A shorter version of this interview was originally commissioned for the Nottingham Evening Post. Here's the full transcript of our conversation, which took place on Friday June 1st 2007.


Let’s start by talking about the new album, Stardom Road. It’s a covers album, with most, if not all, of the songs taken from the Fifties, Sixties and Seventies. There’s nothing after the Seventies, is there?

No, because I was a baby of the Fifties, a child of the Sixties and a teenager of the Seventies, and those were the decades that really shaped me. Obviously, the Eighties part of my career is very well known – but I did toy with a couple of songs from the Nineties at one point, by Pulp and Suede. But they were too much already in my own world, if you see what I mean. The artists are too associated with those tracks, and I didn’t feel I could bring anything different to them. I did record a song with Antony & the Johnsons, but that’s only available as a specific download. So most of the songs are from those decades, because I felt those were the decades that shaped my influences and shaped my life.

I’m curious to know which particular Pulp and Suede songs you were thinking of…

I can’t say, in case I ever decide in the future… I’m not going to say! (Laughs)

Fair enough! I shall speculate on that at leisure.

Oh, I’ll tell you actually. It’s a song by Pulp called Live Bed Show, which I really loved, but I couldn’t find the right angle for it. It was the title that appealed to me more than anything. And a track by Suede called Still Life, from Dog Man Star. But I felt I was just being a little bit indulgent, really. I had to have somebody throughout the making of the album – it was Tris Penna, the producer – doing the A&R-ing for me, and saying: no, no, you’ve got to concentrate on the songs that make the album flow. Talking me into different directions from being plainly self-indulgent. If I’d just made an album of random songs which I really loved, it would have been all over the place.

Although you only wrote one of the songs yourself, it strikes me that this is as deeply personal an album as any of your self-penned collections. The song selections all seem to have a very direct, almost autobiographical resonance with your own life – and I think that makes us hear these songs in a different way. Was that the intention?

Yes, it was. When you do an album of cover songs, it’s always very difficult to get that balance right, and to make it sound like one complete record. So I think you have to pick a theme, and a thread which goes all the way through the album – and the thread that seemed to be coming together was that this would give a little musical journey through my life. It doesn’t go to the most obvious places, like the electro side, because that’s already obvious to a lot of people – but I think it’s important to have that running journey, and a running theme.

I wanted to pick songs like the opener by Charles Aznavour, I Have Lived. It’s not a very known Aznavour song, and so I could put my own stamp on it that much more easily. People could listen to the lyrics, and they could really accept it as being a Marc Almond song. Almost a song which could have been written for me, or I could have written. I mean, I wouldn’t put myself in the same class as a songwriter like Charles Aznavour – which is why I like to sing other people’s songs, because I feel there are better songwriters than I ever could be, who can express my ideas better than I sometimes can through my own words.

It’s the second time I can think of that you’ve covered an Aznavour song, because there was What Makes A Man A Man, a number of years ago…

Three times, actually. I’ve also covered Yesterday When I Was Young, on my album Absinthe. The original choice for this album was going to be a song called This Will Be My Day, but I thought that as a lesser known song, I could give I Have Lived much more of a personal stamp, and make it my own.

It’s a great statement of intent. You could almost imagine it as the album’s finale, and it’s interesting that you use it as a kind of overture instead.

I wanted the album to end with a self-written number. After the accident, I couldn’t write songs. I wasn’t in a position to write songs; I wasn’t able to write songs. Then, when I was able to sit down and think about writing some lyrics, I was going through a very bad time with the recovery, and I would always come out with something that was quite depressed and over-melancholic. I wanted this to be a celebration album: the fact I’d got back into the studio again, the fact I’d got my voice back, and that I feel that I’m singing better than ever. I went back to lessons again, and got my confidence back, and I wanted the emotion and the celebratory feeling of actually going back into making a record.

That does come across…

So it was important that I ended the album with a self-written song, to show the way for the future and that I was back writing songs again. Redeem Me is about growing up and moving on, still being the person you are, still being true to yourself, but changing in life and prepared to want different things.


