Why I have Kylie Minogue to thank for making me who I am today.
Without her, I wouldn't have become a showbiz journo extraordinaire!
OMG! I still can’t believe what I’ve just seen. Kylie and Madonna! On stage. Together. Singing. Not just singing, but crooning camp old favourite I Will Survive and making it sound fresh and poignant.
March 7 is a date that will be forever seared into the hearts of Material Girls and Boys and Fanogues.
It is the day two of my favourite megastars finally came together to create magic. And I am not ashamed to admit that I was left feeling pretty emotional by it.
I know it might sound strange for a man of 50 to be getting teary-eyed about two pop divas teaming up to sing an old disco anthem, but do not underestimate the significance this iconic union has had on gay men like me.
Not only are these glam icons purveyors of the most euphoric pop ditties ever written, they have played a massive part in the way people like me have come to terms with their sexuality and learned to develop strength and resilience.
When I was alone in my room confused about who I was, or when bullies called me names and threw me around like a rag doll, those divas were there to rescue me. Just a spin of one of their jubilant records was enough to whisk me away from the real world. When they performed, my heart danced. When they spoke, I felt inspired. They were like guardian angels, guiding me through the toughest of times and eventually leading me to find my path in life.
For decades fans have wanted the pair to collaborate, but few thought it would happen. Madonna was so famous and so haughty, that it seemed unlikely that she’d ever entertain the idea of working with a bubblegum pop rival like Kylie.
However, it soon became apparent that perhaps Madonna had a fondness for the Aussie pop princess. At the MTV Europe Music Awards in 2000, she sported that now infamous T-shirt with Kylie’s name written across it. Was she paying tribute to Kylie? Or was she sneakily poking fun at her rival? Whatever the motive, the gesture had fans hoping for a collab. Sadly, nothing materialised. A while later, the pair were papped near each other at a showbiz party, sparking talk that they may record together. They didn't. Meanwhile, Kylie expressed many times that she longed to work with Madonna and pledged that it was more than likely to happen because they had so many mutual friends. But still nothing came to fruition. Until this week.
So you can understand, then, why this headline-grabbing moment has meant so much to me and my kind. It is a moment I have only dreamt of. And now… well, that dream has been fulfilled. It’s also reminded me why these women have been so important to me over the years. How they changed my life and how I have them to thank for who I am today. This emotional moment has also reawakened memories of the times I was lucky enough to have met both superstars.
Moments that I will never forget and that I’d like to share with you now…
WHEN CHRISTIAN MET KYLIE
When Kylie Minogue first punched her way into Neighbours as the feisty tomboy Charlene Mitchell, she was my everything. She was sassy, curly, unthreateningly pretty and dating the dashingly handsome Scott Robinson (Jason Donovan) both on screen and in real life. I was mesmerised by her and yet - prophetically - I never fancied her. I just wanted her to be my friend. Scott, on the other hand…
Long before I knew what ‘gay’ even was, I was fixated by him. I was obsessed with his golden mullet and the way he gelled down the sides of his hair, a stunning look I tried replicating myself many a time using a nail brush slathered in hair gel. (Sadly, with a natural curl to my hair, I never quite achieved the same look). Jason was an absolute icon. I wanted to be him! I wanted to be with him. Just to hang out with, of course. Nothing grubby. I was 15, 16 by then and didn’t really understand what my burgeoning feelings for him really meant.
Once Kylie started releasing music, she became my focus, my life. I was obsessed. Although I shockingly dismissed I Should Be So Lucky as irritating (well, it was at the time – now, I remember it as charming), Got To be Certain and Turn It Into Love on her debut album won me over good and proper. Not since the heady days of Bucks Fizz had music made such an impact on my life.
As Kylie continued to bang out fantastic hits like Hand On Your Heart, Never Too Late, Better The Devil You Know, Step Back In Time, What Do I Have To Do and Shocked my devotion for Kylie grew. I didn’t just want to be an adoring fan. I wanted to stand out. But be seen as an equal. I wanted to work with her. Write her a song. And so I did. A bouncy little pop ditty called Give Me Your Love, that I lovingly wrote out on music manuscript paper and sent to Capital Radio so it could be passed on to her when she was a guest on one of its lunchtime shows. Sadly I don’t think she ever received it, because it never appeared on any of her albums. Oh well.
