The amazing power of songs to bring a loved one back to life
TV presenter KAY BURLEY on the unlikely obsession that’s made her realise ...
MUSICALS and I rarely mix and, much like first dates, I give them until the interval before I decide if I’m going to hang around any longer.
Far from making me feel good, Mamma Mia’s cheesy plot and schmaltzy songs made me feel slightly sick. I walked out, feeling like I’d met my Waterloo.
I also hated every garish second of Guys And Dolls. I cannot abide the mix of saccharine sweetness, contrived sing-a-longs and false happy-ever-afters which are too often the trademarks of musicals.
So, six years ago when Jersey Boys opened in London’s West End, I felt a familiar sense of foreboding as we trooped in.
I loved the music of Frankie Valli and The Four Seasons, but was certain this would be a clumsy production which would destroy my happy memories of some great songs.
So how unprepared was I for the emotional rollercoaster that left me gripping my seat, weak with excitement and with tears streaming down my cheeks.
I don’t think anybody else in the audience gave me a second glance. They were too busy crying, clapping and dancing themselves. Never before has a rags-toriches story encompassed such steely determination and bitter loss while managing to be utterly life-affirming.
That is why — and please don’t think me mad — I have been to see the show 12 times. And it goes without saying no one is more excited at the prospect of seeing the movie version, directed by Clint Eastwood, which has just opened here. I only hope it has the same power as the stage show.
So why the obsession? Quite simply, Jersey Boys makes me feel closer to my mother, Kathleen, who I lost to breast cancer in 1993. She was aged just 59.
Mum’s favourite group were The Four Seasons, so when I first saw Jersey Boys in 2008, I was transported back to the cosy world of my childhood in Wigan.
There I was, a young girl in my mother’s council-house kitchen with its formica worktops, swirling lime, orange and yellow Sixties’ wallpaper, and the Roberts radio blaring out Four Seasons hits.
My younger sister Jacqueline and I would sit, transfixed, as our mum twirled around as she made our tea — probably egg and chips — singing out loud.
Mum couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. But as soon as her favourite hit, December, 1963 (Oh, What A Night), came over the airwaves, her voice would rise lustily — crashing and falling — as she joined in with Frankie.
So that first time I saw Jersey Boys, the sense of her loss hit me like a blow.
I was instantly taken back in time, and could see her in front of me — stars in her eyes and granite in her voice. She was a northern lass who worked in a cardboard box factory — exactly the market those working-class boys, Frankie Valli and The Four Seasons, had always set out to enthral.
She was so proud of me and the career which took me to London and on to television as a presenter for Sky News.
Even now, when I’ve had a particularly tough day, I go for a run and talk to her about life. I can almost hear her saying: ‘Don’t worry about it, our Kay.’
AND when things get really bad, I don’t reach for wine — I call the box office knowing the show always delivers the message that you must pick yourself up and dust yourself down.
Mum first developed cancer aged 50, but put up a brave fight and eventually got the all- clear. But the disease returned. Little did we know we would only have her for another six weeks.
I’ll never forget when, typically forthright, she said: ‘ I’m dying, Kay.’ When I said I couldn’t cope without her she said: ‘ You are going to have to cope, because you need to look after your dad.’
When she went, my dad, Frank, was devastated. He died of a heart attack two years later aged 65.
When Mum died, my son, Alexander, who I brought up single handedly, was just eight months old. I can only console myself that at least she got to meet him.
But her death meant, as a new mum, I couldn’t ask her all the questions about babies, such as why they won’t stop crying?
Now Alexander is 21 and has just graduated from London School of Economics with a politics degree. I dearly wish Mum could have seen what he went on to achieve.
These are the thoughts which flit into my head as I sit watching Jersey Boys, making waterproof mascara a must before any visit.
Such is the power of The Four Seasons’ music, I even named my red setter Cherry (pronounced Sherry), after one of Mum’s favourite hits, Sherry Baby.
I got Cherry in 1994, and she was my constant companion over the next 14 years. She instinctively comforted me if I was upset, and remained my faithful friend as relationships came and went and as I raised my son.
My lovely dog died when she was 14, leaving me utterly bereft, and just the opening bars of Sherry Baby are enough to reduce me to floods of fresh tears.
When my girlfriends accompany me to the show, they rest their hands on my shoulder before the song even begins.
But I find there is something truly uplifting about the story of four poor Italian-American boys who fought their way out of New Jersey to sell 175 million records.
There are moments in the show where you feel as if your heart is being ripped out. Frankie Valli’s youngest daughter, Francine, died from a drug overdose, and the moment in the musical where he is handed her belongings by a nurse is heart-rending.
But there’s humour when the boys lose their virginity, and oneliners such as ‘Never lie to your mother, always lie to your wife.’
It’s a perfect musical for a single girl like me because it fulfils every emotion — every joy and every failure — you have ever felt. But it’s also macho and motivational.
I wasn’t at all surprised to learn that Sir Alex Ferguson took the entire Manchester United squad to see the musical two seasons ago. I have a wry smile (as an Arsenal supporter) when I think of Rooney and Giggs sitting there, discreetly dabbing their eyes.
Other celebrity fans include Simon Cowell — who like me, hates musicals, and David Beckham.
When the show moved to a new theatre in March, I went to the first performance and spotted Gok Wan, the Birds Of A Feather girls and most surprisingly, the cast of TOWIE. They walked in with bright smiles and emerged looking shell- shocked — as if they’d had a musical epiphany.
It’s a sign of my true devotion that I’ve seen the show twice again since then.
I even interviewed the cast for my LBC radio show. I’m pretty tough with interviewees, but just seeing them reduced me to a starstruck schoolgirl.
‘I’ve seen your show 12 times,’ I confessed, but they didn’t seem at all fazed. Later, I discovered that many fans have seen the show more than 200 times — making me look like a mere beginner.
FOR my 50th birthday three years ago, I knew exactly how I wanted to celebrate. I took 15 friends to the matinee, with a lovely boozy meal afterwards.
Nothing bonds girls together more than seeing a musical which spells out the i mportance of friendship through the upheavals of life.
Nothing helps mend a broken heart more than seeing inspirational life stories unfurl in front of you — bringing a musical message to fight on, no matter what.
In the next few weeks, Alexander will be treated to the show for his graduation and we may even go and see the film together, too.
Will he be moved by the songs? Possibly. But will his life be enriched for ever by Frankie Valli? It most certainly will.
And will his mother spend the evening with tears rolling down her face?
Undoubtedly. For I’ll be thinking of Mum, and how much she would love to be there singing along to her f avourite tunes with her daughter and grandson.