I want to ask you more about Redeem Me a little later on. I particularly like the sequence where you go from Bowie’s London Boys into Strangers in the Night. They’re both examples of songs that, when we hear you sing them, it brings a different context. I mean, London Boys: what an ahead-of-its-time song that is…

It’s still many young people’s experience, when they come to the big city. It has a resonance of today about it. I first heard it when I was about 14, 15 years old, when I bought The World of David Bowie. Ziggy Stardust and Aladdin Sane had been successful, and they reissued all his earlier Sixties stuff. So I heard London Boys, and he was singing about, you know, the first time he took a pill… it was almost dangerous, there was something very provocative and evocative about it. London seemed to be this exciting, dangerous, fantastic place, which draws you to it. When I finally sang it all these years later, sitting in the studio while the orchestra were playing the song, I felt very emotional – and I hope the emotion comes out in the way I sing it.

Indeed, and when you go from that into Strangers in the Night, you’ve still got London Boys in your mind. So you’re thinking of being out in a club, copping off…

I’ve always wanted to do Strangers in the Night. There have been so many versions, and people have been a bit funny about it. They have this kind of prejudice against the song. There are so many cheesy versions of it. But the version that I loved was by Matt Monro; I love those British singers of the Fifties and early Sixties. It’s a song about picking people up casually, anonymously; it has quite a dark edge to it. I wanted to bring some of that out in my version.

I think that works. During the first half of the song, you forget that it transforms, and that you finish with a happy ending. You’re very much in that place of thinking about the anonymous encounters.

But I wrote these extra words, that go round at the end: “Stranger to stranger; lover to stranger; lover to lover; lover to stranger; stranger to stranger.” It’s like the cycle of a relationship: you meet somebody, you fall intensely in love, you know them so well, you have this great relationship, and then a year later you meet them on the street and they ignore you.

Oh God, I know what you’re talking about.

I hope you’ve never been through that experience… (Laughter)

Many times!

So often now, people want these quick, intense experiences – so it is a nod towards that. But people will either get it or they won’t. It’s a risky one to do, because some people will instantly not like it – but I hope they get my little twist on it.

Indeed. In a way, this almost sounds like an easy listening collection; it positions you as a cabaret crooner. You’ve got a Dusty song, a Sinatra song, The Ballad of the Sad Young Men, which a lot of people associate with Shirley Bassey…

Well, I’ve been there before, with Something’s Gotten Hold of My Heart, and some of the songs on Tenement Symphony.

I thought of Tenement Symphony as well. It’s interesting that you’ve gone from an original background in experimental electronic music, into this more cabaret material. It strikes me that you’re travelling in an opposite direction from Scott Walker.

I suppose I’ve got older. I’m not one of these artists who has mellowed or anything – but I’ve been through lots of different styles in my 27 years of making music. I do still like to work in the underground side of music, and sometimes I’ll do a little electro-dance single with a dance producer. Not many people will get to hear it sometimes, but I do it for myself more than anything else. With someone like Scott, for example, he’s gone into being very experimental and underground. I can respect and appreciate him as an artist; he’s doing what he wants to do.

Whatever I’ve done, all through my music, even since the Soft Cell days: in a way, they have always been classic songs. I’ve always come back to classic songs, and classic arrangements of songs – even in the less accessible things that I’ve done. Even when I went to Russia, and made an album of Russian music, I think they were quite old-fashioned songs. There’s an old-fashioned songwriter and balladeer in me – it’s almost music hall.

I think that comes from being brought up in Southport. I’ve got that seaside tradition, which runs through me; it’s in my genes. I worked in a Southport theatre, with an older style of entertainer, so that whole music hall spirit has always inspired me.


You recently said in an interview that you now prefer singing other people’s songs to your own, and that the world has had enough albums of Marc Almond originals.

I’m writing songs at the moment that I’m really pleased with, but I don’t usually fall in love with a lot of my songs for very long. I feel I’ve reached that stage where I’d love to do another album of totally original material, something for my fans and for myself, and I hope people would like it – but I just enjoy singing other people’s songs so much more. It gives me more freedom. There are better songwriters than I’ll ever be, who can say things in better ways than I ever can, and who can write better lyrics and better melodies.

