Brian Beacom
GILBERT O’Sullivan puts the record straight, straight away.
Now, it was long assumed, since 1970 actually, when the singer-songwriter stunned many with his Top of the Pops appearance, that his persona was dictated by a media-hungry management.
It had to be. No one in their right mind would choose to wear, especially in the age of androgyny and glitter, a pudding bowl hairstyle, cut-down trousers with one leg longer than the other, colliery boots – and the tragic stare of someone who had been recently institutionalised.
And no one in their right mind would choose such a stage name.
He had to have been pressured into it, like his management stablemate Engelbert Humperdinck. Ha! Not a bit of it.
“I must be the only artist whose image was hated by everybody,” says the artist born Raymond O’Sullivan, from his Jersey home, his voice still bearing traces of his native Ireland.
“But I wanted to be different. In 1967, long hair was here to stay so I went instead for the Just William look, which came from a love of Chaplin and Buster Keaton.”
He laughs: “Every single record company didn’t like it. [He went through several, with no single successes]. I was always being told to wear jeans, look like James Taylor and I’d be OK. But I’m proud of the fact I decided to be different and look like a freak.”
There’s no doubt the image captured the attention, although in 1970 manager Gordon Mills signed the performer in spite of the image. But there was another reason for creating an alter ego: Shyness.
Ray O’Sullivan could stay home while Gilbert took to Top of the Pops or performed concerts.
“I’m basically as shy a person as I was when I once worked in an office in London in the late Sixties. I like my own company. I didn’t need a lot of friends.
“But there’s a dichotomy in my character. There’s also a healthy arrogance which emerges when I don’t need someone to say to me, ‘I like your music.’
“When it comes to my songs I’m confident. Back in 1967, I would go to a publisher’s office, and tell them they just had to listen to my music.”
He adds, smiling: “My motto is, ‘You may not be as good as you think you are, but thinking you are is good.’”
O’Sullivan can sing on stage in front of a couple of thousand people and exude confidence.
But if he were to meet any of those people afterwards the shyness would strike a discordant note.
What’s apparent however is that O’Sullivan, with a new eponymously titled album out now, still has the determination he had in 1970 on signing with Mills’ MAM label.
This perfect pairing created success followed by success.
In 1972, O’Sullivan was the biggest-selling solo artist in the world, outstripping even Rod and Elton (the Bisto Kid image now dropped and replaced by long cardies).
Alone Again (Naturally) sold two million copies in the US alone. But the “father and son” relationship crashed at the end of the seventies when O’Sullivan queried his record deal, taking Mills to court – and coming out with £7m in back royalties.
Yet, it was a pyrrhic victory; Mills and the pop star never spoke again. O’Sullivan was deeply hurt by events.
The songwriter has continued to write and perform but only standard pop songs.
“I’ve never been interested in writing a musical because I love the discipline of a three or four-minute song.
“I’ve been doing it for nearly 60 years and the joy is to go into a room from nine to five and come up with something good or something unusual. It’s the Brill Building mentality.”
He adds in more serious voice: “The danger is we lose the melodic touch. We all love Paul Simon, for example, and his latest record sounds great instrumentally but it lacks the melodic songs of his early albums.
“His integrity remains intact, as does that of Randy Newman, but the melody is all important to me.”
The songwriter’s more serious works such as Nothing Rhymed suggest a fair deal of existential angst?
“I don’t know,” he says grinning at the theory. “I’m not into self-analysis. I just knuckle down and write the songs. And the songs aren’t always about me.”
O’Sullivan, who married a Norwegian, Aase, in 1980, emerges as a simple bloke who’s incredibly focused on his work.
Far from living the rock star life, he reveals he has now cut out the half a Penguin biscuit treat he once allowed himself each day.
What? Come on, Ray! Have you ever lost the plot?
“I hope not,” he says. “My feet have been on the ground. I don’t drive, but I like a nice home. I’ve never been a red carpet person. I’ve never been someone to get carried away with those telling me how good I was or whatever.”
He adds, grinning: “But I do have Norwegian chocolates and a glass of wine at the weekend.”
It’s not a huge surprise to learn he’s an obsessive compulsive. He has to straighten the rugs when he walks into a room.
“I’ll get up, at 7am, my wife brings me breakfast, I’ll have a bath, go down at 8.30 and then tidy the house before the housekeeper comes in.”
He pauses for a moment: “I think it comes from my mother. She told us the story of how she once went for an interview in London, and as she was leaving the room she noticed a bit of dirt on the floor and picked it up and carried it out. I think that helped her get the job. That’s something I think has been bred into me.”
He adds, grinning: “I don’t have a hang up about OCD but it drives my wife and daughters crazy.”
O’Sullivan’s mother played a massive part in his life.
After the family of six children emigrated from Waterford to Swindon, she bought the seven-year-old music-mad Raymond a piano which was kept in the garden shed.
His mum got him piano lessons in the hope he’d “at least be able to earn a bob or two playing in the local pub”.
And somehow a drum kit and a guitar appeared over the years, even though his dad had died when young Raymond was 12.
“It’s sad I never really got to know him. What I do remember was he loved to gamble. If he’d lived until I was successful he’d have wanted me to buy him a racehorse.”
Having been Gilbert for so long, does his wife, for example, call him by that name?
“Don’t be silly,” he says, smiling. “Everyone who knows me calls me Ray. But when people who don’t know me call me Gilbert that’s fine.”
Yet, Elton wouldn’t be happy to be Reg? And Sting doesn’t want to be Gordon.
“Yes, but I’d have a problem calling him Sting.” He breaks into a laugh: “It’s the same with the U2’s The Edge. There’s no way I’m ever going to call him that.”
What’s undeniable is that O’Sullivan hasn’t been changed by money or fame. Even the bushy hair remains, at 71.
“I write pop songs,” he says, simply. “I don’t see there’s anything wrong with that.”
But does he have any regrets on pop life so far? “Just one,” he admits, laughing. “I went too far in having pics taken in the short trousers. That was a big mistake.”
Gilbert O’Sullivan plays Glasgow’s Oran Mor on August 13 at 7pm.
Why are you making commenting on The Herald only available to subscribers?
It should have been a safe space for informed debate, somewhere for readers to discuss issues around the biggest stories of the day, but all too often the below the line comments on most websites have become bogged down by off-topic discussions and abuse.
heraldscotland.com is tackling this problem by allowing only subscribers to comment.
We are doing this to improve the experience for our loyal readers and we believe it will reduce the ability of trolls and troublemakers, who occasionally find their way onto our site, to abuse our journalists and readers. We also hope it will help the comments section fulfil its promise as a part of Scotland's conversation with itself.
We are lucky at The Herald. We are read by an informed, educated readership who can add their knowledge and insights to our stories.
That is invaluable.
We are making the subscriber-only change to support our valued readers, who tell us they don't want the site cluttered up with irrelevant comments, untruths and abuse.
In the past, the journalist’s job was to collect and distribute information to the audience. Technology means that readers can shape a discussion. We look forward to hearing from you on heraldscotland.com
Comments & Moderation
Readers’ comments: You are personally liable for the content of any comments you upload to this website, so please act responsibly. We do not pre-moderate or monitor readers’ comments appearing on our websites, but we do post-moderate in response to complaints we receive or otherwise when a potential problem comes to our attention. You can make a complaint by using the ‘report this post’ link . We may then apply our discretion under the user terms to amend or delete comments.
Post moderation is undertaken full-time 9am-6pm on weekdays, and on a part-time basis outwith those hours.
Read the rules here