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- Herausgeber: McNidder and Grace
- Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
- Sprache: Englisch
Janey shares how she got her break in the music business, the highs and lows of being a backing singer and what it was like touring with bands in the 80's and 90's. From being crammed in a minibus with Mari Wilson's band, to living the dream flying first class around the world, playing stadium gigs with George Michael and WHAM! Janey later became known as a co-presenter on Steve Wright in the Afternoon. Janey Lee Grace cut her teeth on the mic in the night clubs of Manchester and Birmingham and her first big singing break was with Mari Wilson and the Wilsations. After she was fired from the band for refusing to dye her hair canary yellow she was picked up by WHAM! Janey sang backing vocals with George Michael and Andrew Ridgely for all their tours including the infamous WHAM! China tour. Janey went on to tour/record with Boy George, Sinita, Kim Wilde and Natalie Cole and had her own UK top ten hit with Cola Boy and 7 Ways to Love - a dance floor sensation in the summer of love 1991. Janey moved from singing to presenting for ITV, VH-1 and Sky news followed by her own show on BBC Radio 2. After bumping into Steve Wright while she was a Virgin Radio Presenter, Janey became a co-presenter on Steve Wright in the Afternoonand regular stand in for Sunday Love Songs. She describes hustling her way into the world of radio presenting, both local and national - the pitfalls, the fun stuff, with lots of behind-the-scenes stories.
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Seitenzahl: 297
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024
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Janey Lee Grace’s lively and deftly recounted behind-the-scenes memoir is funny, fascinating yet sobering too – loved it! Freya North, Sunday Times best-selling author
I absolutely loved this book. Right from page 1, I just couldn’t put it down. Each page just begged me to turn over to see what happensnext. A funny, entertaining, and captivating read. Dr David R Hamilton, author of Why Woo-Woo Works
Brimming with warmth, humour, gossip and glamour, this book is a peep behind the scenes of showbiz but also the story of a strong woman who grabs life with both hands and makes the most of every opportunity, whilst never being afraid to show her vulnerability. It’s as honest and unflinching as it is inspirational – and hugely entertaining. Veronica Henry, author of bestselling lifestyle fiction
Janey’s book is a time capsule you have to open. Anthea Turner, TV Presenter
Janey Lee Grace has had more careers than most people I know but as she says herself in her new book From Wham! to Woo: A Life on the Mic. She has always been at the forefront of popular culture, lifestyle trends and her extraordinary journey to sobriety and wellbeing, as well as behind the mic. Janey’s journey is an inspiration and reflection for so many of us and her story is certainly not nearly over yet! Lynne Franks, Writer and Founder of SEED Women’s Empowerment Network
If you’ve ever imagined singing on Top of the Pops, touring with Wham! or being on the radio with Steve Wright, you need to read Janey Lee Grace’s memoir. Clare Pooley, New York Times best-selling author
This memoir is a fantastic 80’s and 90’s blast through the lens of Janey’s fascinating career. A fun insight into the back rooms of pop music, TV and Radio. Jo Wood, author, TV personality and former model
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To my family, Simon, Sonny, Buddy, Rocky, Lulu.
Thank you for your support, love and general awesomeness x
Contents
Chapter 1
A Ray of Sunshine
It was baking hot on the roof of the Sebel Townhouse in Sydney. I wasn’t sure how long I could fry my skin without burning, but I was acutely aware of just how glorious it felt to be lounging on a sunbed, waiters hovering nearby to ply me with drinks, and nothing to do till our soundcheck later that evening. Lying next to me (not withme) in tiny swimming trunks, very big and expensive sunglasses, earphones, and nothing else, was Rod Stewart who seemed to share none of my concerns about his skin getting burnt, wrinkled and haggard. He already had a deep tan, while I, having come from a wet cold winter in the UK, was lily-white and already starting to go the colour of beetroot in unsightly patches.
