MBW’s Key Songs In The Life Of… is a series in which we ask influential music industry figures about the tracks that have defined their life and career so far. This time, Colleen Theis, President and COO of The Orchard, sits down with MBW to discuss the songs – but more importantly, the experiences – that have defined her life to date. The Key Songs… series is supported by Sony Music Publishing.
It’s pronounced tice. It’s important that we establish this about Colleen Theis’ surname now, otherwise one of her anecdotes won’t scan. Not that it really matters. Colleen lives a colorful life; if you miss one fizzing tale from her story so far, another is sure to arrive at any moment.
Theis is meeting MBW in New York to discuss the seven songs that have most meaningfully soundtracked her existence. (A born rule-breaker, she blasts way past seven.)
On the way, we go roller-skating in Dallas and salsa dancing in Spain; we go jelly-legged at Duran Duran, and make Robert Smith blush; we risk it all on a library in Queens, toast to departed parents, and stroll inside one of the 1980s’ most hedonistic nightclubs. (Please, keep your hands out of the fishbowl.)
Today, as President and COO at The Orchard, Theis – with CEO Brad Navin – oversees a catalog spanning tens of millions of tracks. MBW estimates it generates approximately $2 billion annually.
Previously, after Rykodisc’s acquisition by Warner in 2006, Theis built ADA’s international arm as SVP of ADA Global, before making what she calls a “leap of faith” to join The Orchard in 2011.
At the time, friends in the industry questioned the move. “I had people saying, ‘Are you going to be okay? Can I take you to lunch? I’ll pay, don’t worry!’” she recalls. Theis’ bet, of course, was a wise one: four years after she joined, The Orchard was fully acquired by Sony Music – and has rapidly grown ever since.
Yet long before any of this, and way before the corner office, there was a Texan teenager with big hair working at the mall, spending every spare dollar at Bill’s Records – her original portal to a more vibrant world.
Theis’ journey from Dallas to New York – plus a transformative 12-year pitstop in London – reads like a love letter to the power of taking risks, while blasting great tunes…
1) Wichita Lineman, Glen Campbell (1968) / I Don’t Want To Know, Fleetwood Mac (1977)
Wichita Lineman reminds me of childhood – of family road trips and Sunday afternoons in Texas. I remember listening to it in my dad’s Cadillac, driving to
San Antonio to drop me off at camp, staring out the window at endless flat land rolling by. My mom liked to make a weekend of it. We used to stop at one of those little roadside motels – it was a Howard Johnson’s, orange and blue with a little fun swimming pool.
My dad grew up in Indiana but really embraced the whole Texan spirit. He bought farmland in the country [outside Dallas] in the ‘70s and we spent a lot of time there when I was growing up. His dream was to have a horse farm where all the generations would live together. He was the life of the party, an entrepreneur, and very charismatic. He had a tough persona; he considered himself a western cowboy. He died suddenly when I was 22. Up until then, he had always bailed me out of everything. When he was gone, I was like, ‘I have to take care of myself now, I better focus.’ It worked out.
“I listened to it in my dad’s Cadillac, staring out the window at endless flat land rolling by.”
Alongside my dad, my mom passed 12 years ago. One of my sisters is gone, too. It’s a lot.
Rumours was one of many records I got from my two sisters when I was very young. It came out in ‘77; I was born in ‘69. I love the harmonies in I Don’t Want To Know. My sisters introduced me to a ton of stuff – Ted Nugent, Jim Croce, Fleetwood Mac, Rod Stewart, and more.
My sister Jody is ten years older than me and lives on the farm outside Dallas. I took her to Madison Square Garden to see ‘An Evening With Fleetwood Mac’, including Christine McVie, in 2019. We had great seats. It was awesome to share that together.
2) On The Radio, Donna Summer (1979) / Our Lips Are Sealed, The Go-Go’s (1981)
This takes me back to my pre-teen days in Dallas. We used to go to Josey Skateland on the weekend, roller-skating round and round to R&B, disco, and metal – from Cameo to Judas Priest and Ozzy. There was no public transport in Dallas, so if you didn’t have a driver’s license, there was no escape. You had to make your own fun.
I like music that tells a story, and I’ve always loved Donna Summer. The whole thing in On The Radio where she’s talking about finding this letter and realizing, oh shoot, it wasn’t me that you were writing to. She had a wild and varied life – living in Germany, working with Giorgio Moroder. She’s a hugely underappreciated artist.
