stage name is Fiona Apple' - and I started laughing." The biblical resonances didn't strike her until much later on. The apple: the thing that starts all the knowledge, but that also starts all the trouble.
FIONA APPLE HAS A CURIOUS, INTENSE faith in the truth. In her music, she believes that if she is honest, what she creates cannot be without worth. In her life. She believes truth is the safest refuge. These are dangerous, high-risk beliefs.
"I have problems," she says, "but everybody's got problems, and I sometimes honestly have felt in my life that people have used me as a way to make themselves feel better, because I'm a very good person to save." And I sometimes think: 'I'm not that bad off; it's really you that's making me feel like ****
Fiona Apple used to have this daydream fantasy. She will walk into school chapel and there will be these lumps underneath her clothes, just beginning to show. She'll stride down the center aisle and kneel in front of the altar, and all of her clothes will peel off. Her wings will show themselves. She will look at everybody – all those people who had teased her, or laughed at her, or talked behind her back about how weird she was – and then she will rise up and fly out of the building. And as she sweeps into the sky, free and triumphant, she will hear them all whispering. Many voices, but all saying the same three words; at least acknowledging, with their amazed chatter, what she always knew, and they never believed.
Fiona has wings…. Fiona has wings…. Fiona has…