She recorded the bestselling album ever made by a woman, but later disappeared from the limelight. She talks about the murderou childhood and devastating divorce that become her daddies great survivor
Shania Twain was at the heyday of her abilities when she lost her voice. We are not talking got a couple of offset concerts or a few weeks on the throat lozenges. Twain did not make a record for 15 years.
” I never reputed I’d sing again ,” she says softly. It is exclusively six weeks since she had laryngoplasty, an operation to reconstruct the vocal container. A two-inch horizontal scar is stripped across her neck.
Actually, she says, she was lucky. Her vocal cord paralysis was a result of being burnt by a ticking and sickening Lyme disease.” Lyme disease can be so much more devastating. It can go to your mentality .”
It is hard to conceive just how big the country-pop star was when disaster struck. She was one of the first “crossover” starrings, combining country music with dad and stone. Without Shania Twain, there might well have been no Taylor Swift. She made three monster-selling books with the help of her husband and music partner, producer and novelist Robert ” Mutt ” Lange. Come on Over, which has sold 40 m copies, is the bestselling album by a female creator and the ninth-top seller of all time in the US.
Lange, “whos been” reached his name working with circles including AC/ DC and Def Leppard, facilitated reinvent Twain. She lay down her acoustic guitar, put on ends, lippy and thigh-length boots and morphed from conventional commonwealth singer to rock goddess. Twain was seductive, empowering and funny. This was a woman who knew what she required- people, activity, dancing, hold. As she sang on Man! I Feel Like a Woman !, very good occasion about being a woman was the prerogative to have a little fun. Her finger-wagging, top-hat-wearing vamp would not take any nonsense from the cloned moderately boys playing guitar on the song’s video.
In the video for That Don’t Impress Me Much, she is stranded in the Mojave desert, dressed from thought to toe in leopard-print, spurning rides from any number of egocentric hotties (” Oh-oo-oh, you think you’re special/ Oh-oo-oh, you think you’re something else/ OK, so you’re Brad Pitt/ That don’t impress me much “).