The interview I didn’t get
Here’s a situation to challenge a columnist with a deadline. I tried to get an interview with the British pop singer James Blunt, who was doing a concert Monday night at the Araneta Coliseum. Unfortunately my request came too late, the interview schedule had been drawn up months ago, and in any case only three media outlets were granted interviews. There was no press conference where I could ask obnoxious questions in an attempt to get thrown out. Too bad, because I’d bet Kermit that some zealous reporter would ask:
“Your song is called You’re Beautiful. Who, exactly, is beautiful?”
Which is not to say that my questions would’ve been earth-shaking.
Prior to the concert I knew three things about Blunt. One, that song, which is pretty the first 200 times you hear it, after which it may trigger a homicidal frenzy. Two, and I don’t know how I know this, he had dated the model Petra Nemcova. (“What’s it like, arriving in
My friend Kermit, the human RSS feed and a big fan of Blunt, had prepared the following questions:
“Soldiers are trained to be stoic, yet critics think your songs are dripping in pathos. Why is that?”
“You have been voted the second most irritating pop star, just behind Paul McCartney. Do you care about music critics at all?” “Your songs are mostly morose, but you are rumored to be a party boy. Why is that?”
“How do you deal with the adulation of fans and the scorn of the critics?”
“How tough is it to be on tour? Do you even know where you are now?”
“Why do you refer to your keyboard player as your bitch?”
“Do ladies throw panties at you in concerts?”
“Can James Blunt dance?”
We never got our interview, but the publicist of
James Blunt is about 5’6”, slight of build, has long hair, and is the type generally referred to as “scruffy,” except that the adjective makes me imagine someone in urgent need of exfoliation, and he had good skin. He was wearing a loose blue T-shirt and jeans, and was accompanied by one large roadie who was reading a book. He answered questions politely and directly, looked his questioners in the eye, but did not glance at the audience for approval. Which I approve of, being suspicious of people who feel compelled to make everyone like them. Kermit noted that Blunt has a nasal singing style, but is not nasal in regular conversation. We kibitzed for 10 minutes, then went back to work.
In the evening Kermit, Big Bird, Bert, Ernie and I attended the Blunt concert at Araneta. It was only 45 minutes late in starting. The area directly in front of the stage was full, the upper boxes mostly empty, the bleachers desolate. There was a monkey design on the drum kit and on a banner above the stage — the singer has compared himself to a performing monkey. Blunt was backed by a four-piece band, all wearing suits, very polite; he played guitar and keyboards, and according to Kermit can play 12 other instruments. There was a large screen behind the stage, with lights and video to accompany each song. This tour continues until 2009.
The pop star entered to enthusiastic applause from the audience who, as the evening wore on, proved that they knew every note on his two albums.
He sang the first song without an introduction. Blunt sounded exactly as he did on the CDs, meaning his voice was not aided by studio technology.
Periodically he delighted the audience by uttering words in Tagalog.
After each song he would change guitars, like a tennis player switching racquets for every game (Well, both are stringed instruments).
Blunt seemed to get more manic as the show went on. He jumped off the stage and ran into the audience. He led sing-alongs, and apparently got a kick out of having large numbers of people sing his songs to him. The onstage patter was limited, but amusing. He said You’re Beautiful had become the song most played at weddings. This is ironic because the lyrics speak of unrequited admiration. Then he informed us that Goodbye, My Lover was the song most played at funerals. “And if you think that’s sad, this one is miserable,” he cheerfully announced before he sang No Bravery. He spoke a little about his Kosovo experience and how war brings out the worst in people, and sometimes, their best. He did not get preachy or lecture on world peace.
Mid-concert he sang his monster hit. It was Big Bird’s birthday, so the plan was for Big Bird to admit that he was the subject of the song by turning around and waving to the crowd. Unfortunately the lights were off, so no one would’ve seen him.
The last song was 1973. Blunt wasn’t alive at the time, but he has an obvious, abiding love for Seventies music. So a good time was had by all. Not only did I not fly into a homicidal frenzy, but I think I shall listen to the albums.
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