LeAnn Rimes looks back: ‘I hadn’t been to bars before, let alone danced on them’
Born in Mississippi in 1982 and raised in Texas, LeAnn Rimes signed her first record deal aged 13. At 14, she became the youngest person to win a Grammy, for her cover of country classic Blue, and followed her success with How Do I Live, one of the bestselling singles of the 1990s. In 2000, her song Can’t Fight the Moonlight was used in the teen box-office smash Coyote Ugly, a film about a group of female bartenders who danced on tabletops for tips. The song was No 1 in 12 countries and catapulted her into the pop market. She won the 2020 season of The Masked Singer US, has released 18 albums and her latest, God’s Work, is out now. She lives in California with her husband, actor Eddie Cibrian, and is a stepmother to two boys.
There was a lot of acting going on in this photograph. I was only 17 when Coyote Ugly came out and until this point in my career I’d been constantly on the road, doing press and working in the studio. I had teen angst, I was hormonal and I had done 500 shows in three and a half years, so I was tired. I hadn’t been to many bars before, let alone danced on top of them.
I didn’t feel comfortable in my own sexuality yet, so I had to do a lot of pretending to play the part of a woman with confidence
The film had already wrapped, but the director decided they wanted to add my song into a scene at the end, so being on set was like a big reunion for the cast and crew. Everyone was in good spirits, it was super sweet and supportive, but the outfit and the performance were a big change for me. I didn’t feel comfortable in my own sexuality yet, so I had to do a lot of pretending to play the part of a woman with confidence.
In the end, the video for this song became a kind of introduction to my sexuality, something I could own myself. The film was multilayered, but it was centred on women selling sex, whereas for most of my career my identity had been the opposite – it was about everyone around me preserving me as this wholesome child. Coyote Ugly was my step out of that innocence. On the day of the shoot, the costume department handed me these chicken fillets to wear and I said: “What am I supposed to do with these?” They had to explain: “You’re meant to put them in your shirt, they make your boobs bigger.” It was a bit of a shock at first but it became an introduction to a different side of myself that I wanted to explore.
It used to be hard for me to look back at photos without cringing at my hair and wardrobe – I was coming into my own in the media spotlight, which is very awkward in many ways. But now I see someone who was a survivor and a true fighter. Not only was I turning into a woman aesthetically, but this moment marked a pivotal point of asserting my need for autonomy professionally. I’d had such amazing crossover success with How Do I Live and I Need You, but Can’t Fight the Moonlight was massive. The song was everywhere and I realised I needed to find my own way in the world. There was a lot of hurt because of things that had gone on in our family [LeAnn severed ties with her father and former co-manager in 2000, alleging he had taken more than $7m of her earnings] and I needed space. There’s no pretty way of cutting those ties. It was traumatic, but we’ve all moved through it, and me and my father have a relationship now. Navigating that situation as a teenager was one of the greatest accomplishments of my life.
Success as a kid was a blessing and a curse. I started performing at a very young age and I didn’t realise how unique my childhood was until I had my stepsons, and the eldest turned 11. I thought, “Oh wow. My experience of this stage of life was very different.” I did get to be creative and live out a dream at a very young age, but I also missed out on a lot of things.
I was an only child, so I was always playing made-up games. I was super imaginative and curious, and I loved singing, dancing and performing. My mom put me in a song and dance competition when I was five, but no one entered in my age group so they put me in the six to 12 category and I won the whole thing. One mother complained that I shouldn’t have been in that category, that it wasn’t fair, but to me it was a key moment. Being on stage lit me up inside, and everyone watching was like, “There’s something different about her.” I had a unique, grownup voice, and there was an emotional way to how I performed, as if it came through me from somewhere or something else. As if I was a conduit.
From a young age, I measured my success by metrics like chart placement or ticket sales, which creates so much pressure. Now, I don’t even look at the numbers
At the same time, there was a loneliness to having that gift. I wouldn’t say I’ve had a lot of friends in my life, even if I have a solid group of people around me now. Throughout my childhood, and even in my 20s, friends were so hard to come by, and I wasn’t very trusting either. I’ve had friends who I thought were close but were not great for me. In many ways, being really good at something can make you feel isolated. I always felt like an old soul – I was a very deep thinker and could always hold a conversation with adults. I wasn’t really a kid. Although I had challenges in connecting to people my own age because I was always performing, I instead got to have an incredible connection with an audience. To have fans share their stories about how my music has helped them personally has created this deep bond, and because of that I’ve never been truly alone. Now I’m older, I’ve shifted and changed, and the solid friends I’ve always longed for have entered my life as well.
From a young age, I measured my success by metrics like chart placement or ticket sales, which creates so much pressure. These days, I don’t even look at the numbers – it’s all about how my music has touched people. If it’s helped my fans move through phases of their life and emotions that they previously didn’t have words for, I feel validated. Numbers and charts can get in the way of the real reason for my soul wanting to create what I want to create.
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I still battle anxiety daily – who wouldn’t when the world’s eyes have been on you since you were a child? But now it’s so much better. Depression seeps in just like it does with many 40-year-old hormonal women. But I’ve learned to navigate it. When I turned 30 I went to rehab [for codependency and anxiety] after having a moment of realisation: “I’m an adult and I need to take control of my life. I’m here for a purpose and I don’t want to be in a battle with myself.” I was desperately wanting to feel freedom.
After that experience, I learned how to bring joy and play back into my days. A lot of my life has been planned out – tours booked in advance, very little time off. But now I know the importance of having space to wake up and think: “What do I want to do today? What brings me happiness?” I love to jump on my bike and go for a ride. I love making candles, and to light the fire in my home. Any form of creativity is important and connects me to who I was as a kid.
To be 40 and in a place of thriving is something that not many child stars can say they have achieved. And as for dancing – if I’m given the chance, I’ll get up on a bar, no question.
