Holding out for a hero
Wendy Squires didn’t want to meet Nick Cave. What if he was dull or disappointing, or pompous and pigheaded?
Last Sunday I met my all-time hero, the prodigious musical genius that is Australia’s own Nick Cave. Part of me didn’t want this to happen. You see, I have interviewed many famous people, some of who I had admired greatly only to find them either dull and disappointing, or pompous and pigheaded.
I didn’t want this to be the case when meeting Nick.
This man is responsible for the soundtrack of my life; his lyrics my spirituality, his stage presence my drug, his backstory my inspiration. And no, I am not exaggerating here. Ask anyone know knows me and they will attest I am a diehard devotee. If I loved him anymore than I do, the bloke might need a restraining order.
This time I was there as a ticketpaying punter, crowding around Nick after his incredible ‘‘Q and A/recital’’ at Melbourne Town Hall while he signed autographs and pressed the flesh. Amidst the shuffle, he looked in my direction and said something to me which I didn’t hear because well, I lost it — big time.
As in, I became a giggly schoolgirl in his presence: all watery knees, flushed cheeks and swooning sighs. I realised amidst my euphoria he would probably expect a reply. But what do I say to a man who I believe to be a genius, a maestro, a masterpiece? ‘‘Nick, I love you!’’
Yes, I said it – the L word, the one I struggle to say to a partner, but blurted to a man who I feel I know but in reality definitely do not! And I didn’t mean ‘‘love him’’ as in ‘‘I’d like to shag him and steal his sperm stalker-style’’, as it may sound to you and (groan) him. I just wanted to try to project back some of what he has given me with his music. And, as a result, I don’t think I have ever felt more stupid.
And this is the reason I am sharing this story, because meeting your idol is rarely going to be what you hoped or envisaged. I had always imagined Nick and I meeting through friends then instantly bonding over music and philosophy and our shared wicked humour, perhaps following up with long handwritten letters sent from our travels that would tie us forever as friends.
I have had mates so jealous I have met their idols through my work. When he was on 21 Jump Street, I actually did bond with Johnny Depp while he was on a promotional trip to Australia, but although I found him a nice enough guy, if not a little rough around the edges, he didn’t really rock my world.
Even when I met up with him years later when I was living in New York and he actually remembered me. A girlfriend of mine might stab me if she reads this, so devoted is she to Depp.
Another girlfriend of mine was also ready to kill me then steal my identity when I went to interview Harrison Ford years ago and, frankly, she could have him for all I cared as he came across as perhaps the rudest and most unpleasant man I have ever met, to the point where I can barely watch his movies.
I have interviewed supermodels and almost nodded off they were so boring (and they always look weird in real life, like their features are too small for their faces) and sporting legends I had no idea even existed before the interview (sport and I are not friends).
From Kylie Minogue to Nicole Kidman and Cate Blanchett, I have walked away feeling that it was a nice enough experience to meet them, but not rocked to my core, not life-changed and certainly not blurting ‘‘I love you’’ as I did with my own hero.
And even though Nick was nice enough and said ‘‘thanks’’ and smiled at my confession, all the while signing autographs and being spun in to selfies, it’s a pretty safe bet he walked away without being rocked by meeting me either.
But days later, as my mortification subsides, I feel some solace in recalling a story Nick told Sunday night about his own fan failure.
He was leaving his trailer at a Glastonbury festival when he saw a man in a hoodie heading his way through heavy rain. As the man came closer, he reached out his wet hand to Nick, who suddenly realised it belonged to one of his heroes, the one and only Bob Dylan, who had come to tell him how much he enjoyed his music.
‘‘Suddenly the thousands of questions I had always imagined I would ask Bob Dylan if I was lucky enough to meet him left me and I was speechless,’’ Nick confessed. ‘‘I ended up finally saying something stupid like, ‘I like your work too’, and that was it and Bob walked off again.’’
Yep, even idols make bad fans. Thanks again, Nick.