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Authors: Jenni Rivera
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I never thought anything would come of it, but that album waswhat launched my recording career. It’s not as if I were an overnight success, but I got some good feedback and it made me think that maybe my father was right. Maybe I did have a future in this? But as soon as I asked the question, I was knocked back down again.
In 1994, I got a small gig in Encinitas near San Diego to open for another singer, who was one of my father’s artists. I had to pay for gas, food, and a wardrobe out of my own pocket, and I was making only $300. As I was walking to the bathroom, I heard a friend of my dad’s talking to the manager who had hired me. We were outside and I was walking on grass, so they didn’t hear me approaching. Dad’s friend said, “Who did you invite to open?”
“I got this new girl, Jenni Rivera,” the manager told him.
“Why did you invite her? She can’t sing. She’s ugly. She has a bad attitude.”
I was hurt and I was pissed. My father produced this man’s daughter’s music, and now here he was talking crap about me to other people in the industry. I went onstage not long after that and sang my heart out, trying to prove to myself, more than anyone else, that I belonged on a stage. But I wasn’t so sure. All I wanted was to get home to my kids. As soon as I was done, I went to the manager to ask him for my $300.
“Oh, I’ll pay you,” he said, “after you have sex with me.”
I was horrified and heated, but could do little. I told that asshole right off and I walked out of there without getting paid. When I got home, I told my dad, “I am never singing again. This industry is too ugly. I’m not putting myself through this crap. I can make more money in real estate anyway.”
“I understand, mija ,” he responded. “But please do me one more favor. Record one more album. I already have a lot of the songs, I have the lyrics. Just one more.”
I could never say no to my father. I recorded that second album, and it got the attention of some people at Balboa Records, and I signed on to do a third album with them, which I titled La Maestra .
When Trino found out, he started to come around the house and the real estate office trying to persuade me to give our relationship another chance. But I didn’t budge. No way was I going down that road again. I was done for good. When I said my final no to Trino, he responded with words I will never forget: “You don’t want to get back together with me although we have three kids? You think you are going to make it in that stupid singing career? Listen to me, you’re never going to make it as an artist. You sound too much like Graciela Beltrán, anyway. You’ll always be compared to her and will never be taken seriously. You need to stop with your dumbass dreams.” He said it with such passion, and a part of me wanted to tell him that he was the dumbass, but a part of me worried that he might be right.
Although I enjoyed making Trino think otherwise, I wasn’t seriously pursuing a career in music because half the time I wasn’t even getting paid. When I had my first gig outside of California, one of my brothers came with me. It was in Washington, DC, and we flew in a day early to see the city.
The night of my gig I was supposed to be paid a few thousand dollars, but at the end of the night the manager who had hired me refused to pay. He said his business partner never gave him the money. My brother was ready to beat his ass, but I told him that instead we should have the manager drive us to the business partner’s house and ask for the money. So we did just that, but the partner didn’t have it either. So we made the manager take a bat to his partner’s car. Then we drove the manager to the park across the street from the White House and made him strip down naked. My brother took his carkeys and chucked them deep into the park. We left him there, naked, searching for his car keys in the light of the White House. Just so he knew you
I never thought anything would come of it, but that album waswhat launched my recording career. It’s not as if I were an overnight success, but I got some good feedback and it made me think that maybe my father was right. Maybe I did have a future in this? But as soon as I asked the question, I was knocked back down again.
In 1994, I got a small gig in Encinitas near San Diego to open for another singer, who was one of my father’s artists. I had to pay for gas, food, and a wardrobe out of my own pocket, and I was making only $300. As I was walking to the bathroom, I heard a friend of my dad’s talking to the manager who had hired me. We were outside and I was walking on grass, so they didn’t hear me approaching. Dad’s friend said, “Who did you invite to open?”
“I got this new girl, Jenni Rivera,” the manager told him.
“Why did you invite her? She can’t sing. She’s ugly. She has a bad attitude.”
I was hurt and I was pissed. My father produced this man’s daughter’s music, and now here he was talking crap about me to other people in the industry. I went onstage not long after that and sang my heart out, trying to prove to myself, more than anyone else, that I belonged on a stage. But I wasn’t so sure. All I wanted was to get home to my kids. As soon as I was done, I went to the manager to ask him for my $300.
“Oh, I’ll pay you,” he said, “after you have sex with me.”
I was horrified and heated, but could do little. I told that asshole right off and I walked out of there without getting paid. When I got home, I told my dad, “I am never singing again. This industry is too ugly. I’m not putting myself through this crap. I can make more money in real estate anyway.”
“I understand, mija ,” he responded. “But please do me one more favor. Record one more album. I already have a lot of the songs, I have the lyrics. Just one more.”
I could never say no to my father. I recorded that second album, and it got the attention of some people at Balboa Records, and I signed on to do a third album with them, which I titled La Maestra .
When Trino found out, he started to come around the house and the real estate office trying to persuade me to give our relationship another chance. But I didn’t budge. No way was I going down that road again. I was done for good. When I said my final no to Trino, he responded with words I will never forget: “You don’t want to get back together with me although we have three kids? You think you are going to make it in that stupid singing career? Listen to me, you’re never going to make it as an artist. You sound too much like Graciela Beltrán, anyway. You’ll always be compared to her and will never be taken seriously. You need to stop with your dumbass dreams.” He said it with such passion, and a part of me wanted to tell him that he was the dumbass, but a part of me worried that he might be right.
Although I enjoyed making Trino think otherwise, I wasn’t seriously pursuing a career in music because half the time I wasn’t even getting paid. When I had my first gig outside of California, one of my brothers came with me. It was in Washington, DC, and we flew in a day early to see the city.
The night of my gig I was supposed to be paid a few thousand dollars, but at the end of the night the manager who had hired me refused to pay. He said his business partner never gave him the money. My brother was ready to beat his ass, but I told him that instead we should have the manager drive us to the business partner’s house and ask for the money. So we did just that, but the partner didn’t have it either. So we made the manager take a bat to his partner’s car. Then we drove the manager to the park across the street from the White House and made him strip down naked. My brother took his carkeys and chucked them deep into the park. We left him there, naked, searching for his car keys in the light of the White House. Just so he knew you
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