SES LIAISONS DANGEREUSES: MARIANNE FAITHFULL

Ive always known who I was, she says in a raspy, Bette Davis voice. Whether I could achieve to express that to everyone else was another matter. I am who I am. Im confident enough now to show myself. Perhaps it took this long—Ive thought of it before—its as if Ive been staying undercover. You know, how animals keep to the trees and bushes, if they might get killed. I often think thats what I was doing until very recently.

You look closely at her to see the girl she used to be. This little bird that somebody sent/Light and fragile and feathered sky blue. So pure and fluttery, singing madrigalish pop-folk songs and the theme from The Umbrellas Of Cherbourg, lying in a field of grass on the cover of Faithfull Forever... peering out from behind blonde bangs. In the intervening years, Marianne Faithfull has gone from most desired doll of the U.K. pop explosion to near-casualty of the sexual-chemical battles, to woman of strength and purpose. If there is a more dramatic creative leap than the one that led to 1979s Broken English, it doesnt readily spring to mind. But there, in her smile, is the Girl of the 60s. It is the identical smile that graced the pages of Rave 15 years ago, when the interviewer was himself 15, and envious of the benefits that came with being a Rolling Stone.

She is in New York City—it is the anniversary of John Lennons birth, and the day after the Day of Atonement—to talk about Dangerous Acquaintances. The New Album. Questioners are brought to her hourly, she wears sunglasses and a suede mini-dress, and smokes cigarette after cigarette. There are, it must be said, better ways to first encounter someone who sets off as many reverberations as Marianne Faithfull. You may have pictured her in many settings and situations, but a naugahyde chair in the Newsweek building (home of Island Records) on Madison Avenue is not one of them. Nonetheless, it cannot be denied that it is good to see her anywhere, especially in the context of promoting an album as fine as this. Dangerous Acquaintances doesnt have the impact of Broken English, which blasted most of the music of 1979, including (rock is not lacking in ironies) Emotional Rescue, into the also-ran bin, but it certainly proves that, cathartic as Broken English was, it hardly exhausted her musical possibilities.

Considering what self-pitying mileage she could wrench out of her well-documented past, Faithfull refuses to wear the labels that people try to affix to her. Its been nothing, she insists. What have I been through?

When I hear rock stars described as 'survivors— I start to say. She cuts me off immediately.

Makes you want to puke. It annoys me intensely. Of course youre not entitled to a medal. I hate that word. 'Survivors. Fuck it all. We came through nothing compared to what our parents went through in the war. Well, we didnt, anyway. You had the Vietnam War, and that was very heavy for you, I realize. Any war is. But a world war we did not go through. Serious wickedness on that level we did not experience.

Granted. And yet surely the songs on Mariannes last two albums, not to mention the abrasive ache in the singing of those songs, could not have come from a carefree girl of 19. Dangerous Acquaintances' Sweetheart, for example: a Faithfull composition that sounds like a romantic statement of purpose, a surrender without sacrifice. You could read the text as feminist, with all it implies about freedom and identity, but Faithfull doesnt quite see it that way. I don't believe in all that. People are people. But having been scarred and bruisqd within the sexual war, not through any fault, really, of mine or the other persion, just because— her voice drifts off for just a second. And now, she continues, I wont get into a relationship; I mean, I am in a relationship. Im married [to musician Ben Brierly], but 'Sweetheart is my idea of a love song. 'Tenderness is also my idea of a love song. Always with an edge on it, with a warning. It just means 'watch it. Don't ever take me for granted. Ever.

And Eye Communication: That was on a state of siege, that one. That was just when Id been busted the last time, and Ben was here doing his album, and it was me trying to ring up, not only to say I love him—which I find very hard to say, but on the telephone?—and to explain what was going on. It was pretty difficult. The cops come into it a lot, that song. Its about trying to communicate with someone you love whos three thousand miles away... When I talk to someone, unless Im looking at them, they take it wrong. Because, probably, of an irony and certain causticness in my way of speaking. When you see me, you don't have that, but when you just hear me, you might.

1 write about myself, right? I make records about me. One of the reasons I wrote th6 songs on this album was because it did feel, you know, that I really do have the authority, because of my life, and luck, to say what I wish.

Broken English, the record that displayed this authority, with staggering honesty, for the first time, broke a silence of nearly a decade (there was an intermediate LP, Faithless, that was less than fully realized and met with minimum notice). The initial element that drew attention, before the depth of Faithfulls musical maturation sank in, was a song called Why DYa Do It, replete with Anglo-Saxon expletives aimed at a sexual betrayer. A bit of a furor arose; Faithfull again found herself an object of controversy. It was like shed never left.

I couldnt believe it, quite honestly, and I didnt expect it. I really thought times had changed. I really didnt mean to shock people. Ive grown out of that. Mind you, that poem is pretty fucking serious. It doesnt let up. But there's such beautiful words in it, I cant understand it. Its not just a lot of dirty words strung together.

I tell her about the Moral Majority, and she says, Thats one of the reasons I wouldnt want to live in a communist state. But Ive always thought that serious capitalism is exactly the same. Theres a right wing swing. Weve got it at the moment in England. We live in a police state now. Its awful. I mean, for the first time in my life, Im going to vote. I wasnt completely aware that it was going to happen here.

"I came out of my six-day coma, and they'd already brought out my death record. They expected me to die."

Even under Reagan? I ask.

Yeah, but its sort of, one waits to see exactly which way the cat will jump. Since Ive been here this week, Ive realized its coming.

Four-letter words aside, the other striking thing about the new Faithfull music was the complete change from the wispiness of tunes like, say, In My Time Of Sorrow, (written for her by Jackie DeShannon and Jimmy Page after they encountered her, stricken by the flu, in a hotel). What happened to that schoolgirl soprano?