Later that day, after a quick shopping trip in the Kings Cross area of Sydney, I thought I’d check out the hotel spa. It was pretty empty; in fact, the only other person in the hot tub was my ‘boss’, George Michael. I hesitated for a second in case he wanted privacy, but he gave me one of his heart-stopping beaming smiles and said, ‘Janey, come in!’
We sat there luxuriating in the bubbles and he asked how I was finding my first trip to Australia (his too). I told 2him I LOVED it. I felt so at home in Sydney, I’d even consider living here. He looked directly at me. George had a way of looking at you so that you knew he was going to mean what he said: ‘Why don’t you stay? You’d do great out here, I can really see you as a Bondi Beach girl. There’s probably loads of work for singers, and if you’re open to it, there is one of our Aussie film crew who’d be keen to showing you around.’ He sort of winked as he said it. I was a bit shocked. Little insecure me thought he may have been suggesting I leave the tour or give up on my dreams of being a pop star to marry someone in the crew and be a kept woman. I had a pathological hatred of the idea of being a ‘woman who lunched’. I was fiercely independent, and I wondered if he was suggesting I didn’t have enough talent for anything more. Many years later, we laughed about that conversation. He said he had been waiting for an opportunity to tentatively suggest that I might want to live out there, as one of the cameramen definitely had the hots for me and George had promised he’d sound it out!
I wasn’t romantically interested in that guy, but I can’t deny I left a piece of my heart behind in Sydney. Had it been the last leg of Wham!’s tour rather than midway before heading to the US, I may well have said: ‘Sod it all’ and found a way to stay on. I fell in love with Sydney quickly because within a few hours of landing, I got chatting to an air steward. I could kick myself that I can’t remember his name, but he was so nice and a big Wham! fan, and he offered to show me around. I seem to remember making it super clear I was spoken for, but he was cool, and as soon as we’d checked into the hotel, he zoomed me round Bondi Beach on a motorbike, then to a barbie where I met some of his friends, who were just lovely. I also told him I wanted 3to go to church. I think that surprised him a bit, but he connected me with a lovely woman who drove me from the hotel that Sunday morning to a church that was way too happy-clappy for me, but nevertheless, I got my fix of remembering I had a faith.
I thought about that conversation with George a fair bit during that tour in 1985 and as we flew back home six weeks later, I couldn’t help but wonder if I shouldn’t have just finished the final US leg and gone straight back to Australia. I recall lounging in my business class seat being wined and dined, and realising that within 24 hours, I’d be dragging my sorry arse and a big suitcase onto the Piccadilly line to travel back to my shared rental flat where nothing awaited me, other than half a can of baked beans in the fridge growing a fur coat.
The contrasts were sharp. As a backing singer with Wham! I lived a life of luxury – and, in fairness, without much of the responsibility. As jobs for singers go, you couldn’t really top it.
Chapter 2
Stars in Her Eyes
It was watching ABBA win Eurovision with ‘Waterloo’ that made me want to be a pop singer. I sat so close to the TV that my dad told me to ‘shift back, or you’ll get square eyes.’ But I was transfixed by the costumes, the style, the glamour and the harmonies. I loved singing. I’d cottoned on at an early age that it came naturally to me, and I didn’t have to try hard to remember tunes or lyrics. At Sunday school, they desperately wanted to encourage the children to sing in the service, but everyone was too shy. They started bribing us with a few pence and sweets if we sang a solo. I liked the sound of that, and popped up regularly – so often, in fact, that I got quite rich for a seven-year-old (probably the beginnings of my dental issues in later life). After a while, they changed their bribe to a gift of a reading book for every few solos. In fairness, that suited me better because I also loved reading. In the style of Matilda, I didn’t exactly have parents who encouraged reading. I did, however, have a local library and got through my full allowance of titles every three weeks.
