| Radio Times Interview |
| Andrew Duncan's interview with Martin Kemp |
| Not all pop stars make the crossover to acting with the success that the former Spandau Ballet bass player with his elegant-rascal character in EastEnders. But, to cut a long story short, it's not all been plain sailing. Amazingly, in a world so full of pretension, he has managed to reinvent himself several times, although he's only 38 - child actor, heart-throb pop star with eighties group Spandau Ballet, acclaimed actor in The Krays, wannabe Hollywood superstar and now EastEnders' traditional "bounder we love", Steve Owen - while remaining full of simple charm. On top of that he has been idyllically married for 11 years to one of George Michael's former backing singers and, having nearly died from a brain tumor, is at peace with himself and the world. "You have to look forward," he says. He's even written an autobiography, True, named after the band's biggest hit, to be published in March. A bit young for that, surely? "It's packed with stories. I've lived a life that's full enough to talk about, one where people wonder what I'm like." I once traveled to Australia with him during Spandau's heyday, and he doesn't seem to have changed much - easygoing, matinee idol looks, upfront about things he won't discuss, a "normal" bloke with an abnormal life. Some think it might be a comedown to be caught up in a soap, but he has no time for such snobbery. "I grew out of worrying what people think years ago. I sussed out that if you do, you're the only one who misses out. I've never had a career path, or aimed at anything in particular. I take one job at a time and when this was offered I knew it would open up a new world I'd never placed myself in. That's what it's done, and I enjoy every minute. At times it's hard work, but you have to be realistic. You get very well paid, and the series provides some of the best television we produce in this country." He doesn't think he'll become typecast as the hard man who was accused of murdering his neurotic, bunny-boiling ex-girlfriend with an ashtray (yes, soaps are so true to life). "When you start in a soap you have a choice - is your character going to be a caricature or real? Grant Mitchell was a caricature at first, but he leveled out at the end. Steve Owen is a real person who can go anywhere, do anything. He's not just a nightclub owner, heavy and a bit dodgy, ruled by his fists like Grant. He's far cleverer, a people's person who gets on with everyone, whether it's in the launderette, caff or club. There's a lot of Steve in me. In any long-running drama you and the character cross paths. I love soaps, but I don't regard EastEnders as one. It's an ongoing drama. Coronation Street is a soap, far more caricatured. It's also funnier. A lot of the guys who play the parts come from a cabaret background. I know viewers say EastEnders is too gloomy, but that's not a criticism. It's real life and that's not always happy. But most of the time it's just ordinary gossip, and we all need that because it's lacking in our lives. People are too busy, going to work, coming home, and it's nice to watch someone else's life." A shy boy, he grew up in Islington, London, where his father was a painter. When he was six his mother took him and his brother Gary, two years older, to Anna Scher, who then ran acting classes on Tuesday and Thursday afternoon before opening her full-time school, which they also attended. "It was wonderful. Acting school puts you one step ahead of other kids by giving you confidence for whatever you do. I haven't been shy since I was ten." He was in various television shows - Jackanory, Rumple of the Bailey, The Glittering Prizes - but planned to follow his father into the printing trade and became a trainee compositor when he left school at 16. "It was a fabulous job, one of the best you could aim for." Gary, meanwhile, was forming his Spandau Ballet and asked Martin to join the following year as bass guitarist. "I was in it for the ride. At the time I'd have done anything to become famous, and the band was my vehicle. My heroes were Bruce Lee, Muhammad Ali and Marlon Brando, who were covered in this special thing call charisma. I wanted to be like them. I had no ambition to be in the Rolling Stones or become the best bass player in the world - in fact I was always terrible and should have been a lot better, considering the position I was in. But it was the best time of my life. We did that whole thing every kid dreams of - Lear jets, parties, playing to 100,000 people. It was about excess, and that was exciting. I don't want to discuss drink and drugs. If you talk about them in an interview it sounds larger than life and attractive to young kids, which is dangerous. We were five boys from Islington who had a laugh, but we knew the boundaries because we came from good backgrounds and our parents brought us up the right way. I never minded being second fiddle to Gary. We fought like crazy, but it was the pressure of touring. Brothers hit each other and next minute you forget it." The first six years were a bacchanalian delight, but then the excitement began to pall. He'd met Shirlie, who was then one half of Wham!'s backing singers, Pepsi and Shirlie, and wanted to settle down. "A manager would say, 'Hey, boys, here's a round-the-world ticket, go and have a good time.' It sounds great, but you've already been round the world ten times and don't want to go any more. You like a couple of places, but the rest is a pain in the neck. It was the same on stage. The first few minutes, when you walk on and the audience screams, is fantastic, and the initial volume of the first chord, the effect it has on your ears, the buzz, is incredible. After five minutes, though, it's just like everything else - tedious." They were lucky to survive their second album, Diamond, which he rightly describes as "one of the worst ever made. But don't harp on about it. Every band throughout history has one dodgy record and it brings a lot of them down. We made 30-odd fantastic albums which represented the eighties to a certain extent and became the soundtrack to people's lives." When the band broke up in 1990 he was relieved. "The time was right and 12 years inside a band is a lifetime. I just walked away. I couldn't even buy a CD or listen to the radio for four years. I'd had enough of being involved with music and didn't want any more of it. I have nothing left from those days. Mementos from the past scare me. My life has been built around moving on, and that's the way I am." |
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