As teenagers looking for female performers, my friends and I also worshipped the Go-Go’s. Hearing Charlotte [Caffey] play guitar and Belinda [Carlisle]’s punk vocals – it was so cool. Their badass attitude, their whole take-no-prisoners approach – we’re not doing this to impress anybody but ourselves. Richard [Gottehrer, co-founder of The Orchard] actually produced their early records, so that’s a full-circle moment.
At one point in my career, I had the privilege of working with Belinda Carlisle. She did a record with Rykodisc when I was there and living in London. We got to know each other; she’s pretty inspirational. We hung out in the south of France, she rode in my car, she gave me relationship advice. Hers has been a very unconventional life, and I respect that. Mine has too.
3) Hungry Like The Wolf, Duran Duran (1982)
Growing up, Bill’s Records in Dallas was an island of cool and culture. The owner, Bill Wisener, was a big influence on me. I spent a lot of money and time there; I also dated a couple of his employees! Bill’s was a whole world of buy-sell-trade – taking old records I wasn’t into anymore, swapping them for merch or records.
Then, when I discovered Duran Duran on MTV, it took me into a different universe. I started a Duran Duran fan club; we had maybe five members. One from Japan, one from England, writing about our grand experiences at different concerts all over the world.
I first saw Duran live on the Sing Blue Silver tour in ‘84. My friends and I camped out for three days to get the tickets; I was in the second or third row. John Taylor threw out his sweat towel. I’m ashamed to admit I got into a tug-of-war with a girl and got a piece of it. I still have it today.
The music scene in Dallas became very Euro, very glam, very out there. I had the wildest hair because the hairdressers were like big local stars. I started going to this club called the Starck Club when I was 15, which was very New Wave and a bit edgy. Grace Jones performed there. I think it closed by the time I was 19. It
had a cigarette bar and, infamously, a fishbowl full of ecstasy pills, before ecstasy was made illegal in ‘85 or ‘86. A guy who got busted moving pills through that club lived in my neighborhood. He taught me to drive stick shift. His parents got divorced; one moved to Hawaii and one moved elsewhere, and they just left this teenager in their house until he finished high school. It became our hangout. The ‘80s were a time.
“I had the wildest hair because in Dallas the hairdressers were like big local stars.”
When that drug bust hit the Starck, it made the papers, and this guy’s name was in there. My mother was apoplectic. She cut out the newspaper clipping and left it on my pillow, along with my Starck Club T-shirt, washed and folded. That was her way of saying, ‘Are you on drugs?’ And I was like, ‘No mom. It’s just a cool T-shirt.’
I also went to high school with Vanilla Ice. He was a year ahead of me, but dropped out senior year because he wanted to be a rapper. He used to ride motocross and started a male cheerleader group called The Pep Busters. He was a real character.
I lived in Spain for a year in 1990 during university. By ‘91, that song [Ice Ice Baby] was huge. I remember hearing it on the radio and then finding out that it was Robbie Van Winkle from RL Turner High. One of my nicknames to this day is Theis Theis Baby.
4) A Night Like This, The Cure (1985)
I love The Cure. I love the darker, moodier stuff. I love [Robert Smith’s] voice. He creates such a cinematic mood, even in their fun, poppy songs. I love those songs too; memories of singalongs and nights out on the town drinking wine coolers with my gal pals.
I met Robert Smith at a venue called On The Air in Dallas in the ‘80s. He was incredibly shy, very sweet, very self-effacing – he seemed genuinely amazed that people wanted to talk to him.
I love how he married his teenage girlfriend and they’re still together. Imagine, 50 years on: ‘My husband still fronts an iconic band, wears crazy crimson red lipstick and has his hair sticking out like he’s stuck his finger in a light socket. I love it.’
Anytime The Cure play New York, I’m going to go; I’m going to buy the T-shirt. I’m going to get there early and stay late.
5) Me, Myself And I, De La Soul (1989)
I left Dallas for New York suddenly. My dad had died, I was in a corporate job [at Bank One Texas] while also waiting tables, living with this man who… was just not my kind of weirdo, frankly. I couldn’t picture the rest of my life rolling along this way. It felt stifling.
I came to New York City for a weekend to visit some college friends. We went to see a band called The Niagaras, did all this fun stuff. I was like, ‘What am I doing in Dallas? I’ve got to leave.’
“I couldn’t picture the rest of my life rolling along this way. It felt stifling.”