Reading was my ticket, my window into a world much bigger than our subpar little council house in Stapleford 5(a not exactly salubrious corner of Nottingham). The expectations for me were that I would stay in the local area, working in the haberdasher’s shop or the pencil factory. But I think I knew from as early as I can remember that I was destined for something else. Ambition fizzed around me. I was definitely not a show-off – in reality, insecure and unsure of myself – but I knew deep down that I wouldn’t be sticking around.
My parents weren’t unkind, or cruel, but both had mental health issues which meant they simply weren’t able to provide the love and security I needed. I’ll share more about that later.
At Skegness Beach
Most people can cite one person who made a big impact on their life, and for me, it was my junior schoolteacher, Mr David Swainston. T. Rex had just hit the charts and I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. Watching Marc 6Bolan on Top of the Pops was like a bolt of electricity running through me, and I became fixated on his music. Mr Swainston played guitar and sang, and when he found out how much I loved the band, he seemed quite surprised but learned to play ‘Ride a White Swan’ on his acoustic and accompanied me one day singing in the school assembly. Totally crap it was, I’m sure, but I didn’t care, he was a lifeline for me. He used to help me find sheet music so that I could learn lyrics or play lines on the recorder (the sum total of my musicianship skills for many years). And just how cool is it that you can just Google and download music manuscripts now! In chatting to him, I think I started to realise that maybe, just maybe, I could do something other than lay out rolls of fabric or collect the pencil shavings. He made life seem exciting. Things started to feel possible.
When I attended the Sunday school for the aforementioned sweets and books, somehow along the way, some of the messages sunk in. I kept on going to church right up until I left home. I bought it, all of it, and while I wasn’t quite sure if I could ever be a born-again Christian, I liked the security of thinking God had my back. Also, the church gave me a social life. While some of the girls in my secondary school seemed to like hanging about in dodgy alleyways and getting themselves pregnant (there was an inordinate number of unwanted pregnancies at my sink-level secondary school) I stuck to my church crowd – well, a duo to be precise. My friend Karen and I attended church religiously (excuse the pun – attending was the only bit we did religiously), hoping for an introduction to the teens’ club that we’d heard so much about. The joyful moment came when I was 13. A lovely middle-aged couple, Gerald and Dorothy who had a son a few years older than us, took us along to 7Derby Youth for Christ, and they held church services with live music and ‘charismatic speakers’. Karen and I were so excited! I had saved enough money to buy make-up and a maxi dress from Laura Ashley. I remember it clearly, the first dress I ever bought, and I wore a flower in my hair. There were not delighted, but what could my parents say? We were being picked up and delivered back on a Saturday night by a respectful, churchgoing, God-fearing couple.
Mum (Norma) and Dad (Alan)
The church was packed, with teenagers making up at least 60 percent of the congregation. Karen and I had never imagined that we might meet boys in a church situation! This was like manna from heaven. We sang a few boring 8hymns, listened to a very trendy vicar share some stuff, and then the room darkened. Showbiz time. A full lightshow and a mirrorball kicked in over the stage, and on came the first live band.
Writz were a proper electro pop band, possibly a bit ahead of their time, with a bit of punk thrown in. One of the lead singers, Steve Fairnie looked like a young Charlie Chaplin (he later made a film on the theme) and they had a cool gaunt looking bass player called Jules. I don’t remember seeing the drummer from my seat, but it sounded great. Onto the stage strutted Bev Sage (Steve’s wife, I later discovered) and Buzzy (Jule’s wife). Bev had a shock of dyed white blonde hair while Buzzy’s was bright red, and they wore the funkiest outfits I’d ever seen, including striped leg warmers and high heels!
That was it, my very first experience of live pop music. I loved it, and I knew I wanted to perform myself. I wanted to be in that spotlight. My head had literally been turned, but how could I get started? How could I widen my horizons, especially when my own parents were not exactly the adventurous types! How could I do something different – maybe even leave home?