If I couldn’t write songs for her, then I knew I had to find some other way of meeting her. But I didn’t want to be seen as one of those insane fans who squealed and wept whenever they saw her. I was too cool – well, perhaps, self-concious – to be like that.
I wanted to be Kylie’s peer, not some quivering pop fiend desperate to breathe her aromatic air. You see, even as a fan, I wasn’t so obsessed with her that I lost control of my senses. My devotion was more about admiration. Her songs had changed my life and had ignited in me a creativity that hadn’t yet found its direction.
As a young boy I had always dreamed of writing books or TV shows or films, but thanks to Kylie (and Bucks Fizz before her) Smash Hits magazine had become my bible. Not only because it featured Kylie pretty much every week, but because I fell in love with the anarchic writing style of its witty writers. In fact as time went on, I actually snapped up the mag purely on the strength of the writing, regardless of whether my favourite stars were featured in the issue or not.
Suddenly that became my next ambition. To become a Smash Hits writer. That way I could spend my days writing funny fluff about pop stars I adored and perhaps one day even get to meet my idol!
I sent letters and examples of my writing to The Hits’ office, but never heard anything back. I was devastated. But I didn’t let it extinguish my dreams. In fact, my hunger to become a writer grew more fierce and for the next few years I devoured every magazine Kylie appeared in – Sky, The Face, i-D, Select - and was introduced to various writing styles and talented writers and photographers who inspired me.
Cut to 2009, and my dream of meeting Kylie came true.
After years of slogging in a series of TV tape library jobs and cutting my teeth on a music website and a struggling celeb weekly, I’d found myself a home at OK! magazine, having been spotted by associate editor Phil Gould and editor-in-chief Lisa Byrne, who told me they’d seen something in me that sparkled.
I joined the team as entertainment editor at a golden time for the magazine. Sales were through the roof - almost twice as many as rival Hello - and every star of note wanted to be in its hallowed pages. Except Kylie. She too was riding a wave following the success of her Fever album so didn’t need to raise her profile in a celeb weekly. And although its follow up Body Language failed to repeat its success, she was still considered A-list.
So Kylie remained irritatingly elusive. Until, that is, the launch of her Aphrodite album. To celebrate its release, her PR invited the world’s media to fly out to the debauched dance isle of Ibiza to participate in a Q&A to watch Kylie perform fresh new tracks at legendary club Pasha. I was beyond excited. Not only was I going to get within breathing distance of Kylie I was also heading off to Ibiza, a place I never thought I’d visit.
Kylie’s team was clearly out to impress. No expense was spared. We were put up in a lavish hotel, wined and dined and then whisked off to a remote part of the island where Kylie and DJ Emma B were waiting for us, perched dangerously close to the edge of a cliff, overlooking the rich azure Mediterranean ocean.
The Q&A passed, as these international junkets tend to do, with journos from around the world firing generic questions at Kylie in broken English. But the highlight of the afternoon was the post-chat meet-and-greet. The assembled media were invited to queue up at the foot of a set of rickety timber steps that would lead us up to a small wooden lookout where Kylie was waiting, ready to flash us an electric smile and make us feel like we were the only people on the world!
One by one, the journos took their turns to meet Ms Minogue. Frustratingly, I was at the back of the queue with a lovely girl from Heat magazine, having been shoved out of the way during the rush to get the steps, so anticipated a long wait in the blisteringly hot afternoon sun. Eventually, we neared the peak and I felt exhilarated. My lifelong ambition was about to be realised. I was set to meet my icon. My inspiration. The woman who had encouraged me to carve out a hugely successful career in entertainment journalism.
But as we reached the top, the PR suddenly announced that the meet and greet was over. ‘Over?’ I cried! Obviously, some of the overly enthusiastic journos had outstayed their welcome on the lookout. ‘You gotta be kidding me?’ I cried. “We’re literally the only two left!” The PR, obviously worried that his team were running behind schedule, looked panicked for a moment before relenting and giving us our chance to chat to Kylie.
