Las Vegas Weekly

August 20, 2009 · 3:54 PM

The original side of the king of covers

By April Corbin

Jeremy Cornwell was supposed to be a doctor, not a musician.

His childhood in Ohio didn’t include a lot of music. He was a senior in high school before he took up singing, though his vocal skills did land him a full scholarship to Central State University in Wilberforce, Ohio. In fact, he was a freshman in college before he picked up a guitar or attended a concert.

How then did the pre-med student decide not simply to drop his three majors (biology, chemistry and psychology) but drop out of school and move to Las Vegas with two friends he’d met at a karaoke bar?

Even Cornwell can’t fully explain.

“I was hardcore,” he says. “I was going to be a doctor. Then one day it just snapped. I do want to be a doctor. Medicine and science is a passion, but the passion I have for music is just a stronger fire.”

So, despite having never been further west than Minneapolis, Cornwell packed a duffel bag and moved to Vegas - in the middle of July. “Coming from Ohio, it was 85 degrees with 60 percent humidity,” he says. “I step off the plane and it’s 110 with zero humidity. I choked on the air.”

The weather wasn’t the only drastic change Cornwell felt after his major move.

“I went from not playing very often to ‘I’m in Vegas and the only thing I have is my guitar,’” he says. “My second week in town I made a conscious decision that I wasn’t going to work. I was only going to make music.”

And music he made. He spent six or seven nights a week at open mic nights, and within two months he received a steady gig playing music at Jimmy Buffet’s Margaritaville. Cornwell played popular cover songs, such as Dave Matthews Band’s “Crush,” Radiohead’s “Creep” and a melody that somehow combines Lynrd Skynard’s “Sweet Home Alabama” with Digital Underground’s “Humpty Dance” and Vanilla Ice.

The unique pairings, an energetic live performance and the soulful spin he placed on his versions of songs registered with promoters and audiences alike. The gigs, and the money they came up with, continued to roll in.

Five years and two attempts to create albums of original work fell by the wayside. Cornwell, who grew up extremely poor, realized he was getting complacent.

“When you’re making $150 to $200 for a four or five hour show, and you’re doing this three nights a week… That’s more money than I’d ever seen.”

According to Cornwell, his earnings crept into six figures. Twice, he employed friends to be his personal assistant. While he appreciated the ability to provide for his family, he says he eventually took time to evaluate what he wanted out of a career and realized that he wished he were making progress as a solo artist playing original songs.

That’s when he decided to take a step back.

Cornwell calls the experience liberating and likens it to driving in heavy traffic in the middle of Arizona without air conditioning after cruising on traffic-free streets for five years in comfort.

“I’ve never been more focused on where I really want to go than now,” he says.

He and his keyboardist Michael Quarentello have finished recording the tracks for the Jeremy Cornwell Project’s first album, the self-released “Blue Bonnet and the Louisiana Mockingbird.”

The tracks are done in a similar fashion as the duo’s live performances: Only vocals, a guitar and a keyboard are used. Cornwell describes it as a mix of Hootie and the Blowfish, Stevie Wonder and the Fray, with a little hip-hop Jason Mraz thrown in for good measure. Though, he quickly adds, “It’s not as crazy as it sounds when I explain it.”

Cornwell hopes getting his original music into the world will propel him to more commercial success. He’s got the itching to hear thousands of people singing his original songs in venues.

Even if that doesn’t happen, Cornwell says he doesn’t regret giving up his med school dreams. The way he sees it, it’s still not out of his realm of possibilities.

“When I called my mom up and said, ‘I’m dropping my scholarship, dropping out of school and moving to Vegas,’ the first thing she said was, ‘You can always go back to school,’” Cornwell recalls, adding that his mother went back to school twice – once in her late 30s and again in her late 40s.

“She knows,” he says, “if you feel this strongly about it now, you should do it.”

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