The answer, at least to the last question, came in the form of my first proper boyfriend, Mark, who I met at Derby Youth for Christ. He first spotted me across the pews, then in the coffee hall afterwards shovelling in custard creams. He knew Gerald and Dorothy’s son Rob and asked Rob to put a word in for him (seems like a theme), but I hadn’t even noticed him in the crowd, so I don’t remember responding.
A few more Youth for Christ events later, Valentine’s Day came, and I received a card through the post. An actual 9Valentine’s Card – and I didn’t know who it was from, I really didn’t! It said something cryptic about YFC, but there were hundreds of guys there. I told a few school friends, all insane with jealousy, but they said it was probably just from my brother (I didn’t have one) or even my sister. She had her ticket to a different life by now, being eight years older than me and already married to her childhood sweetheart.
That evening a friend dragged me along to a Valentine’s disco in the local village hall. I was dreading it: I didn’t drink (now I think about it, thank God I didn’t start that early) and I hated the look of the spotty lanky youths doing the Bump or whatever hideous dance trend was going down. I couldn’t wait for it to end so that my friend’s dad would collect us (my parents didn’t drive). Unbeknown to me, the sender of the card, Mark, had wondered why I hadn’t responded, and with a confidence way beyond his 19 years, drove over to my house and knocked on the door. Rumour has it that my mum welcomed him joyfully and told him that I was at the local disco, while my dad (after rushing to put his dentures in and his shirt on) silently fumed at him in a Don’t think about going near my daughter kind of way. And then into the seedy, horrible, cheap cider-swilling, sticky-carpeted and smoke-ridden disco of spotty kids entered this stunning, self-assured guy with long dark hair, gorgeous eyes and a captivating smile. Everyone stared as he walked straight up to me, told me how he knew I was there, and asked why I hadn’t contacted him after receiving the card. I shrugged and said I didn’t know who’d sent it, but all I could think about was whether meeting my parents and seeing my less than perfect home had already put him off! As he drove me home in his little Mini Cooper (he had a car!), I knew life would never be the same.
10Mark wrote and sung in a Christian band, gigging in churches at weekends while working full time as an apprentice for a big-time prestigious engineering company. He took me to meet his parents in Buckinghamshire and that was my first introduction to a ‘proper’ family, a lovely home, wholesome cooking and all. We became inseparable.
* * *
Secondary school was a truly horrible girls only in Stapleford called Arthur Mee, and I hated it with a vengeance. With a staggering number of girls leaving to have babies, the exam results were appalling even for those of us who tried their best. I was not especially bullied because I was good at art, so that gave me a badge of honour, especially if a mean girl wanted their portrait done. I was once in a domestic science class, hating every second because I couldn’t cook or sew, and the teacher was getting hugely frustrated as I tried to thread a needle, when I was summoned to the headmistress’s office. Fearing the worst, I knocked on her door. She ushered me in with a smile, and then presented me with a pad, paper and pencils, saying, ‘Draw my portrait, and make sure there are no wrinkles or age spots.’ Well, it got me out of a class I hated.
I was beyond excited after being accepted to a sixth-form college in Nottingham for A levels. I think it was because my art portfolio was good, so they gave me the benefit of the doubt. I met Alison while waiting at the bus stop on the first day, and we instantly had a conversation about ballet, tap dancing (we both attended classes), pop music (we both loved it) and going to church (yes, we tentatively shared that we both did that too!). Alison is my ‘longest-serving’ friend to this day. 11
Winning a national Art Competition – prize was a weekend in London!
With my best friend Alison on our first flight
12Because Alison’s parents had a car and were very supportive, they drove us to our first gig a couple of months later. We saw the Police at Derby Academy. Oh man, I still remember it. How can three guys make a sound like that? We got the bug then, and next came Elvis Costello with John Cooper Clarke as support. ‘Why do you want to see Abbot and Costello?’ was my dad’s very old-style joke. Somehow, we got to go backstage and meet the guys, no idea how.