I stepped forward and shook her hand. Her smile was as glorious as the Ibiza sun, but you could tell from the glazed look in the eyes that she’d had enough small talk. As we positioned ourselves on the look out for a picture, I whispered to her that the harpsichord-driven track Closer on her Aphrodite album had left me in tears. She looked at me sweetly, patted me on the hand like I was slightly out of my mind and offered me a sympathetic, ‘Oh dear’.
After that, I cheekily asked her to give my husband a cheeky birthday shout out, which she kindly did, telling her that he was likely to explode when he saw it. (Little did I know then, that ten years later that very same husband of mine would be working with Kylie, dabbing her dancers with a make up brush on various shows. Yes, I am bursting with jealousy!)
But the Kylie fun wasn’t over. Oh no. Later that night, well after midnight, we were bussed out to Pacha, a grotesque noisy mega nightclub that was split over various levels and packed to the gills with irritating twenty-something guys and gals who were gurning and jabbering nonsensical shit. The music was horrendous. That thumpy tuneless dance music that people pretend to like but only ever enjoy when they’re off their heads. As I don’t dabble in drugs, I stuck to vodka and diet coke and fake-smiled my way through the night.
And what a long night it was, as Kylie wasn’t due on stage until 5am! Yep, 5am! I was in my late thirties at the time and loved my nights out, but being stuck in a sweaty noisy club with my wiry hair curling in the humidity was my idea of hell. Eventually she came on, sang a bunch of songs including Get Out Of My Way, and was off. And then so was I. Well, eventually. It took some time for me and another friend to find our way out, as all the exits had thick heavy curtains pulled over them, which meant we were running round the various levels of this hellish club desperate to find daylight.
While this experience is the one I remember most fondly, I did meet Kylie another two times. One was for the release of one her perfumes, which meant my 20 minute interview had to be focused on all things beauty. Zzzz. This was a more intimate chat and she was charming and lovely and wonderful and I relished every minute. When I asked her about whether she planned to release a male scent, she pointedly informed me she already had – one with her model Spanish boyfriend of the time featured on the packaging – and promised that she’d send me one. Days later, said scent arrived at my desk. I like to think Kylie licked the stamps herself.
The next time was at a round table for the launch of her home range. It was fun 20 minutes or so, but the conversation was dominated by tabloid journos trying to generate funny headlines for their publications. When one asked her if she thought her derriere could potentially win some kind of arse medal at the upcoming bum Olympics (?), my heart sank into my stomach and my eyes rolled to the back of my head. They may as well have just asked her what her favourite shade of beige was. Back then, I never really understood the point of asking idiotic questions that unearthed no real answers. At OK! the aim of interviewing someone was always to eek out something deeply personal from them, not that a round table was the appropriate place for that.
Sadly, I haven’t met Kylie since. I still long to do a proper interview with her about her music, but the opportunity so far hasn’t cropped up. In the meantime, I have co-hosted a very popular Kylie podcast called The Diminutive Collection while my husband has worked with her team tending to her dancers. The lucky rascal!
So that’s my Kylie history for you. It might not be as spectacular as some folks’ experiences, but they’re good enough to keep me warm at night.
WHEN CHRISTIAN MET MADONNA
I came late to the Madonna party. When I was around 12 in the mid-80s, I’d heard Like A Virgin, Papa Don’t Preach and Material Girl, and liked them, but didn’t love them. It was only when she dropped Like A Prayer that I suddenly sat up and took notice. The album of the same name that followed had me hooked, especially as the cassette smelled of patchouli and had a safe sex leaflet included at a time when the AIDS epidemic scared the world shitless. The songs were great, the video clips were sexy and controversial.
As the years rolled by, she tantalised me even more. Justify My Love astonished me, Vogue thrilled me, while her Erotica / Sex book era blew my mind open and introduced me to new styles of photography and musical sounds as well as teaching me lessons in sexuality and the art of causing controversy. Madonna was a bad girl through and through and I was living for it.
After the brilliant Erotica was poorly received by critics and fans, Madonna played it safer on her slinky R&B-flavoured follow up Bedtime Stories. Less punchy than its controversial predecessor, I still consider it one of her finest efforts and much more satisfying than her critically acclaimed follow-up Ray Of Light, which, aside from the haunting lead single Frozen, left me - no pun intended - a little cold.