Does that put a lot of pressure on you, though? The thought that your next collection of original material will be your final statement, if you like?

It gives me something to aim for. I love giving myself these kinds of challenges. But it doesn’t mean that I’ll never write another song again. I might write the odd song for this and that – or even for an album, like Redeem Me on this one. I might find the space to write one song that I can love, and I’ll find the opportunity to do that – but I’ll just do one more album which is completely of Marc Almond songs. I do feel that the world doesn’t really need them.

Through doing this album, I’ve listened to so many songs. There are so many albums that I’ve re-discovered, and songs which I’ve never heard before, and I’m thinking: God, there are so many great songs out there, and there’s so little time to sing them.

My fans would probably love another Marc Almond album. I would love it for me, because writing songs gets something out of me, and I’d just put the demos in a box under my bed and never release them. That would tidy things up for me.

Well, I enjoyed Redeem Me. As a reformed party boy myself, I could appreciate the sentiments. But a friend of mine, who’s a big fan of yours, claims that he doesn’t believe you. He thinks that there’s a small part of you that still yearns to “dance through subterranean chambers”, as the song puts it.

And he could very well be right there! (Laughter) All I can say is that I definitely still like to dance a lot of the time – but nights are a little earlier. Not so many late nights.

Indeed. Most of my dancing is confined to the kitchen floor these days…

I DJ sometimes in clubs as well, so I will always like that world. As Redeem Me says, I’ll always be true to the person I am. I’ll still be the same person that I’ve always been, liking the same things. I just want different things in my life now, as well. It’s nice to have a little bit of light, as opposed to just the darkness.

The photos which accompany this article were taken by CharlesFred, and have been reproduced under a Creative Commons non-commercial attribution license.

Labels: eveningpost, interviews, popmusic

(An edited version of this review originally appeared in the Nottingham Evening Post.)

The best arena artists are the ones who refuse to cut corners. Aware that there are higher ideals than merely extracting the maximum financial return from the minimum investment, they aim for nothing less than artistic and technical perfection. On the strength of last night’s astonishing show, the extraordinarily driven, focussed and committed Beyoncé Knowles is clearly one such artist.

Fronting an all-female band, and accompanied by some of the sexiest dancers on the planet, Beyoncé tore through over thirty numbers in over two hours, still finding time for six changes of costume. Bookended by her two biggest and best hits, Crazy In Love and Déjà Vu, the set featured a ten-song medley of Destiny’s Child favourites, as well as the recent chart-topper Beautiful Liar (accompanied by video images of Shakira, the song’s co-performer), and Listen (from the soundtrack of Dreamgirls).

In some ways, this was a traditional soul revue, whose dazzling energy and pacing brought to mind the likes of Prince at the height of his powers. In other ways, it was totally contemporary, showcasing an inventive, adventurous style of music which simply couldn’t have existed in any other decade.

Athough belonging to a lineage of soul divas which stretches back over forty years, what sets Beyoncé apart from her predecessors is her utter lack of vulnerability. This is a woman who is fully in control of every aspect of her presentation and personality, at all times. And so, despite seeing real tears roll down her face towards the end of the ballad Flaws And All, you somehow knew that similar tears would be flowing, at precisely the same moment, on every night of her 77-date world tour.

Beautiful, talented, untouchable, mysterious, and with a flawlessness that borders on the downright eerie, Beyoncé is that rare creature: a true icon and a natural star.

Labels: celebs, eveningpost, gigs, popmusic

(An edited version of this review originally appeared in the Nottingham Evening Post.)

Whether you’re a glamorous frequent flyer in first class, a canapé-shovelling freeloader in club class, or merely one of the down-trodden hordes in cattle class, there is something in Pam Ann’s act that will strike an immediate chord of recognition.

That haughty, don’t-mess-with-me strut that British Airways cabin crew perform en masse through Heathrow Terminal Four, dragging their wheelie suitcases through passport control? Pam has it down to a tee.

That two inch gap in the curtains at the back of club class, left just wide enough for envious economy passengers to watch the complimentary champagne being served in real glassware? Pam probably invented that evil little trick.

