הכתבה שפורסמה אתמול בסאנדיי טיימס
BTW, Here is the Sunday Times interview with them from Today: WANT YOU BACK FOR GOOD With a Brit Award and a 2m-selling album under their belts, how do Take That really feel about Robbie’s return? It’s love In 2006, visiting a record-label office, I noticed one of the publicists sitting with a dejected look on his face and asked him what was up. “I’ve just,” he said, “been given Take That to do.” He wasn’t, he added, someone who disliked the band; he simply didn’t know quite what he could do with them. “Is anybody going to be interested after all these years?” he sighed. Five years on, now reunited with Robbie Williams, Take That are the biggest band in Britain. Last autumn’s Progress album has sold more than 2m copies in this country alone, and the band’s forthcoming tour, Progress Live, which includes a record-breaking eight shows at Wembley stadium, sold an astonishing 1.1m tickets in a single day. At the Brit Awards, 12 days ago, these achievements were recognised when the five-piece were crowned best British group, having opened the show with a performance of their new single, Kidz, surrounded by gyrating riot police. The day before, backstage after a dress rehearsal, the five men, who came together in 1990 as Britain’s boyband answer to New Kids on the Block, sit down to discuss their second comeback. You don’t really interview Take That; you sit in on a band meeting and hope to get a word in occasionally. It is apparent at once that the euphoria and devil-may-care attitude that inform Progress are undiminished: all five profess love for each other, undermine one another’s more verbose statements and talk about the relief they feel at being back, not just in the same room, but on amicable terms. Williams, in particular, has lost much of his old, chippy edge and submits to ridicule with ease. Gary Barlow, the notional leader of the group, is, surprisingly, the quietest, watchful rather than talkative. Mark Owen, who last year went into rehab, is painstakingly honest and the most obviously vulnerable. Howard Donald keeps his own counsel, save for the odd pearl of insight. And Jason Orange is prone to philosophical musings that present his bandmates with an open goal — at which they duly shoot. The real triumph, each of them says, is that they’re talking at all. That they can do so with anger or brutal honesty and still be friends is, they say, the key reward for all those years of early success, break-ups and verbal fisticuffs. “For me,” Williams says at one point, “it’s been as simple as, we need not f*** this up for each other. And we’ve all had our chats, and we’ve all been listened to. We’ve all apologised and, you know, loved each other better. “If anything else was going on, at all, I wouldn’t be here — if there was any sort of fragmentation, or odd things said. That’s the deal. We started off, at the beginning, going, ‘Lads, let’s try not to f*** each other off.’ And so far, so good.” Before Williams rejoined, all the talk was of when he would do so. Now, inevitably, it is of how long he’ll stick around. “Well,” he continues, “you’ve got to fill papers every day, and there’s the story, and I suppose that would be its natural progression. But, you know, we’ve got this whole tour in front of us, and there’s little much to think of after that. I’m being genuinely honest — I’m just enjoying this, then we’ve got the tour, then we’ll have a think about it.” He looks round at the others: “Is it as simple as that? Have you had a meeting without me?” “A couple,” Owen teases. “When we joined up,” Barlow adds, “it was to do a tour [the first, sans-Williams comeback shows, in 2006]. It wasn’t to sign a new record deal. It’s the same with the Rob thing. We’re just playing it by ear, really. Nobody’s really done this before, come back after all these years, been successful again. A member of the band who left 15 years ago has returned, and they’ve been successful again. I think some people wonder if it’s all some big plan, but it just isn’t at all.” Barlow and Williams were, of course, famously estranged following the latter’s messy dismissal from the band in 1995. As Williams’s star rose as a solo artist, his erstwhile friend’s sank without a trace; and that descent was made harder to swallow by Williams’s constant sniping. There is a moment today, during the Kidz run-through, as the two of them sprint down the thrust stage, that is worth a thousand words. For a split second, they exchange a look that could almost be love — or, more meaningful for both of them, relief. “You see how many bands can’t do this [reuniting after a falling-out], then still do it,” Williams says. “The when-hell-freezes-over sort of thing with the Eagles, etc, etc. Basically, we were all grown-ups about our own shit, and owned it. If you own your own shit, you can move on. And we all did. From me and [Gary] having a proper chat, to then, instantly, falling into each other’s arms and rolling about in my kitchen, laughing, was a moment in my life that I’ll never forget.” “And then,” Orange adds, “rolling into bed half an hour later.” The rest is lost to laughter. All five of them have, they say, had some serious adjusting to do: Barlow, Owen, Donald and Orange with each other when they came back together; Williams, watching from the sidelines, anxious for a piece of the rapprochement, but not knowing how to ask; then, as a quintet again, retracing their steps back to the beginning of the 1990s, when they were initially seen as a bit of an embarrassment, pumping out naff hi-NRG disco and playing the gay-club circuit. In those days, they lived in a flat on Fulham Road, in London. “We used to have fans singing outside,” Barlow recalls, “till all hours.” “And we were banned,” Williams adds, “from the Conrad, in Chelsea Harbour, because all the fans were pooing in the flowerbeds. They wouldn’t leave in case they missed us, so they shat in the beds.” “Wasn’t that bad for the flowers?” Owen asks. “Well,” says Barlow, “they have the Chelsea Flower Show now.” Donald is open about his unease concerning Williams’s return. “I thought you’d be so dominating of everything that was going on musically,” he says, turning to the singer, “because of all that success. I thought there wasn’t going to be a chance in hell.” But it is Orange who comes across as having wrestled the most with doubt and distrust — not just about Williams, but about the 2006 reunion, too. Intriguingly, it was Williams he called wh