Fast-forward a few years and despite being very good at art and being offered a place on an art foundation course in Oxford, I opted to do a BA Honours in Performance Arts. My parents wanted me to go to Nottingham Uni (of course they did), but I had bigger ideas. Mark drove me to London (who has a boyfriend who does that?) and then went off to be a tourist, while I investigated Middlesex Poly – or as it later became known, Middlesex University – on the Trent Park site near Cockfosters. I walked through the glorious array of daffodils outside the mansion house and knew instinctively I’d found my place.
My audition day was like an assault on the senses. I’d never seen so many colourful, weird and wacky people! We did all kinds of icebreakers, and for the first time in 17 years I realised how tiny my world had been. This was my first experience of other cultures. There was one Black family in our town – I kid you not – but this room was full of exotic accents and sultry looks. I did a modern dance class that rocked my world, took part in a group improvisation where I had to be a fag end (yep, it was drama school) and laughed and sang till my throat was hoarse. I had a one-to-one interview and decided that I’d opt for dance rather than music; I had only minimal skills as a classical guitarist and singer, 13and I had been doing ballet and contemporary dance for years. When Mark collected me at the end of the day, I was exhilarated. I’d arrived.
I remember thinking he looked a little pale when he realised I’d be there for three years; he was rather hoping that I’d follow him out to whichever far-flung corner of the globe his firm might send him. Er… no. Although we were inseparable, this might have been the first seeds that would grow into the realisation that life with Mark wasn’t forever.
Ballet Class at Trent Park
Chapter 3
Bugger All in Pratting About
I loved my time at university. In those days, it was completely free for someone in my position with parents who had very little, and I got a decent grant. I found I could easily live on that and even save a bit for a rainy day. We affectionately referred to our wonderful degree course – BA Honours in Performance Arts (BAPA) – as ‘Bugger All in Pratting About’. A degree in showing off for sure, and if you’d arrived in our refectory at any break or lunch time, you’d have thought you were in an episode of Fame. It was not uncommon for the dance students to suddenly jump up from eating their lettuce leaves to do a quick pirouette or sashay across the hall if they had an idea for some choreography, or if they wanted to show their new-found knowledge of Alvin Ailey (a contemporary dance choreographer), and there was always a table breaking into song. The other non-performance arts university students (I seem to remember there was a large engineering contingent) thought that us BAPAs were nuts.
Kev Baker, a funny, quick-witted Northerner with a mad professor-like shock of red hair, was my dearest friend at uni. He was such a talented actor and director with a zest 15for life that I hadn’t encountered in anyone else. We did cinema all-nighters (Woody Allen and the original Star Wars trilogy), fairgrounds, loads of gigs and everything tourists in London do, despite our uni digs being right at the end of the Piccadilly line. I spent lots of weekends with Alison too, as she had gone to study music at Manchester Uni, and if I came home for holidays, we spent all our time together.
Bugger all in Pratting About (Kev on the left – me at the top)
I was still with Mark – allegedly. By then he had risen through the ranks and been offered a job with his company in the UAE. When he started talking about me coming out there, once my degree was finished, to ‘maybe start a dance school with the ex-pats’, I don’t think I was able to hide my horror. I suppose that he thought I’d come round – who wouldn’t want to live in relative luxury, no expenses? He had a big salary from the company, as well as all his accommodation and living covered, but it wasn’t very rock ’n’ roll, 16was it? We tried to sustain a long-distance relationship for a good while. In fact, one Christmas when he came back to the UK, we got engaged. The whole thing was a bit bizarre, and I felt like I was observing myself playing a role. It lasted about five minutes.
One day, he summoned me to meet his boss at the firm’s headquarters, so I put my best ‘normal’ outfit on. Even the lift to the penthouse office suite at the company headquarters seemed bigger than my flat, and I couldn’t help but be impressed. What I hadn’t expected, as we shook hands with Mark’s boss, was that he would usher only me into his office, giving Mark a wave as if they’d already planned the conversation. Mark’s eyes spoke silently to me, saying: ‘Make it happen… don’t blow it for me.’
