If
I Was Watching Me On TV I Would Probably Think, 'He's A Little Bollix' – August
2006
LOUIS WALSH is the Truman Capote of his generation -
relentlessly observant, murderously witty and shamelessly catty. Often in thesame sentence . . .
The Mouth of Kiltimagh
persona isn't an act. Sometimes Louis can't help himself. His lacerating bon mots send irresistible signals to the regions of the brain
located somewhere between the comedy cortex and and
the cortex that controls cruelty.
"Daniel O'Donnell," he declares, "is
the greatest pile of shite." This is just the
start of a four-hour breathless bitchathon. "It
is nothing to do with him; he just cannot sing. He cannot dance. I saw him
doing a rock 'n' roll thing on TV and it was, unintentionally, the funniest
thing I've ever seen. He had a pink jacket on. He was dressed like Liberace. He
is very successful, but you don't have to be that talented to be successful. I
meet him all the time. He knows that I think he's crap. I call him
Danielle."
How would you change him if you managed him?
"I'd stop him singing. Or dancing. Especially thedancing," the original popbitch
barks.
He is not a fan of Bob Geldof
either. "I think the 45 people who went to see him in
Dazzlingly scandalous, Louis casually reveals
conversations that were possibly never meant for public consumption. However,
since he does so with a wit worthy of Dorothy Parker or Tallulah Bankhead, you have to adore him. When Louis said on
Celebrity X Factor that contestant Gillian McKeith
"looks like she was hit by a bus", he was merely saying what most of
us were thinking. (Gillian later told the Sun that Walsh needed "a
super-charged enema".) Likewise the notorious comment about rotund Green
Party TD Dan Boyle on Celebrity You're a Star . . .
"I couldn't understand the uproar when I said,
'Get rid of the fat one'," he smiles now. "I thought he would have
taken it in fun. It wasn't meant to be a personal thing. And the fat one took
it personally and threw a wobbler. Wobbly threw a wobbler! I was just trying to be funny and he had
absolutely no sense of humour. I think all politicians are the same. I don't
believe any of them. I don't trust any of them. Generally Irish politicians are
the oddest-looking shower of people I have ever seen."
Even Nicky Byrne from Westlife's
father-in-law?
"I think they are all awful," he reiterates.
"Absolutely no star quality, the lot of them."
Mr Star Quality, Louis Walsh is never boring. Up close
and personal, he isn't the passive-aggressive control freak you might have
expected. On the contrary, sometimes he can be rather fragile and gentle and
vulnerable, like the rest of us. He has certainly mellowed over the years, and
with it comes a more human side.
His identity has emerged slowly. And there is
something of the little boy who can't quite believe how successful he has
become by picking pop songs for his bands to turn into international hits for
him.
He isn't one for convoluted Jungian psychobabble or
cosmic hogwash, as a rule. But that is not to say Louis Walsh doesn't know his
inner self . . .
"I suppose we are all insecure in our own little
way," he says. "I'm kind of shy underneath it all, but people don't
know that. The real me is not the person in the papers. I'm not as insecure
now, because I have been so successful. I just think people didn't know me
years ago. It was probably a confidence thing with me," he adds, softly.
"I don't care any more what people think of me. I don't want to be Mr Nice
Guy, because being Mr Nice Guy is boring anyway."
I hate to be rude, Louis, but you are a nice guy.
We have a weekly late lunch in Expresso
Bar or the Four Seasons in
"Deep down, I am nice," he grimaces, like I
was personally administering a super-charged enema. "The people who really
know me know that I am, yeah. But sometimes I portray something else. If I was
watching me on TV I would probably think: 'He's a little bollix. Who does he
think he is?'"
Does your mother ever say to you to be nicer on TV?
"No. My mother doesn't care as long as I don't
slag Kiltimagh. She doesn't mind what I say."
Maureen Walsh at 75 is, he says, young at heart.
"She doesn't care as long as we're all happy and in good health," he
adds. "I am only one of her nine kids. She loves life."
Maureen Walsh wanted her eldest child Louis to join
the priesthood. The greatest pop manager in Irish history was an altar boy in Kiltimagh. He couldn't hack the early mornings (often mass
would start and he'd be running out of the house with Maureen roaring after
him) and the kneeling on the cold marble.
Clearly, the Irish priesthood's loss is popular
music's gain. "I am just a man," he claims, "who understands
pop." This is something of an understatement. He has had more number one
records than any Irish manager in popular history. He created bands like Boyzone, Westlife and Girls Aloud
and made them into global phenomena. He made Shayne Ward an international star.
His father Frank died 10 years ago. Louis shakes his
head when I ask him does he ever get sad that he wasn't around to see his son
become so successful. "No, my mother does," he answers.
"I don't think about things like that. I am not
really reflective. I just enjoy every day. Life is so short that I really think
you should enjoy it. I went through a lot of bad times with bands and I was
worried about money then," he adds.
"I don't need a lot of money now because I don't
drink, I don't smoke and I don't take drugs. I have never taken drugs in my
life."