When Confessions On The Dancefloor arrived in 2005, I felt it was a return to form for Madonna, as it was rammed with discotastic pop songs like the mighty Hung Up – arguably the best single of her career – Sorry, Jump and Future Lovers.
To promote the album, Madonna embarked on a club tour of the UK which included a performance at the legendary GAY. Without a moment’s hesitation, I snapped up tickets to see her, hoping she’d perform Jump, a song from the album she hadn’t performed at any of her other UK gigs.
Little did I know that before then, I would actually come face-to-face with the pop queen herself.
Every year, OK! magazine was offered exclusive backstage access to the BBC’s annual telethon Children In Need where we’d photograph all the celebs who appeared on the show clutching the charity’s loveable mascot Pudsey and ask them a few questions. So when I heard Madonna was due to perform Hung Up on the show, I was beside myself. I couldn’t believe that I was going to breathe in the same air as the rarely-sighted superstar.
However, early on, word came from her camp that while she would happily have her picture taken with Pudsey, we were not allowed to ask her any questions.
On the night, everyone backstage was giddy and incredibly nervous about her arrival. After her performance of Hung Up, she came backstage for her picture still dressed in her baco-foil disco dress with her sassy Farrah-flicks. She was a lot smaller and bird-like than I expected with lomg bony fingers that resembled claws. But she was undeniably beautiful and despite her miniscule stature, she filled the room with superstar presence.
In a flash, the pictures were done and Madonna made a move to leave. As she did, an overwhelming urge rushed through my body to stop her. I knew we weren’t supposed to ask her anything, but I really couldn't let this moment slip through my fingers. I had to say something. Otherwise I would regret it forever.
“Madonna,” I ventured. In what seemed like slow motion, she turned to me and smiled thinly. I knew I had to say something else to stall her for a moment. “Thank you for taking the pictures,” I stuttered, inanely. She nodded gracefully and started on her way again. I needed to up my game! So I thought I’d pull at her heartstrings and tell her how moved I was by her concert film I’m Going To Tell You A Secret that I’d seen the day before. It was concert doc that featured songs from her Reinvention tour and her emotional trip to Israel where she’d attended a benefit for her charity foundation, Spirituality For Kids.
“Madonna,” I tried again. “I saw your film yesterday and I have to tell you I was so moved by the plight of those poor children in Isreal.” Bingo. My plan worked. The legend stopped in her tracks, turned back to me and happily started to talk about it.
Part way through our chat, a stern-faced woman clad all in black wearing a headband torch across her forehead, suddenly appeared at our side and hissed “NO INTERVIEWS!’ I panicked, worried I was about to be kicked out of backstage for breaking the rules. But no. Gracefully, Madonna gave the intruder a steely stare and snapped at her, “I’ve started so I’ll finish,” and turned back to me to continue to chat for another four minutes about stuff I can no longer remember.
As she was led away by her team, I hastily called out, “I’m coming to see you at GAY tomorrow. I hope you sing Jump, as you haven’t done it yet and I love it!”
Again, Madonna paused, glanced back at me with a knowing smile and winked, “Maybe I will!” And then, just like that, she was gone, leaving me standing there on the edge of collapse.
While I must admit she is nowhere near as influential on me as Kylie, meeting such an icon was life-changing. I particularly appreciated how gracious she was to have taken the time to speak to me, even when her team was so desperate to drag her away. I was impressed by that and have forever cherished those brief moments we spent together. It’s just a shame that I can’t remember a single thing of what we actually spoke about. But that’s what happens when you’ve swigged numerous glasses of champers during the night. But at least I have this picture to remind me it ever happened.
Oh, and if you were wondering if Madonna did go on to perform Jump at GAY, well, yes, she did. And I was beside myself, not only because I adore the song, but because I believed that maybe - just maybe - my desperate plea had persuaded her to include it in her set. Well, that’s the story I’ve told people for the past twenty years. And why spoil a great story with facts, eh?
And so there we are. A wonderful step back in time to recall how two pop cultural icons impacted on my life and set me on a career path that changed my life and showed me a world I never thought I’d see. Just goes to show that fans aren’t just obsessives who lose themselves in their idol. Sometimes, they can be inspired by their idols to change their lives forever.
Fantastic!
Parallel lives!