MIKA’S REVELATION
The pop rebel discusses coming out, love, dogs, and telling music bosses where to go!
In Australia recently on his Revelation tour, Mika, best known for his 2007 global #1 Grace Kelly, discusses coming out, life, love, dogs, changing management, and telling music bosses where to go!
DNA: Why was it so long – 11 years – between live shows here in Australia?
Mika: It’s a question I often asked over the years. To be honest, I got so tired of asking that it actually led to a change in my team, and Australia was at the top of my wish-list, along with South America. The recent Australia and New Zealand tour was booked within two months of changing agents. This business sometimes functions in weird ways. It takes courage to make the changes in order to see the changes you want. It took a while, but I finally had the chance to reconnect with an audience I loved all those years ago.
What was happening for you as a writer-performer and personally during that time? Well, vegan, then carnivore again; short hair, long hair, then back again; five albums, two symphonic albums, TV shows in several countries, a few arena tours. Moments of triumph and several crushing phases of total self-doubt. Oh, and two new dogs.
So, life basically! The only things that have stayed constants have been my partner and songwriting. And in the past two years I’ve realised the biggest challenge is to keep growing up but without losing the brightness of the colours that made you; to be free to talk about anything, in songs and on stage, and also to feel and communicate emotion without shame. Those are the things that keep you true to yourself and the only things that guarantee you stay inspired as an artist. It’s a form of joyful defiance.
You’ve said that many in the business tried to change you at the start and you basically said, “screw you!” Where did that courage and selfbelief come from?
Anger! I was so angry with the business or, more precisely, the overwhelmingly rigid corporate white guys in Fred Perry polos who acted as the gatekeepers. I felt observed and judged. I ran to music to be free and found myself in the hands of an older version of the “cool” kids from school; the same ones who made my life hell years earlier. So, I said, “fuck you” and that’s when I started to really write and move and dress from the heart.
What’s been the cost, personal and careerwise, of saying “fuck you”?
I’m a totally weird pop artist. Fundamentally, I believe in the artistic value of pop as universal songwriting and an open, urgent form of communication. Ironically, this means I don’t write very commercial pop music! But my niche is strong, and I stay true to my vision. I love what other people do but I can’t do that myself. I can only do me. It all makes sense when you see me live. That was why coming back to Australia on stage was so important.
You came out as bi in 2010 and as gay in 2012. You said: “It’s only through my music I’ve found the strength to come to terms with my sexuality beyond the context of just my lyrics.” We applaud your honesty. Was the decision received well by everyone?
There was no ticker-tape parade, let’s put it that way. In movies, in the media, we have this idea that coming out is a loud and climactic affair. In reality it can be intense and quiet, and the consequences or reactions don’t reveal themselves for a while. Which can be really unsettling and you can get hurt in ways you didn’t expect. It’s especially complex for families who’ve never had anyone openly gay to cope and truly come to terms with it. Looking back on it now, I see that love does win in the end. That’s been the most reassuring thing about the whole experience. Since then there have even been other, younger people in my family who are becoming more open about their sexuality and the reaction is much more relaxed. That doesn’t annoy me at all, it makes me happy. That people and their reactions to things can change with time.
What things did you want to reveal in the recent Revelation tour?
Bits of my soul. The good of me and the ugly. The stuff I’m really good at and also the things I’m less proud of. I realise there’s power that comes from the things we don’t like about ourselves… as long as we can talk about them. The tour was a sort of musical one-man show, a rollercoaster of energy and emotion and yet there was nothing on the stage – just me and a total fearlessness to be intimate and at times grand in my performance and gestures.
The title of your latest album My Name Is Michael Holbrook is a very strong statement of identity. To what degree are you implying “Hang on, I’m more than just Mika”?
I’ve been nicknamed Mika since I was an hourand-a-half old. I always ran away from my legal name, like something that belongs to that “other” world, the world that pulls you down and dulls your colours. As a teenager I was mortified if anyone ever called me Michael. I realised that used to be a motivation but then it became a handicap. To move forward in life you have to understand all parts of your identity. Or at least try.
On Tiny Love you sing: “Our kind of love, it gets better every day… our love, tiny love, it’s a tiny love, my life was dull, I used to walk in a different way, but now I’m dancin’, dancin’, dancin’, dancin’…” That love doesn’t sound so tiny!
Ah, it’s the biggest love in the whole fucking world! But no one else can see it and no one else can feel it apart from those to whom it belongs. It functions in another dimension of scale. It’s a form of mind-bending magic. That’s why we’ve produced songs and plays and paintings about it for thousands of years.
Your happy, sweet tunes often disguise darker lyrics. But there’s a very positive thread weaving through this album, daring us to throw caution to the wind. Does this mean you’re happier, more settled now?
I’m more able to express when I’m happy and when I’m not. I’m less stuck. This means anything can happen from one week to the next and I’m so much more curious about life now and in the future. If that’s happiness, then I guess the answer’s yes.
The biggest challenge is to keep growing up but without losing the colours that made you… to be free in songs and on stage to feel emotion without shame.