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What happens to pop stars after their 15 minutes of fame – the ugly truth

So Solid Crew's Lisa Maffia, bottom left, now runs a hairdresser in Margate - Redferns
So Solid Crew's Lisa Maffia, bottom left, now runs a hairdresser in Margate - Redferns

“Pop music is supposed to be fleeting; likewise, its players,” writes Nick Duerden of “an industry obsessed with the idea of novelty”. But what happens to pop stars after their Warholian 15 minutes of fame?

In his new book Exit Stage Left, dozens of former stars (let’s not call them has-beens) tell Duerden in often excruciating detail how it feels to lose their footing at pop’s summit and begin their descent to earth.

“Every artist finds that they are no longer fashionable at some point,” says singer-songwriter Joan Armatrading. “There are no exceptions, none.”

“All doors were shut to us, people wouldn’t take our calls,” recounts Sonya Madan from Britpop band Echobelly.

Yet sometimes it’s the artist who loses interest. Snow Patrol singer Gary Lightbody found he couldn’t write commercial songs any more. The group made an album that represented a “change of direction” (“something no record company wants to hear”, notes Duerden) and a long hiatus followed. His group still records and tours, but not “to schedule, or to order. No more lighters-aloft ballads”.

It is, Duerden explains, “the musician’s familiar dilemma: remain within the box into which you were first placed decades previously, or else go your own way, and to hell with the consequences”. Many people bought the Blow Monkeys’ 1986 single Digging Your Scene, but far fewer bought the 10 solo albums by the band’s singer “Dr” Robert Howard. But, he tells Duerden, “I don’t need the appreciation of strangers any more.”

Mick Anker, Neville Henry, Tony Kiley and Dr Robert of The Blow Monkeys in 1986 - Redferns
Mick Anker, Neville Henry, Tony Kiley and Dr Robert of The Blow Monkeys in 1986 - Redferns

Some appear to have the character and self-belief to ride any storm. “I’m a daredevil,” says Crazy singer CeeLo Green. “And I have the audacity to keep trying.”

Says Rufus Wainwright, ever the maverick: “I knew I was old news by the time I was 30.” So he began writing operas. “You don’t hit your stride [in opera] until your 40s.”

Still, middle-age is the most difficult period in pop stars’ afterlife. “The public seem to have an aversion to musicians in their middle years,” notes Duerden. “Those that make it to a certain age are treated quite differently.”

Some get the band back together to pay the rent. Singer Kevin Rowland admits being motivated to re-form Dexys Midnight Runners in 2002 to fund his wedding. They might also do so to exorcise their demons. Robbie Williams opted to rejoin Take That for a 2010 tour in order to “build bridges” and “lay to rest lingering resentment”.

And, of course, many continue because they actually like making music. Tim Booth declined all offers to re-form James for years after their split – until a Bruce Springsteen concert in 2002, when he was jolted into action by the same inspiration that had led him into pop, 20 years earlier. As David Gray, of White Ladder fame, puts it: “If I don’t make music regularly I feel incomplete, of very low worth.”

Duerden’s previous books include explorations of loneliness, alternative therapies and the power of the family – themes painfully relevant to many of his interviewees in Exit Stage Left, who suffer problems with mental health, money and addiction.

Erratic post-fame behaviour: Adam Ant - Tim Roney/Getty Images
Erratic post-fame behaviour: Adam Ant - Tim Roney/Getty Images

There are some tragic tales: Dennis Seaton, singer with 1982 reggae child-stars Musical Youth, focused on learning to survive; several of his band-mates did not manage to do so. Adam Ant “felt well” when he was at the top, but the creative impulses that electrified his pop star persona have caused problems in his long post-fame life, which has been characterised by erratic behaviour.

But if you’re here for the pathos, Duerden has no shortage of stories about ill-advised appearances on reality TV shows. Happy Mondays singer Shaun Ryder advertises nicotine patches. Lisa Maffia from infamous south London hip-hop collective So Solid Crew now runs a hairdresser’s in Margate. S Club 7’s Paul Cattermole attempted to sell his Brit Award on eBay.

If Duerden’s book reads at times like a series of where-are-they-now features, it is no less entertaining for that. He assembles a wealth of evidence that “the band always plays on”. Because the old showbiz adage that performers should always leave the audience wanting more turns out to be only half the story. Duerden finds the performers themselves yearning for more, decades after exiting the stage.


Exit Stage Left by Nick Duerden is published by Headline at £20. To order your copy for £16.99, call 0844 871 1514 or visit Telegraph Books