Having graduated from the gay scene to the theatre circuit, Pam still enjoys a huge gay following, and her knowing references to some of the more “specialist” aspects of the gay lifestyle drew roars of delight. Much of her audience is also drawn from the airline industry itself, and any references to specific crews – bossy, indifferent BA, air-headed Virgin Atlantic, or those unfortunates on easyJet who dream of one day being able to serve hot food – were just as eagerly lapped up.

The more experimental second half featured a series of other stewardess characters, linked by extensive video footage. Relying more on visual humour than on Pam’s razor-sharp observation and bitchy banter, the material was altogether patchier, and consequently less successful.

For the finale, various audience members – all cabin crew themselves – joined Pam on stage for a hastily and hilariously choreographed performance of From New York To L.A.

Labels: comedy, eveningpost, gigs

BING-BONG!

After just over twelve years of so-called “casual” smoking (for which I have my mid-1990s hardcore clubbing phase to blame, ecstasy having turned out to be my gateway drug to nicotine), I stubbed out my final cigarette on Wednesday May 23, just before midnight. Interestingly, and I have to say surprisingly, I could barely wait to finish the godawful stinky thing – despite having smoked my penultimate cigarette with more or less total equanimity, mere minutes earlier.

That, my friends, is the genius of Alan Carr, whose “Easy Way To Stop Smoking” book comes heartily recommended. His is the first (and hopefully the only) self-help book that I have ever read, and it is quite unquestionably the worst written and most annoyingly repetitive book I have ever read – but nobody said that medicine had to taste nice, and its overriding virtue is that, bugger me sideways with a Camberwell Carrot, IT WORKS.

Sure, the actual “method” itself could be condensed onto three pages – and in large type at that – and you do find yourself wondering when Carr is going to stop droning on and Get To The Bloody Point Already, but the ground has to be prepared for the subtle but significant cognitive shift which you will be performing upon yourself, and there simply isn’t a shortcut.

If the likes of Alcoholics Anonymous insist that their members accept the existence of a so-called “higher power”, into which they must place their trust, then the same holds true with the “Easy Way” method – except that in this case, the “higher power” in question is Mr. Carr himself. It is my hunch that people who fail to stop smoking after reading his book do so because they have failed to take this initial leap of faith, clinging onto the belief that they are uniquely different in some way that he has failed to address. In this respect, some degree of humility is called for. Perhaps that’s the book’s greatest demand of all.

The most remarkable discovery which I have made – and until completing Carr’s instructions, I never believed it possible – is that deciding never to smoke another cigarette again, and sticking to that decision, is an absolute walk in the park. Honestly, it’s a doddle. The addiction under which I suffered turns out be more of a psychological than a physical one, and once its psychological aspects have been exposed and blown out of the water, then its physical aspects present only the most minor of challenges. Sure, there’s the occasional twinge – but these are invariably momentary, and swiftly dealt with.

Perhaps the course of cognitive behavioural therapy which I took some eighteen months ago helped pave the way – for there are certain aspects of the Carr method which seem markedly similar to CBT techniques. Well, whatever. All I know for certain is that I’ll never spark up another fag again, and that feels f**king fantastic.

My thanks once again to darling Peter at Naked Blog for turning me onto the Carr method in the first place.

(Oh, and if you’re wondering whether there was any significance attached to the date on which I chose to give up, then here’s your answer. Let’s just say that it seemed like a highly appropriate occasion upon which to stop killing myself.)

BING-BONG!

PDMG2 (the Nottingham version) has been planted (by one of the gold award winners at this year’s Chelsea flower show, as we were more than a little thrilled to discover), and is already looking delightful, despite being little more than a collection of differently shaped leaves separated by large expanses of soil, brick and stone. With PDMG1 reaching full maturity in its fifth summer, we can now look forward to the same pattern of steady growth repeating itself in a new location.


BING-BONG!

