THE CAT COMES BACK
Singer-songwriter’s new album bridges the gap between Stevens and Islam
“My life has been a source of intrigue for a lot of people, including me!” laughs grey-bearded pop legend Yusuf Islam. His story is, indeed, one of the strangest in rock ’n’ roll: the religious conversion of soulful singer-songwriter Cat Stevens at the height of his 1970s fame, which saw him turn his back on a music world of “sin and greed” for 25 years, before eventually returning under his new adopted name.
“The world changed, so I changed,” he says. “But the centre of me has always been the same, looking for peace.”
His new album, The Laughing Apple, is his fourth since his return to recording in 2006, and the first to properly bear his former name on the cover art, where he is billed as Cat Stevens/Yusuf. He says: “I don’t want people saying, ‘This is Islam’s new record.’ What does that mean? This is me, and that’s it. I just wanted to get personal again.”
Now 69, he acknowledges a change. “Maybe it’s to do with coming back to feeling a sense of balance within oneself, to be who you are without fear. Of anybody.” Then he adds, rather pointedly: “Except the press.”
You can understand his wariness. As one of the most famous Muslims in pop culture, he has run into controversies over the years defending Islam, most notably when he appeared to endorse the fatwa against Salman Rushdie in 1989. He later distanced himself from the remarks, insisting he was simply repeating the Koran’s position on blasphemy, but the issue has clearly haunted him.
“I get branded as a bigot,” he sighs. He seems weary whenever conversation drifts toward anything political, although he is at pains to separate the essence of Islam from the warped interpretations of some of its followers. “It is something so pure, so perfect. But it’s like a great car — you stick a guy who doesn’t know how to drive in this car, he is going to end up ruining it, bashing into somebody and probably killing himself.”
His new album reunites him with his ’70s producer Paul SamwellSmith and consciously revisits the sound and esthetic of his classic 1970 breakthrough album, Tea for the Tillerman.
He has written some new songs, revised some unfinished ones, and re-recorded obscure tracks from his early pop career. It is an album full of childhood allegories, albeit with strong resonances to the contemporary world. One new song, Don’t Blame Them, is a touching plea for empathy over bigotry, referencing Biblical characters (“Mary wore a veil, David was a fighter”) and set to a Beethoven sonata. He says: “It’s about Trumpisms, fakeisms, prejudice. Time to remind people that what we may be missing is the splinter in our own eye.”
Among his rediscoveries is a sweet little ditty titled Mighty Peace, the first song he ever wrote. At the time he was Steve Georgio, a 15-year-old Londoner of GreekCypriot heritage living above his parents’ restaurant, and dreaming about becoming an artist. Seeing the Beatles on TV pop music show Thank Your Lucky Stars inspired him to take up the guitar.
“Suddenly something happened and I started writing,” he says. “Amazing. That song epitomizes my whole catalogue. It’s everything I’ve ever written, my goals in life are all there. And your goals don’t really change. Just like your soul.”
Under the adopted name Cat Stevens, he became a pop sensation in his late teens, singing his own, now classic, compositions such as The First Cut is the Deepest and Matthew and Son.
Meanwhile, he dated U.S. actress and model Patti D’Arbanville, the subject of his 1970 love song Lady D’Arbanville. His musical direction shifted in his 20s after a lifethreatening bout of tuberculosis brought on by “drinking, smoking and fast living.”
He meditated, read about different faiths and wrote songs about his search for the meaning of life. Heartfelt hits including Wild World, Peace Train, Moonshadow, Father and Son and Hard Headed Woman seemed to correspond to the questioning spirit of his generation, winning him a devoted audience, many of whom were shocked when he announced he had found his answers in the Qur’an and was giving it all up for Allah.
When he first converted to Islam, he gave away royalties to charity from any song he felt conflicted with his faith — about 40 per cent of his catalogue. “Anything that encouraged love without marriage or was too specific in the sexual region went,” he says.
These days, he seems more relaxed. “At one time I would be more strict, but I can sing quite a lot of my old songs with new interpretations. Essentially the message is the same.”
Asked if there are songs he would still not play, he laughs: “Bring Another Bottle Baby would probably be one!” Another song no longer in his set is Lady D’Arbanville. “Out of respect to my wife, I just don’t do it,” he says. But he enjoys performing The First Cut is the Deepest. “I think it’s true,” he says. “The first scar you never forget. It is about trying to capture something so elusive it can never be enclosed. What we want is hard to attain. But it does happen. In God’s good time.”
And did he ever find his Hard Headed Woman?
“That’s my wife, isn’t it?” he guffaws.
“She won’t let me sing Lady D’Arbanville. Come on!”