Within three weeks, I’d found a job at the library in Jamaica, Queens. It paid less than I was making in Dallas, but my friends were like, ‘You can come sleep in our loft.’ I gave my two weeks’ notice at the bank, told my boyfriend ‘I’m moving,’ and packed up. I shipped two boxes and brought two suitcases.
I also brought my CD bag with me – a Case Logic, remember those? It held maybe 30 discs. De La Soul was definitely in there – 3 Feet High and Rising. Anything in that Case Logic carrier got played over and over again in my CD Walkman during my hour reverse commute on the F train to Queens from the Upper West Side, and then back again.
I lived with Cecily, who worked in fashion for brands like Tommy Hilfiger and Calvin Klein, and for a time worked at Estée Lauder and got free makeup. My other roommate was Paula, who worked at Valentino; she got handbags and sample clothing. And I worked in music, so I had access to shows and CDs. We were like a little bartering market. We didn’t make any money, but we had a great time.
I got into the music business through that job at the library. I met a woman named Eileen who worked at DAS Communications, which managed The Fugees. I said to Eileen, ‘I’m looking for a way to get into the music business, let me know if you hear of any jobs.’ She told me about a guy, Joe, who worked on The Fugees when he was International Marketing Director at Columbia Records. He’d just gotten a job offer from Sylvia Rhone at Elektra, and he was hiring for his assistant.
My interview with him was at Columbia Records, as he was packing up his office. He was hungover because it was his leaving do the night before. He pulled a beer out and gave it to me, along with a Cypress Hill fleece and some promo CDs. I was like, ‘Oh God. Is this an interview?’
I got the job, and started in music at 28. All the other assistants were 21, 22. But Joe let me shadow him on pretty much everything: Mötley Crüe, Third Eye Blind, Busta Rhymes, Missy Elliott, Björk, and Metallica. And Nada Surf, who I’m still friends with today. I was in!
6) Another Chance, Roger Sanchez (2001)
I moved to England in 2001 to work for Chris Blackwell. He’d launched Palm Pictures and acquired Rykodisc, and was trying to combine them; I worked on international releases for both. House music was hitting the mainstream, and I’d started going to Ibiza. Another Chance is a very simple song – basically the same line over and over – but it’s great for driving, great for getting ready for a night out.
Roger Sanchez is a musical genius, like all those amazing DJs. It took a long time for electronic music to get the credit it deserved for the intricacies that go into creating a track, for controlling the energy and direction of a live set.
When we met, my husband Julian and I connected over our love of this song and its video; it spoke to where we were at that time in our lives.
We recently went to see Toto and Steve Lukather [from the band] jumped in and started singing the lyrics – “If I had another chance tonight…” Julian and I were like – what?! We were today years old when we realized that [I Won’t Hold You Back by Toto] was the sample.
7) It’s The Nighttime, Josh Rouse (2005)
Josh was a banner artist for us on Rykodisc. I worked all of his albums until he went out of contract, and I left the label.
He had some highs – he had a song in a film [Vanilla Sky] that made him very popular. He focused on building his career internationally, so he was in Europe a lot and we spent a lot of time together.
Lyrically, he’s the greatest songwriter you’ve probably never heard of. He’s the epitome of somebody that’s able to make a living doing what they love. Good for him. We love his music.
8) BAILE INoLVIDABLE, Bad Bunny (2025)
My bonus track! It’s impossible to pick a favorite Bad Bunny song, but having lived in Spain and grown up adjacent to Mexico, I’ve always loved classic salsa.
Los Sobrinos is a band of young Puerto Rican musicians from public schools, many playing traditional instruments. The way Bunny weaves that into his own interpretation of modern salsa – he’s just amazing. And the lyrics are very romantic.
Benito closed with it at his residency [in Puerto Rico, 2025]. There was a full salsa band and all kinds of things going on. He built a mountain inside the venue with a cave and mist rising from it. People were coming out of the cave and appearing in little grottos – salsa dancers, guys waving Puerto Rican flags, guitar players. There were fireworks, there were lasers, there were live chickens. It was so good.
For me, this song sums up Benito because it talks about the modern and the traditional and blending the two. It’s also a great party song. It’s genius the way he threads it all together.
He’s always remained true to his vision and what he wants to do. People have come at him – not from The Orchard, but across the business – saying you should sing in English, you should focus on getting your tracks on radio, you should change your style. You should, you should, you should, you should. But he’s done it all in his own time and in his own way.
Frankly, all of the most enduring artists that The Orchard works with – RAYE is another one – it’s like: ‘We’re doing it my way. We’re partners in this, but I’m in control.’ And that’s great.
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