After many long months of snail-like progress (and they told us it was going to be a quick in-and-out job, HAH), the Nottingham kitchen has finally been finished. (Apart from the new light fittings, and a replacement for the over-large dining table, but those are but mere trifles.) It’s been a while since we dabbled with the nightmare world of the mid-range mass market design solution, but the budget was tight and we were determined to stick to it. Oh, the frugality! There is hope for us all.


In the final analysis, and despite all the buckets of shit which their various logistical cock-ups threw at us along the way, MFI (yes, you read me right) actually provided us with a smart, attractive and well-designed set of units, which make far better use of the limited space. Decent products, shite service, but all matters satisfactorily resolved in the fullness of time. (We even managed to get a free top-of-the-range washing machine out of them. Long boring story, but a tribute to K’s negotiation skills, his saint-like patience, and his disarming capacity for charm.) You gets what you pays for, basically.


BING-BONG!

As even the least observant of you will have spotted by now, this blog has now become Flickr-enabled, thanks to the Sony DSLR camera which I gave K for his birthday, right at the start of last week’s holiday in Derbyshire. As it’s fully compatible with his existing collection of pre-digital Minolta lenses and filters, he has been having lots of fun experimenting with techniques, and seeing what can and can’t be done.

Consequently – and not entirely without a degree of self-interest, as this blog has always been somewhat lacking in original photographic material, and it’s good to be able to bring his skills on board – I spent much of last week working as K’s picture editor: downloading, rotating, re-sizing, advising on what to keep and what to chuck, suggesting new ideas for shots, and doing all the uploading to Flickr. Well, what else is there to do on a rainy day, when you haven’t brought any books and your partner refuses to play board games? (As far as I’m concerned, this latter is our most glaring and troublesome incompatibility as a couple.)

So, from now on, TD will be more of a team effort than before. I do words, he does pictures. This is what we call “synergy”.

BING-BONG!

The holiday, yes. Chiefly characterised by hour upon hour of sodding rain, interspersed by brief breaks in the weather during which K would eagerly scamper into PDMG1, in pursuit of yet more “raindrops glistening upon new growth” macro shots.


Also characterised by a succession of house guests – both family and friends alike – and finishing with a visit by Dymbel and Dymbellina, who walked with us to The Gate in Brassington for Sunday lunch...

BING-BONG!

...which turned out to be my last square meal until Wednesday evening, thanks to a dodgy prawn in my baguette which wreaked its hideous revenge over the course of Monday and Tuesday. The positive spin: at least this gave me an unexpected extension to the holiday, even if much of it was spent in a horizontal position (amongst others more distressing to mention).

BING-BONG!

And finally: a plug, a moan and a thank you.

The plug is for my forthcoming talk at the Lowdham book festival at the end of the month, in which I shall attempt to yak on about blogging for thirty-five minutes or so, with particular reference to Shaggy Blog Stories and the whole “bloggers with book deals” phenomenon. (Dontcha just love the bit in the blurb which says “How come they get them but I don’t?” Like I’d know the answer to that one...)

There will then be a question-and-answer session, and possibly an opportunity to purchase a signed copy of the book (should you not already have one, by some strange twist of fate). Entrance is free, and it’s a lunchtime gig, giving you the rest of the afternoon to pootle around what I am reliably told is a damned good book festival. (Blake Morrison! Rosie Boycott! Simon Hoggart! KIKI BLOODY DEE, sweetie! And ME!)

The moan is at you miserable lot, for failing to shell out two measly quid for the Shaggy Blog Podcast. Wanna know how many we’ve sold so far? A pathetic SEVEN copies, that’s how many. Come on, readers! Hands in pockets! Dig deep!

The thank you goes out to those of you who were nice enough to vote for Troubled Diva in the "Best Personal Weblog" category at the Third Annual Satin Pajama Awards... in which I am proud to report that we finished in joint last place, with 2% of the vote. Congratulations to Petite Anglaise, who romped home in pole position.

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Coming up tomorrow: a Freelance Friday with a difference, as Troubled Diva proudly presents an exclusive interview with Marc Almond.

(Apart from the bit that’s going in t’local paper, but that’s only a fraction of the finished article. Let's just say that I was lucky enough to catch Marc in an expansive frame of mind.)

Labels: journal