In Dr. Schweitzer's footsteps

The prat factor of the media circus makes KIRSTY MacCOLL the most reluctant of pop stars. Paul W. Hullah treads gently.

You know Kirsty MacColl. Teenage writer of Tracy UIIman's smash single They Don't Know, then in the charts herself aged 21 with the cunningly un-novel, novelty country item There's A Guy Works Down The Chip Shop Swears He's Elvis.

Back in the Top Ten four years later in 1985 with her own breathtaking, caustic romp through Billy Bragg's A New England. Guesting on vocals, recorded and live, with U2, The Rolling Stones and The Smiths and getting married to world famous record producer Steve Lillywhite. In 1987, semi-responsible for the greatest, perhaps the only really great [Christmas] pop song of all time, The Pogues' Fairytale Of New York.

And today? Exactly 10 years after her recording career began, a new deal with Virgin Records has her finally releasing a debut solo album, Kite, produced by husband Steve. It's a work resplendent with the down-to-earth moralising and racey pop commerciality that, along with all of the above, might well be termed Kirsty MacCoIl's trademark.

This afternoon, however, Kirsty's got a cold. She's tired and not at all happy. Five interviews already today and, as I edge bashfully through the doorway of her pastel-painted, pot pourri-scented London hotel room, here comes the sixth. "She'll only talk about the new album, absolutely nothing else," her press agent informs me in hushed tones. Long red hair pulled back into a pony tail, cross legged on the couch in a black cotton jumpsuit, she fixes herself a cigarette and fixes me with a weary, wary stare. I'll discover later that she possesses the most impish of grins but, now, as the sixth tape recorder of the day whirrs to attention she's not smiling much. Kirsty MacColl has another trademark. She hates interviews.

"I get approximately one prat per day asking how much The Pogues drink. Scintillating! When you have one successful record every three years, you tend to forget all the promotional crap that goes with it. I don't want to be unpleasant about it; but in the past journalists have been so two-faced to me, rearranging things I've told them until it's not what I've said at all. I wish I could just make the records then have somebody else front it all for the media. It's always a shock to return to public attention. Making a good record isn't the end of it. You've still got to go out and flog it."

But Kite is certainly that - a good record. Aided and abetted by ex-Smiths guitarist Johnny Marr, Kirsty has put together a consistently attractive, bristling set of self-penned songs, full of jangly guitar and off-the-cuff vocals. Each number tells a story, sometimes autobiographical, often cinematic and fictitious. The tracks range from the poignant, motherly Don't Come The Cowboy With Me, Sonny Jim!, which carries on the Chip Shop tradition in silver-tongued style, to a beautiful ballad, You And Me Baby.

The apex of the kitchen sink drama collection is Fifteen Minutes, a tongue-in-cheek reflection on Andy Warhol's prediction that 'In the future, everyone will be famous for fifteen minutes'. The first song written for the new LP, after a "two year writer's block", it's a self-effacing, mocking challenge to the media circus, the whirlygig of fame with all it's cons and contradictions. "I suppose it's a cynical song. I don't fully agree with Warhol's idea, but I can see why it's getting like that with TV and so on. People who are famous for being famous, exposes in the tabloids, tittle-tattle, anything for money. That's part of the reason I don't like interviews."

A further, substantial part of Kirsty's unease in the face of media coverage stems, understandably, from the erroneous picture that's been painted in the past concerning her background and musical leanings. The story goes that her father is Ewan MacColl, respected folk perfomer and composer of the classic ballad The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face, and her mother is Peggy Seeger, another renowned folk artist. [oh no not again ... FW]

"My mother is not Peggy Seeger. My father is Ewan MacColl, my mother is Jean MacColl. I didn't grow up with my dad, I grew up with my mum who wasn't a musician but a choreographer. I knew my dad did gigs, but I only saw him once a week so it didn't have that much impact. And I wasn't really that interested in folk music because I associated it with their generation, not mine. I was into pop music. This musical, folk heritage that I'm supposed to have just didn't exist."

The desire to set the record straight has the effect of animating her conversation. The ice isn't fully broken, but cracks are appearing.

"I was probably pretty lonely as a child. My brother had left home, so I was on my own a lot. I learned guitar at school and seemed to spend my childhood listening to records. Now, when I hear a single I bought when I was eight, I can picture what I was wearing and doing then. Play me The Three Degrees and I'm back in the old school disco... "

"I remember hearing See My Baby Jive, and it made me so happy. I just wanted to make records after that. My mother told me I could do whatever I wanted to do, at a time when everyone else was telling me what I couldn't do. She always cited Dr Albert Schweitzer as a great example - someone who explored the jungle, played the cello and did great things for mankind. I didn't know who the hell this guy was but I thought 'Well, if Albert can do it, then so can I!'."

Kirsty left her Croydon school with her A level course incomplete. She went to Art College ("I spent all my tine playing snooker, hanging out") but dropped out of there too. She got work in a record store and joined an R'n'B band. When Stiff records became interested, the group kicked Kirsty out - a bad move on their part, since it was Kirsty alone that the label were after. Three months later, Stiff released They Don't Know, the original version with Kirsty singing, and the rest, as they say, is history. Now she has two young children. How has that shaped her music?

"Your life changes when you have kids. You're no longer just responsible for yourself. Things that worried me when I was 19 seem trivial now that I'm 29. That doesn't mean you're wrong when you're young -just young. My songs used to be 'Boy meets girl, girl gets pregnant, boy runs away'. I think I'm a bit more mature than that now, but I can't offer anyone any answers. I haven't got them. I just know that when things are wrong I can't sit there and pretend that they're right."

She sees the humour in Morrissey's lyrics as something to aspire to. Working with The Smiths (she sang on Ask), and with Johnny Marr on Kite, was, she says, "inspiring, so much energy, so many ideas".

"Now in my songs, I try to put things succinctly and make them not too depressing. Wit is very important, If you couldn't lighten up at times, you'd end up topping yourself. What seems like the end of the world today might not be so tomorrow."

The woman who hates interviews has lightened up a little too. As the afternoon wears on, her nervousness subsides into a warmth similar to that of the twelve songs on Kite. Perhaps that's it - Kirsty MacColl's songs communicate better than explanations of them ever could. Just before I leave, I promise not to change in print what she has told me. Almost as a gesture of thanks, she mentions The Pogues, unprompted.

"You know, Fairytale Of New York is a great record. I didn't know them, but Steve, my husband, was producing their album and they needed a female voice.., It was the only worthwhile thing in the Xmas Top Ten, and it's a shame it wasn't Number One. I'm proud of songs like that, because people remember them. Everybody likes songs like that. You get in a taxi and the driver will say 'Oh yes, that Fairytale song...'"

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In Dr. Schweitzer's footsteps

The prat factor of the media circus makes KIRSTY MacCOLL the most reluctant of pop stars. Paul W. Hullah treads gently.

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