A Curious Career Read Online Free
Author: Lynn Barber
has to be some special talent and then, much rarer, there has to be the drive to keep on keeping on through all the discouraging years when nothing seems to be happening. There are no easy routes to stardom, despite the delusive propaganda of shows like The X Factor . Even someone like Susan Boyle had a long history of singing in talent shows before she made her big breakthrough. Nearly all comedians – Paul Merton, Michael McIntyre, Jack Dee, Eddie Izzard – plugged away for years on the club circuit before literally ‘getting their act together’ and being noticed. It’s quite rare to meet a star who hasn’t been on the dole at some time. But that’s what’s impressive: they would rather live in squats and survive on benefits, following their dream, than take a safe job.
I admire people who have taken risks – I always feel I’ve played far too safe myself. And I like it best if they’ve come a long way. My ‘journey’ has taken me all the way from Twickenham, west London, to Highgate, north London, my furthest detour being the three years I spent at Oxford. Contrast that with someone like Rudolf Nureyev – born in Ufa in a remote Soviet republic, the son of a minor Party functionary, got himself to Leningrad to star in the Kirov, went on tour with the Kirov abroad, heard in Paris that he was being sent back to the Soviet Union and decided on the spur of the moment, at the airport, to defect to the West. He had no time to say goodbye to his Kirov colleagues and friends; he would not see his mother again until the very end of her life. At that stage he barely spoke English or French – by the end he was fluent in at least five languages, was director of the Paris Opera Ballet, and a collector and connoisseur of antiques and paintings. He told me it seemed amazing to him when he tried to remember his boyhood in Ufa – so long ago, so far away, it felt like a different world.
Nureyev, like so many of my interviewees, educated himself as he went along, all through his life. He learned almost nothing at school, but when he wanted to learn ballet, he found a ballet teacher, when he wanted to learn French, he found a French teacher. This is something that has struck me time and again while interviewing people – that all their most valuable education happened outside school. An amazing proportion of them – possibly a third – say they were useless at school, often because of undiagnosed dyslexia. But also, perhaps, because they didn’t take orders easily and didn’t accept the goals their schools were pushing. They were the brave souls, the mavericks, the awkward squad, who said they wanted to do something different with their lives. I hugely admire them.
CHAPTER TWO
As Good As It Gets
My idea of a hellishly boring interviewee is one who is obviously nice, sane, polite, who chats pleasantly, is happy to answer your questions and clearly has nothing to hide. Where’s the fun in that? Give me a monster every time – someone who throws tantrums, hurls insults, storms out, and generally creates mayhem. So welcome, Marianne Faithfull! This is probably the most enjoyable interview I’ve ever done. It won me my fifth Press Award. I came out of our encounter thinking: I can’t wait to write this up. And when my editor rang the next day to ask how the interview went, instead of my usual laconic, ‘Not bad,’ I said firmly, ‘It was great !’
From the Observer , 15 July 2001
Marianne Faithfull once said, ‘I am a Fabulous Beast, and as such, I should only be glimpsed very rarely, through the forest, running away for dear life.’ How wise she was. If I were ever asked to interview her again, I would turn into a Fabulous Beast myself and hightail it to the forest. I first glimpsed Her Fabulousness ages ago at a restaurant in Notting Hill, 192, where she was sitting all alone at lunchtime reading the papers. 192 was a very sociable sort of table-hopping restaurant, so I thought there was something
I admire people who have taken risks – I always feel I’ve played far too safe myself. And I like it best if they’ve come a long way. My ‘journey’ has taken me all the way from Twickenham, west London, to Highgate, north London, my furthest detour being the three years I spent at Oxford. Contrast that with someone like Rudolf Nureyev – born in Ufa in a remote Soviet republic, the son of a minor Party functionary, got himself to Leningrad to star in the Kirov, went on tour with the Kirov abroad, heard in Paris that he was being sent back to the Soviet Union and decided on the spur of the moment, at the airport, to defect to the West. He had no time to say goodbye to his Kirov colleagues and friends; he would not see his mother again until the very end of her life. At that stage he barely spoke English or French – by the end he was fluent in at least five languages, was director of the Paris Opera Ballet, and a collector and connoisseur of antiques and paintings. He told me it seemed amazing to him when he tried to remember his boyhood in Ufa – so long ago, so far away, it felt like a different world.
Nureyev, like so many of my interviewees, educated himself as he went along, all through his life. He learned almost nothing at school, but when he wanted to learn ballet, he found a ballet teacher, when he wanted to learn French, he found a French teacher. This is something that has struck me time and again while interviewing people – that all their most valuable education happened outside school. An amazing proportion of them – possibly a third – say they were useless at school, often because of undiagnosed dyslexia. But also, perhaps, because they didn’t take orders easily and didn’t accept the goals their schools were pushing. They were the brave souls, the mavericks, the awkward squad, who said they wanted to do something different with their lives. I hugely admire them.
CHAPTER TWO
As Good As It Gets
My idea of a hellishly boring interviewee is one who is obviously nice, sane, polite, who chats pleasantly, is happy to answer your questions and clearly has nothing to hide. Where’s the fun in that? Give me a monster every time – someone who throws tantrums, hurls insults, storms out, and generally creates mayhem. So welcome, Marianne Faithfull! This is probably the most enjoyable interview I’ve ever done. It won me my fifth Press Award. I came out of our encounter thinking: I can’t wait to write this up. And when my editor rang the next day to ask how the interview went, instead of my usual laconic, ‘Not bad,’ I said firmly, ‘It was great !’
From the Observer , 15 July 2001
Marianne Faithfull once said, ‘I am a Fabulous Beast, and as such, I should only be glimpsed very rarely, through the forest, running away for dear life.’ How wise she was. If I were ever asked to interview her again, I would turn into a Fabulous Beast myself and hightail it to the forest. I first glimpsed Her Fabulousness ages ago at a restaurant in Notting Hill, 192, where she was sitting all alone at lunchtime reading the papers. 192 was a very sociable sort of table-hopping restaurant, so I thought there was something
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