A firm believer in loyalty, Louis went to support his
old friend (and co-manager of Boyzone) John Reynolds
at his Midlands Festival recently in Co Meath. He delighted in how well Shane
Lynch did on the recent Love Island reality show. He keeps in regular contact
with Brian McFadden.
He hasn't lost touch with the ex-Westlife
star, nor with himself. Louis has the emotional intelligence to admit that he
is more proud of his friendship with Joan Rivers than of any other celebrity
contacts he has. He laughs. "She is 73 and she is brilliant. She is a
great woman and a very nice woman off camera and off stage. She is a one-off."
You could say the same about Louis Walsh. The shy kid
from the country has made himself a superstar. He is arguably the first Irish
band manager to cultivate celebrity status internationally. His reputation has
even secured him his own song - Louis Walsh by Irish band the Revs.
He has been making hay while the sun shines. "I
put the money in the bank and I buy property because I know this is not going
to last forever," he says. He also spends his hard-earned dosh on his art and photography (Donald Teskey
and Herb Ritts) collection. He admits, modestly, to
not knowing that much about art. Yet he can talk freely and eloquently about it
for hours. "I like Andy Warhol," he says. He had a purple Mao and a
red Jagger delivered to his apartment in the Yoo Building in London the day I met him.
"There are Irish art collectors who have millions
and millions of pounds' worth of art," Louis adds. "I have a very
small collection. It is what I like. I don't buy for money or for
investment." Ask his opinion on Irish art, however, and, inevitably, he
doesn't disappoint . . .
"Graham Knuttel is
good," he begins. "I think he is like the Stock Aitken
& Waterman of the Irish art business: quick, fast, get them out. He is not
Louis le Brocquy or [Tony] O'Malley, who are the Neil
Young or the Van Morrison of Irish art. I think Guggi
is good but I just don't want to spend my life looking at bowls on the
wall."
There are loads of new Irish artists who just need a
break and need a new gallery behind them, he continues, adding that the Taylor
Gallery is fantastic in Dublin because it nurtures the artists. He has no
intention of managing Irish artists. "I know nothing about it," he
laughs. "It would be like an art gallery trying to manage a boy
band."
His incomparable success at the latter has meant that
he has been able to buy substantial investment properties around the world.
Louis has homes in Dublin, London and Miami. He is a regular visitor to his
bolthole in the States.
What has Miami got that Kiltimagh
hasn't? "Sunshine. I'm anonymous there. I can do anything I want. I can
walk down the beach."
So are you lying out on the beach lathered in Factor
50?
"I don't do beaches," he laughs. "I
just sit in the shade." His milk-white complexion corroborates this
statement. "I just like the vibe in Miami. I love looking out at the
ocean. I don't know why. I'd hate to live in Kiltimagh.
All they do down there is drink and watch GAA and
talk about politics."
Has big money changed you?
"I do it for the fun and because I love it,"
he answers without blinking. "I don't do it for the money. Money hasn't
changed me at all. I am coming to this restaurant for the last 20 years,"
he says, looking around Expresso in St Mary's Road, Ballsbridge.
"I used to come here with Johnny Logan when it
was Cora's. I do the same things and I have the same friends for years. You
know that. What else! What else! Ask me anything you want to ask me."
What age did you lose your virginity at?
"I don't know. I'd say early 20s. I forget."
Ah, c'mon.
"I am not telling you. I forget!" Was it
that memorable?
"I forget!"
Unforgettably, Louis gained additional renown by
making up the odd story or two about his bands to keep them in the papers:
sensational falsehoods like Westlife in near-fatal
plane crashes and Stephen Gately getting engaged to
Baby Spice Emma Bunton.
That fecker Walsh knows
nothing and he thinks he knows everything, say his enemies, but in reality he
is actually a thoroughly likeable and charming culchie
with a pop brain bigger than most record companies put together.
He has the status of grand fromage
but without the cheesiness of limo-riding and private jet-hopping
self-importance that comes with it. He never acts like a big-shot designer-clad
asshole. He never even dresses like one. Louis Walsh is the least narcissistic
multimillionaire you could meet.
"I don't have any look," he laughs. "My
image is having no image. I don't want or need a stylist. I am not trying to be
anybody else."
He has the attention span of a lightning bolt. His
Blackberry bleeps with text messages, and stars like Tara Palmer-Tomkinson ringing 24/7. The X Factor with Simon Cowell and Sharon Osbourne just
started again.
"There were always talent shows, like Opportunity
Knocks," he muses. "I watched it as a kid and I knew it was rigged. I
had a band Chips on it." The X Factor was watched by 8.5 million viewers
last weekend and the English papers can't get enough of Walsh.
As he pushes a salad around his plate (The X Factor
bosses want him, he says, to lose some weight) he fields calls like a seasoned
polymath/media whore. He is almost Swiftian in his
satirical wit.
He laughs, saying that his former You're a Star co-judgeLinda Martin thinks the Arctic Monkeys "are up in
the zoo and they're freezing. And she is worried about them."
