I had been stuck in a basement, come changing room, below a cabaret show. I had lined up several dozen questions with which I could get the interview started. How he first broke in to the music business. What his first gig was like. How his performance artist wife had gotten him off drugs. How he and other musicians had been a precursor to punk. How he felt about the direction that punk had taken.
I had been there for about quarter of an hour when I heard a door slam upstairs. Shortly afterwards a small, but well built, man turned up; followed by his assistant. He grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and gritted his teeth.
“He's not doing the interview in here is he?”
Before I could catch my breath I was rushed upstairs. Eventually I was left in a cafeteria. Next door I could his band doing sound check, from what I could make out they sounded good.
Eventually he turned up, he had changed out of his casual clothes in to a tuxedo. The suit had clearly seen age; rips, fading and what could possibly have been semen marked it. He sat down and collected himself. I had placed a copy of his new record in front of me, it's an interpretation of Charle Dickens' Hard Times, I think it's a commentary on the Deus Ex Machina and how life can sometimes feel futile.
“If you don't mind I'd like to talk about your new record first.”
He made a kind of grunting admission.
“Could you tell me what inspired it, while you were writing it.”
He turns toward his assistant and nods, he's trying to hide some kind of snigger.
“Mister Rogers doesn't want to answer any personal questions today.”
I feel my heart sink as I leaf through my preparatory notes, there seems to be only one line of questioning left.
“How do you feel about being considered one of the precursors, the grandfathers, of punk?”
He grins and turns toward his assistant again, I nod I don't need to be told twice. I'll just talk to him about the album.
“I notice that you're not singing on this album, the new singer Grant has a very unique alto to his voice.”
“My producer Darren and I were at some nowhere folk festival when we found him. He was in one of the smaller tents, after twenty seconds we knew he was the best choice for the album going forward.
“What a wonderful voice” he added shortly after.
“Do you mind if I ask why you weren't singing though, surely your fans would want to hear you?”
His assistant cleared her throat. I had no other questions. I sat there in silence. He grabbed his secretary by the shoulder and whispered something in her ear before quickly departing.
“Mister Rogers doesn't want to answer any personal questions.”
I could see in her eyes that she was just trying to do her job, I quickly gathered my things and walked out the front door. As I was leaving I heard his band start playing.
At least it was sunny outside though.
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