We made small talk. How lovely that Mark was able to make it to the UK, albeit briefly… The weather was agreeable for this time of year… I remember feeling a bit on edge: Why had I been asked here? I knew the importance of body language, and didn’t want to appear nervous, so I adjusted my position in the chair to mirror his. ‘Tell me more about… Janey,” he said as if he wanted me to describe a character in a novel. ‘Mark tells me you are involved in… popular music, and er… dance,’ he added, making it sound as though I was a travelling minstrel or a music-hall singer. ‘Lovely,’ he smirked. I prided myself even then on sussing people out, my sense of intuition was strong, but I couldn’t yet see why he needed to spend a precious 15 minutes of his time making small talk with me. ‘Congratulations again on your engagement,’ he said. ‘Will you continue to do the music and dance as a hobby? Amateur societies, choirs, a little dance troupe, that sort of thing, when you’re married to Mark?’ My intuition was fast kicking in, but I kept calm. ‘It’s my 17profession,’ I told him, watching his amiable face slowly morph into a colder, harder expression as he explained to me that the wives of senior consultants such as Mark have to be 100 per cent supportive of their husbands. I stopped short of saying, ‘And of course the husband will be wholly supportive of their wives’ careers too.’
Suddenly, I had a moment of absolute clarity; this really was like something out of The Stepford Wives. He had called me in to make me understand in no uncertain terms that if he was investing in Mark, he couldn’t have that commitment sidetracked by a loose cannon, a wife with – God forbid – a career. Worse than that, ambition! He continued, explaining how all-consuming being the wife of a senior employee would be. I’d need to be excellent at managing affairs, entertaining colleagues, organising the prep schools, the sale of the house, finding the right home for us and our family. I swear he actually winked at the thought of us creating said family. It sounded like my idea of hell, and it quickly became clear that the life with Mark stretching out before me would be one of wanting for nothing materially but giving up everything, including who I really was. I was furious with Mark when I emerged from the meeting and gave him back the engagement ring. He took it without much of a fight. He’d made his choice.
Chapter 4
Chasing Dreams
I spent my uni years immersing myself more and more in the world of theatre and music. For a while I thought I’d work in musical theatre, but the auditions were brutal. I got down to the last three girls in about four auditions in the West End before I realised I didn’t even want to do eight shows a week for a prolonged time. I craved flexibility and variety.
I didn’t want to pursue my dancing, either. I wasn’t brilliant, to be honest. It’s such hard work being a contemporary dancer. Most of my friends stayed thin by never eating and by smoking, and they spent their lives chasing dodgy dancing jobs abroad – which, ironically, was the quickest easiest way to get your Equity card back then. If you wanted to work in the arts or entertainment industry, you needed an Equity card – and to get an Equity card, you had to work. There were only a couple of routes to get the provisional card. One way was topless dancing in bars on cruise ships, etc., and the other was by performing in a show that ‘came under’ Equity conditions but didn’t require an Equity card to work there. Tricky? I’ll say!
19I bought The Stage newspaper every week and scoured the ads; most were dodgy as hell. I responded to one ad for actresses for a new film. The details were very sketchy, but it did say it could lead to an Equity card, so off I trotted to the director’s house in Surbiton. I shudder when I think back now: it was a seedy flat, and he looked grubby to say the least. After looking at my portfolio of photos, he said he would need to take a few test shots, so got out his camera and asked me to pose, ‘Look this way…look that way… OK, now take off your top…’ I made my excuses and left.