BTW, Here is the Sunday Times interview with them from Today: WANT YOU BACK FOR GOOD With a Brit Award and a 2m-selling album under their belts, how do Take That really feel about Robbie’s return? It’s love In 2006, visiting a record-label office, I noticed one of the publicists sitting with a dejected look on his face and asked him what was up. “I’ve just,” he said, “been given Take That to do.” He wasn’t, he added, someone who disliked the band; he simply didn’t know quite what he could do with them. “Is anybody going to be interested after all these years?” he sighed. Five years on, now reunited with Robbie Williams, Take That are the biggest band in Britain. Last autumn’s Progress album has sold more than 2m copies in this country alone, and the band’s forthcoming tour, Progress Live, which includes a record-breaking eight shows at Wembley stadium, sold an astonishing 1.1m tickets in a single day. At the Brit Awards, 12 days ago, these achievements were recognised when the five-piece were crowned best British group, having opened the show with a performance of their new single, Kidz, surrounded by gyrating riot police. The day before, backstage after a dress rehearsal, the five men, who came together in 1990 as Britain’s boyband answer to New Kids on the Block, sit down to discuss their second comeback. You don’t really interview Take That; you sit in on a band meeting and hope to get a word in occasionally. It is apparent at once that the euphoria and devil-may-care attitude that inform Progress are undiminished: all five profess love for each other, undermine one another’s more verbose statements and talk about the relief they feel at being back, not just in the same room, but on amicable terms. Williams, in particular, has lost much of his old, chippy edge and submits to ridicule with ease. Gary Barlow, the notional leader of the group, is, surprisingly, the quietest, watchful rather than talkative. Mark Owen, who last year went into rehab, is painstakingly honest and the most obviously vulnerable. Howard Donald keeps his own counsel, save for the odd pearl of insight. And Jason Orange is prone to philosophical musings that present his bandmates with an open goal — at which they duly shoot. The real triumph, each of them says, is that they’re talking at all. That they can do so with anger or brutal honesty and still be friends is, they say, the key reward for all those years of early success, break-ups and verbal fisticuffs. “For me,” Williams says at one point, “it’s been as simple as, we need not f*** this up for each other. And we’ve all had our chats, and we’ve all been listened to. We’ve all apologised and, you know, loved each other better. “If anything else was going on, at all, I wouldn’t be here — if there was any sort of fragmentation, or odd things said. That’s the deal. We started off, at the beginning, going, ‘Lads, let’s try not to f*** each other off.’ And so far, so good.” Before Williams rejoined, all the talk was of when he would do so. Now, inevitably, it is of how long he’ll stick around. “Well,” he continues, “you’ve got to fill papers every day, and there’s the story, and I suppose that would be its natural progression. But, you know, we’ve got this whole tour in front of us, and there’s little much to think of after that. I’m being genuinely honest — I’m just enjoying this, then we’ve got the tour, then we’ll have a think about it.” He looks round at the others: “Is it as simple as that? Have you had a meeting without me?” “A couple,” Owen teases. “When we joined up,” Barlow adds, “it was to do a tour [the first, sans-Williams comeback shows, in 2006]. It wasn’t to sign a new record deal. It’s the same with the Rob thing. We’re just playing it by ear, really. Nobody’s really done this before, come back after all these years, been successful again. A member of the band who left 15 years ago has returned, and they’ve been successful again. I think some people wonder if it’s all some big plan, but it just isn’t at all.” Barlow and Williams were, of course, famously estranged following the latter’s messy dismissal from the band in 1995. As Williams’s star rose as a solo artist, his erstwhile friend’s sank without a trace; and that descent was made harder to swallow by Williams’s constant sniping. There is a moment today, during the Kidz run-through, as the two of them sprint down the thrust stage, that is worth a thousand words. For a split second, they exchange a look that could almost be love — or, more meaningful for both of them, relief. “You see how many bands can’t do this [reuniting after a falling-out], then still do it,” Williams says. “The when-hell-freezes-over sort of thing with the Eagles, etc, etc. Basically, we were all grown-ups about our own shit, and owned it. If you own your own shit, you can move on. And we all did. From me and [Gary] having a proper chat, to then, instantly, falling into each other’s arms and rolling about in my kitchen, laughing, was a moment in my life that I’ll never forget.” “And then,” Orange adds, “rolling into bed half an hour later.” The rest is lost to laughter. All five of them have, they say, had some serious adjusting to do: Barlow, Owen, Donald and Orange with each other when they came back together; Williams, watching from the sidelines, anxious for a piece of the rapprochement, but not knowing how to ask; then, as a quintet again, retracing their steps back to the beginning of the 1990s, when they were initially seen as a bit of an embarrassment, pumping out naff hi-NRG disco and playing the gay-club circuit. In those days, they lived in a flat on Fulham Road, in London. “We used to have fans singing outside,” Barlow recalls, “till all hours.” “And we were banned,” Williams adds, “from the Conrad, in Chelsea Harbour, because all the fans were pooing in the flowerbeds. They wouldn’t leave in case they missed us, so they shat in the beds.” “Wasn’t that bad for the flowers?” Owen asks. “Well,” says Barlow, “they have the Chelsea Flower Show now.” Donald is open about his unease concerning Williams’s return. “I thought you’d be so dominating of everything that was going on musically,” he says, turning to the singer, “because of all that success. I thought there wasn’t going to be a chance in hell.” But it is Orange who comes across as having wrestled the most with doubt and distrust — not just about Williams, but about the 2006 reunion, too. Intriguingly, it was Williams he called wh