Two hours previously, the artist has a tantrum. He decides that to listen to the previews of his second album we have to go to his record company’s office and not to the congress room of the usual luxury hotel in Via Napoleone in Milan. Why? “The hotel has a audio system that’s only good for company presentations”. At first, used to album previews that are often similar to company presentations, we’re taken aback.
But the artist is Mika, he of Grace Kelly , the enfant prodige of English music; who founded his career by paying attention to detail; from the kitsch look, to the choreography of his concerts. Born in Beirut 26 years ago in the middle of the civil war, and escaped to Paris with his family when he was still a baby, and then later to London; with his virtuous falsetto, and a destiny to be a gay icon plain for all to see, Mika has transported pop back to the baroque splendour of Queen and the multicoloured eclecticism of David Bowie. After two years, and six million sales of his debut album Life in Cartoon Motion; his new album, The Boy Who Knew Too Much, is released on the 18th of September. The first single from it, the very catchy We Are Golden, has already been released.
It’s a Saturday afternoon when we meet him, the offices of Universal are deserted - they have opened for us at the last minute. Sitting cross-legged on a sofa, two strange plastic balls in his ears, which, he says “are useful to hear sounds better”, Mika’s very pre-occupied in taking personal care of this preview, which reveals to be a little lesson in musicology à-la-Mika: with a short introduction before each song, which are a series of potential successes, from Rain to Blame it on The Girls.
You take care of all of your music, as well as the album illustrations. People define you as a “complete artist”. You’ve also modelled for Paul Smith. You wouldn’t want to act too?
No, God forbid! I’m a terrible actor. I consider myself very lucky to have got to this point.
Are you being modest?
Let’s be honest: I’m not a great pianist. When I was at the Royal College of London I knew very well that there were people who were much more technically prepared. Half of me thinks that I’ve ended up here by chance and that I shouldn’t overdo things.
And the other half?
Knows that this is what I’ve always wanted to do, and finally I’m doing it.
After the success of the first album, have you felt pressurised about the second?
I can only say that I had decided to take my time to do it. I thought of it as a film about my adolescence, after the first album that had discussed my childhood. We Are Golden expresses that sensation that you have at 16 well, when on one hand you have what everyone else thinks of you, you consider yourself to be as precious as a diamond.
Isn’t there a risk that the tendency to autobiography will limit you?
I have written about my life because it’s a way of coming to terms with my childhood and adolescence. I try to talk about little stories I know, and to transform them into something universal, something which everyone can relate to. It’s a technique the Beatles used, it’s called empowerment.
How was your adolescence?
Very difficult. I felt lonely, distant from others. An outsider. Maybe it’s because I haven’t got any roots, I was constantly tossed around from one country to another. And I wasn’t simply interested in music: mine was an obsession. I couldn’t express myself in public. People thought I was strange. I was the typical boy who everyone tried to ostracise at school.
You were also a victim of bullying at school.
Yes, my classmates tormented me. For months I couldn’t speak because of this. My mum pulled me out of school and got of a private teacher.
You were also diagnosed as dyslexic. Do you want to speak about it?
I’m still dyslexic. I actually write using phonetic signs, not with the letters of the alphabet. And I can’t read music. But maybe because dyslexia makes you feel different, it makes you create a communicative channel that’s all yours, which is often music. Because of this many dyslexics are musicians.
Music was a therapy as well as an obsession?
Yes. I would say that it was what saved me when I was 16. I would hide in my room where I had my piano and would write songs; it was a way in which I could create an alternative world populated by immaginary characters. It was the only way in which I could feel that I was worth something. My songs were like confetti that I showered on myself. It’s because of this I have always tried to write songs with the catchiest melody possible. I thought it would be the only way I could communicate with the outside world in the future.
Your music is catchy but is affected by various influences: from glam pop to operetta, to the vanguard of the Sparks.
I love the Sparks. It’s true, there’s a bit of everything in my songs and I think that the combination of pop and vanguard is very healthy. And it’s very pleasing when things in theory that shouldn’t be popular become popular.
You are called the prodigal boy of pop, do you still feel like an outsider?
Yes, I’m not very cool. Actually, I feel that I come across like a loser.
Six million albums sold must have done something for your self-esteem?
I’m very shy and introverted, most of all with people I don’t know. And I don’t know how to act in everyday situations. I always feel uncomfortable at parties, for that reason I don’t go to any anymore. A designer was offended because of that. But I appreciate clothes, not the world of fashion.
You haven’t changed at all since becoming a star then?
In some ways, yes. Some clubs that, up until recently wouldn’t have let me in, now play my music. Funny, isn’t it? But, to tell the truth, often I don’t get recognised; and dressed how I do, many clubs in London don’t let me in.
Your look’s very personal.
My mum and my sister often design clothes for me. And I like a Belgian designer that’s a bit crazy too, his name’s Walter Van Beirendonck.
Do you mind not being recognised?
No. Though at times it would have been nice (laughs) I’ll explain. One day I was in a big department store in London, dressed very badly. For the whole time, until I left, I was followed by a security guard - they thought I was a robber. And at one point I realised that a remix of one of my songs was playing. It was fun.
But you would have got a little bit of revenge, right?
I’ve never seen my success as revenge, because I’ve never made music for anyone else but me. The other day Tommy Mottola rang me, and he said “Thank you for all your work that you’re doing for us in Europe, but now you’ve got to come to the States too”. I didn't understand him. I’m not working for them, it’s my life-long dream, I’m only doing it for me.
Speaking of the States, is it true that you don’t want to come out because you’re scared of being discriminated in the American market?
That’s rubbish. If I had that worry I wouldn’t have written Grace Kelly. No American station wants to play a song about a man that wants to be like Grace Kelly. It makes no sense. Because I’m convinced that even the most masculine man, deep down wants to be like Grace Kelly…
So why don’t you want to speak about it?
I think if there’s an environment in which it’s best not to define yourself from a sexual point of view, it’s pop music. I’m not interested in, and I don’t agree with the labels of gay, hetero, bisexual. I’ve always given myself complete freedom. Like David Bowie and Prince, my models, I want to play with my sexual identity. I’m not taking a political standpoint.
Are you involved with anyone?
No. I don’t want to talk about it.
Is it true that you’re going to collaborate with Amy Winehouse?
No. I don’t know why these rumours are doing the rounds. People said that I was going to collaborate on her Yiddish anthology project - it’s obviously not my style.
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Blimey, it's been a while Any tweaks, give me a prod