I spent a fair bit of time at the Christian Arts Centre Group, which was housed in a building near the Old Vic in Waterloo. I took part in some great acting workshops there and made some good friends. One guy I met was Peter Williams, who, even then, was clearly incredibly creative. He later became the lighting designer for U2. His flatmate, another Pete (we called him Pete Project for some reason I can’t recall), was friends with Gary Numan. We visited Gary’s house in Surrey one day, which was full of impressive furnishings and weird artefacts that he’d collected on his world tours. There in the hallway stood the famous piano he’d written ‘Cars’ on, and he proudly showed us how he’d moved around the keys and come up with the riff. He also proudly showed us his private plane, a light aircraft parked up in his garden. I don’t know if his licence stretched to night flying, but I was certainly not going to risk a trip up in it, techno pop giant or not!
It’s been well documented that Gary has Asperger’s, and it was brave of him to share that. Back then, all I noticed about him was his attention to detail and the way he constantly checked everything. He had a landline phone 20permanently connected to his mum, who obviously lived close by, and he regularly checked stuff with her. It was sweet, really. Annoying, isn’t it, that all this was long before smartphones; otherwise I’d have proof of having been a Numanoid for a few hours.
Through Pete Project, I was also introduced to a tall glam rocker with a big grin, called Haze. John Mabley was his real name, and he later became well known as Doktor Haze, ringmaster and director of the Circus of Horrors. Haze and I got along great – lots of people thought we were an item, but it wasn’t quite like that. I often stayed at the flat with the Pete’s but I slept on Haze’s futon, while he slept in a coffin with a satin purple lining, I kid you not.
Haze was the epitome of a modern-day Greatest Showman. Back in the day, he modelled himself on his absolute hero (and mine) Marc Bolan, and he proudly showed me that he could fit into Marc’s skinny silver jeans that he’d bought at a vintage fair. His band was called Flash Harry, and they’d do gigs at the Empire, the Marquee and various other small clubs. They didn’t really need backing vocals, but every now and then he’d find a role for me and I’d ladle on the make-up, borrow one of Haze’s feather boas and have a fabulous glam time. We made an interesting pair around town, Haze with his long wavy hair, full make-up and long satin coats, plus lace-up boots, and me with leather miniskirts, corset-style tops and Dr Martens.
Haze co-founded the Circus of Horrors with Gerry Cottle in 1995. It debuted at Glastonbury and became Britain’s longest-running alternative circus. In 2011, he released his autobiography book Dr Haze: Mud, Blood and Glitter (I get a mention in there!) and he was the company director for Moscow State Circus, Carters Steam Fair 21and Psycho Management, and also the co-owner of Circus Extreme, Circus Ukraine and Continental Circus Berlin. Haze came in to The Big Show (our name for BBC Radio 2’s Steve Wright in the Afternoon) with Gerry Cottle in the late ’90s, talking about the circus culture in the UK. He was such a supporter of my work, and a genuine, lovely guy.
When the Circus of Horrors performed in Brighton, I met up with him and he told me a scout from Britain’s Got Talent had come sniffing around. He really couldn’t decide whether to accept or not. I persuaded him to go for it, as it would only raise their profile, and after much wrangling over contracts (he wanted to perform original music, which they wouldn’t allow) the deal was signed and they appeared on the show. They didn’t win, but I think it did raise their profile. I was devastated when Haze died in April 2023. RIP colourful, vibrant man.
Flat sharing in London
Chapter 5
Ballroom Blitz
My ticket to performing professionally, and indeed my Equity card, came in the form of my first job as a singer, thankfully without needing to get any kit off. I saw an ad for a band who played weekly in a Mecca Ballroom. This was before the days of what we now think of as clubs, so they were mostly discos and often held in big ballrooms; some even had a house band who popped up for a couple of sets playing covers (imagine suggesting that for a night at the Ministry of Sound!). I got a train to Birmingham to audition and met the soon to become infamous Stuart Brown, who lived and breathed his band, Luna Park. Stuart had big ideas to make it much more than a covers band and was introducing a Space set. He told me excitedly: ‘You’ll need to wear state-of-the-art silver costumes and sing “Starship Trooper”.’ No problem, sign me up.