When I was in the country with my mother and son, straight after that sort-of split-up with Mick, I put myself through a very intense course of non-stop Smokey Robinson, Sam Cooke, Otis Redding. Id been listening to Billie Holiday very seriously, and all those other people. Mick taught me a lot about that, unconsciously. I didnt realize, I think, that it was going on. I must have picked up a lot of stuff, just being around all the time. If I could ever sing like Smokey...thats a bit too ambitious. But anyway, how does a little white English girl get soul? Thats what I wanted. I wouldnt have done it if I couldnt achieve some kind of soul. I think Ive got that. .

What the punk movement reminded me, and the rest of the world, of was just people getting up on stage and doing it, you see. That was how I worked originally. 'OK, I understand this. This is all right. And I can do it better.' Thats what I felt, anyway.

Some of those songs Id had up my sleeve. The covers. Id been wanting to record 'Working Class Hero for years, which would be impossible to do now. It was just such an incredible miracle. I was staying on the border of England and Wales, and on the juke box in the town was imagine, and on the other side 'Working Class Hero. So I could sit there in that pub all day and all night listening to it.

Had you known him? I ask.

John? Well, yes, but he was always... I was always rather frightened of him. He really could see through people. At that period, anyway, he was into his attack, and I knew that he could see through me completely, and I didnt interest him at all. Not that I wanted to. But I hadnt got my act together yet.

And Paul I knew much better because he was the sort of person you could go round and see and talk to, and George. John was always a bit...much, much more difficult, and I always actually liked his sonqs best. So I was such a fan, so it is kind of hard to talk to people you worship, and see them as people. And if you don't, youve blown it somehow. I couldnt with John. I always sort of found my mouth falling open.

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MARIANNE FAITHFULL

CONTINUED FROM PAGE 21

MF: If I sold my life story to a Sunday newspaper or something in England, I could make a fortune, and I wont do it. They cant understand it. They keep going up and up and up. Its getting a joke. I just wont do it. That would destroy my whole life and career, which is the same. You do need money that badly, there are more diginified ways of making it. I do want to have a certain amount of money. I must. But I don't think Ill ever be very rich.

MC: Do you think therell ever come a time in your life where everything will be far enough behind that you can get it out once and for all?

MF: No. Its not my way. First of all, I prefer those crappy books about life stories that people write about you after youre dead, or even when youre alive. I think theyre much better. I think its very pretentious to write your life story, even if youre Evelyn Waugh.

MC: You don't think there's any value to autobiographies?

MF: I like good biographies. Cause autobiographies are hardly ever accurate. You distort your own thinking. And if youre not going to really say it, then don't bother. I tell my story in my songs, on my records, thats how I do it.

MC: Do you find that extraneous things are read into your songs because of what people know about you?

MF: They always are. They still are. And it gets me so cross. 1 spoke to somebody on the phone in Europe before I came here; they said 'What are you doing? I said I was going to New York for the week. They said, 'Oh, youre going to see the Rolling Stones concert. Would I fly all that way just to see the Rolling Stones concert?? And Im not putting down the Rolling Stones concert, but Ive seen them.

I havent seen the latest one. Im sure its excellent, but I wouldnt go...I mean, you know, what?? As if Im still this sort of appendage, and that irritates me.

MC: Did you have any kind of overview of what you were going through in the 60s?

MF: No. I probably had less than an idea, in fact. I understood a lot of it. The general stuff. What I didnt understand was what that romance meant to people. Only a few years ago, I happened to be in the room when Hamlet, the film, came on, which was in 68, 69. And I never watch my own stuff, but I couldnt get out of it. I was with Ben and some very close friends, and they wanted to see it, and I couldnt run. And it was very good for me because I saw how beautiful I was, and I wept. I just didnt know. Cause you don't.

MC: I have this old album of yours with me, and—

MF: Lets have a look. Oh, I know. Its incredible. But I still don't quite see what its projecting.

MC: Is this person very familiar to you?

MF: Im very fond of her. She was very happy, actually, then. I don't like it because they released that the very week when Id taken 150 Tuinol and—

MC: This is an Australian record.

MF: Yes! I took my great overdose in Sydney. And blow me down, as I came out of my six-day coma, theyd already brought out my death record. Look at it, you know, in purple and black. They expected me to die. We have to expect it. Everyone in public life, as you know very well, has their obituary already written. We. know this. Theres no good being squeamish about it. Its just the fucking speed, you know, t wasnt dead yet, and they brought it out. It is a bit creepy. You can understand why I retreated for 10 years.

MC: At the same time, you cant deny your own responsibility for what—

MF: Not at all. I wouldnt. I didnt get pushed. I went by my own free will into that life. I didnt have to.

MC: Do you ever think about what turn you might have taken had—

MF: Id not been discovered by Andrew Oldham at that party? Which is all true. Thats the weird thing about my life: theyre all true, those stories.

MC: So you were 17 years old—

MF: At school, on the first lap of my examinations to go to college. I had various possibilities. Like, pass A-levels, very well, go to Cambridge. Pass A-levels not so well, go somewhere else. Don't pass A-levels, go to drama school. All sorts of things Id worked out, but I never thought of this one.

'MC; Was the pop scene a real part of your life?

MF: Not really. I was a frightful cultural snob. I loved the Beatles, particularly. Always was a great Beatles fan, but 1 wasnt really aware of the rest of it. Didnt rule my life at all. I was 17, very poor, at school. The chance to leave Reading, and go to London, and make my own living... I loved it. I fell straight for it, and Im very glad 1 did. I mean, I don't know what my life would have been otherwise, but I don't think it would have been as satisfying. It might have been a lot more obscure and elitist, and all that stuff, and Im glad its not.