I finally got around to that old Bob Lefsetz podcast with Diane Warren. December 13, 2017. Been sitting in my “listen later” pile for years. That’s how it goes, too much to do, too many songs, too many distractions.

But Warren… she’s different.

If you grew up in the ’80s, you already know her, even if you don’t think you know her. Flip through your record collection, there’s probably a Warren song hiding in there. For me, it was everywhere.

Mannequin. “Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now” by Starship. Warren.

Kiss “Turn On the Night.” Warren. Their “biggest” song, “You Make Me Rock Hard” had a Warren co-write.

Heart “Who Will You Run To,” “I Didn’t Want To Need You.” Warren.

Cheap Trick’s “Ghost Town.” Bon Jovi’s “Wild Is the Wind.” Alice Cooper’s “Bed of Nails.” Cher’s “If I Could Turn Back Time.” Michael Bolton, Taylor Dayne, Cyndi Lauper, Bad English. Hell, even Ratt. One of my favourite Ratt songs, “Givin Yourself Away” was co-written by Warren.

I thought I knew her range until I stumbled on “Lonely Beat of My Heart” on Steve Lukather’s “Lukather” album. Warren.

Then Vixen. Jimmy Barnes. Richie Sambora. And just when you think she’s all power ballads and mainstream rock, she shows up on Disturbed’s “Evolution” with a bonus track called “Uninvited Guest.”

And that’s just from my shelves, albums I physically own, mostly spanning ’85–’92. A fraction of the real story.

Her publishing company is called “Real Songs”. She wanted “Warren Peace”, but the name was already taken. Of course she owns the building, upgrades the studios, controls her environment. That’s what obsession looks like, build the nest so you can never be kicked out.

The obsession started early. Kicked out of school. Two weeks in juvie. A father who saw the fire, bought her a guitar, then a Martin, then built her a shed to write in. No Plan B. Just the work.

She broke in at 23 writing for Laura Branigan. “Rhythm of the Night” came soon after. But her first publishing deal was a nightmare, a five-year trap she bailed on early. Got sued. Couldn’t work for 12 months while the lawyers circled. She ended it herself by calling her ex-boss directly, settling without letting the attorneys siphon off the payout. That move, walking away from a bad deal, was the prelude to her starting “Real Songs”.

Even now, she hustles. She’ll pick up the phone and pitch a song cold. “No pressure, just listen.” Doesn’t care if they say no. Because if they say yes, she’s got another track in the bloodstream.

Her process is simple: show up, work. A song a week. She finishes the ones she loves, abandons the ones she doesn’t. Loves writing solo. Most of the time it’s love songs, ironic, since she’s never been in love.

Her biggest movie tie-in? “I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing” for “Armageddon”, thanks to a friend connected to Aerosmith. That’s how the real deals happen, through relationships, not résumés.

On streaming, she thinks it’s killed songwriter incomes. I don’t fully buy it, Ryan Tedder sold part of his catalog for $200 million, and he’s a post-Napster success story. But Warren’s point is valid: it’s harder now for a new songwriter to make bank without wearing the artist hat too.

Forty-plus years, still relevant, still writing, still obsessed.

That’s the thing about Diane Warren, she’s not the artist, not the star on the stage. But she’s the ghost in the machine. The pen behind the chorus you’ve been humming for decades. The one who refuses to stop.