Famous musicians aren’t always mysterious.
Living in New Zealand, famous musicians can seem a bit mythical. We all know who they are, but they generally live somewhere else – overseas. They appear on television, pop up on social media, release albums, do interviews, then disappear back into some faraway world. They feel very removed from everyday life here.
Growing up in England, particularly in the south, it never felt quite like that. Musicians were just people you might see wandering around town, sitting in a pub, shopping for groceries, or standing next to you at a concert. It wasn’t unusual to hear stories involving people like Ringo Starr or Paul McCartney. They weren’t mysterious celebrities, they were just part everyday life.
One of my favourite examples happened when Julie and I were visiting the UK a few years ago. We were staying in a rural AirBnB. Julie was working from home while I headed out for the day. When I got back, she announced that the bloke next door had been singing at the top of his voice all day. She’d even made a recording. I listened to it and immediately recognised the voice.
It was Eric Clapton. Apparently, according to our hosts, he was on his back deck warming up his vocals before a concert that evening at the Royal Albert Hall.
To me, it was hilarious. To Julie, it was more of a “Wait… WHAT?” moment. That same day reminded me that the last drummer I’d worked with in England had previously been Eric Clapton’s gardener. And when he talked about it, he wasn’t starstruck in the slightest. His biggest complaint wasn’t working for Eric Clapton. It was that getting paid sometimes required a bit of persistence.
Another time I was playing with a band in a village hall in Loxwood. The drummer was absolutely terrified – not because of the gig, but because there was a reasonable chance that Phil Collins might wander in for a beer. Apparently he occasionally popped into the hall on Saturday nights as he lived very close by. Our drummer spent the entire evening convinced Phil Collins was going to appear and judge every beat he played. Phil never showed up, though I had secretly hoped he would!
Then there were the London gigs. Back in the punk era, hanging around venue’s bar, during and after a show was just normal for band members as well as punters. One night I was at a concert by the Ramones, standing near the bar with a desperately needed serving of fries. Along came Lemmy from Motörhead. We chatted for a bit while he steadily helped himself to my fries. I was about eighteen, broke, and starving. I wasn’t thinking, “Wow, I’m sharing chips with Lemmy.” I was thinking, “At this rate I’m not going to have any chips left.” Perspective is everything. But he was every bit the down to earth nice bloke he was known for.
There were countless little moments like that. I remember being at a Christmas festival in my small provincial home town standing next to Roger Taylor, Queen’s drummer. Someone I was with who had met him a few times before was chatting with him, but I just didn’t clock who he was standing right in front of me. That’s largely due to these situations being quite ordinary in the UK.
When famous people become part of the background, they stop being famous. They become neighbours, customers, gardeners’ employers, fellow concert-goers, or random blokes eating your chips.
From a distance, celebrity can look extraordinary. Up close, it’s usually just people getting on with their day.