Despite the fact that his fortunes have soared and his
stock has never been higher, perhaps typically, Louis has not forgotten the
hard times. Those dark moments in the past when record companies wouldn't take
his calls and nobody seemed particularly bothered with his acts.
"I had showbands who
played to nobody," he recalls. "I remember I had Johnny Logan and he
had just won the Eurovision," he says, referring to Logan winning the 25th
Eurovision Song Contest, in 1980, in front of 500 million TV viewers. "And
he wasn't playing to big crowds around the country - I just couldn't understand
it. I thought he was absolutely great at thetime. I
think Joe Dolan was our first Irish pop star ever, and one of the greatest."
What do you sing in the shower?
"I don't do showers. I sing in the bath in the
evening. Suds up to here!" the king of pop froth demonstrates. "I
usually put on my favourite album, Ziggy Stardust by
Bowie, and relax."
Louis is a pop tart with the golden touch. He knows
what makes a star and what will sell. And record companies will sign up a
homeless cat to a five-album deal if Louis Walsh said the moggy
could sing. But enough about Nadine. He knows his pop, obviously, and is a font
of all knowledge when it comes to music. He adores Lou Reed, David Bowie, Van
Morrison, Marianne Faithfull, Connie Francis and
Frank Sinatra.
He acknowledges that the best boy band ever were the
Beatles. He muses on how pop history could have been changed had he managed the
Fab Four.
"Well I tell you, I wouldn't have commited suicide," he says, referring to Brian
Epstein, who died of a drug overdose on August 27, 1967. I would be still out
there hanging out with them. I'd still be alive. Abbey Road was one of my favourite
albums. You cannot stop creative people being what they are. I like outspoken
people."
Was Kerry Katona the Yoko
Ono influence of Westlife?
"No. I just think Kerry and Brian were too young
to get married. They wouldn't listen to anybody. They wouldn't listen to me.
They shouldn't have got married." There is a pause and then a knowing
wink. " . . . to each other". He laughs. "But who am I to tell
them? Brian is really happy. We are best friends. We are probably closer and
more honest than we ever were. I don't know any band that gets on as well as me
and Westlife and Brian."
His friend, producer Bill Hughes, once said of Louis:
"He hates earnestness. He hates the tortured artist syndrome. He hates
anything that smacks of negativity or obession with credibility."
"Robbie Williams is someone who is craving
credibility," Louis says - and it's worth pointing out that our interview
took place before Williams told The Sun that he reckoned Louis wanted to sleep
with him; comments, Walsh told me over the phone, that the pop impresario is
just laughing off. "I know exactly who Robbie is. He is a good showman but
he is not overly talented." I recall being with Louis in 2002 late one
night in a hotel foyer in London when an agitated Robbie Williams came over intent
on a row with Mr Walsh. "I know what he is about. He has not got great
talent. He has got great songwriters and great people around him. He is just
part of that whole machine. Whereas George Michael or Elton John are genuinely
real, real talent. George Michael is probably smoking too much dope. He is a
bit lazy and a bit insecure but he is a major talent. That's why his tour sold
out."
How would you explain yourself to a Martian?
"I'm not this person who puts bands together to
make money," Louis says. "I don't do it for money. We're doing a
movie now, for example. Me and Simon [Cowell] and
some people not a million miles from your paper. And while the money will
potentially be bigger than anything I've done to date, I'm just loving the buzz
of doing it and putting it together."
"I like to find someone with talent who I can
sell," he continues. "And they're happy doing it and I'm happy doing
it. It's very hard to get people with talent who work hard and keep their feet
on the ground. There's so much bullshit in the whole music and entertainment
business."
And it is the people "around the artists who
change them - the stylists and the tour manager and the businesses. Then they
all want to be credible."
Shedloads of money and gargantuan success haven't blunted his ambition. "I
do want to do one more boy band by the way," he admits. "And I'm
going to do it next year. It will be five boys. That's allI
know."
Does that mean you are making the funeral arrangements
for Westlife? "Oh no. Westlife
have crossed over. Their audience is not young kids any more. Westlife can go on as long as they want because their
audience are mammies and daddies now.
"Westlife are like the
Bee Gees," he says. "And they are happier as a four-piece, even
though I am still really good friends with Brian McFadden. Honestly! Honestly!
Honestly!" he roars like his mum getting him up for altar boy duties at
mass.
"There is absolutely no bullshit there. Westlife are even doing a duet with Delta," he says
referring to Brian's chanteuse girlfriend Delta Goodrem.
His trusty Blackberry whirrs again. It is Simon Cowell. And then Rebecca Loos. And then Shane Filan from Westlife. Louis blows
the froth off yet another cappuccino and looks out the window of this famously
trendy Dublin cafe.
He has not forgotten his youth in Kiltimagh.
Nor, I suspect, will he ever. He recalls reading about the Rolling Stones and
the Beatles, Dusty Springfield and the Beach Boys and, he says, "wanting
to be involved. I wanted a taste of it. That's what drove me and excited me
when I was young: pop music".
It is still exciting him all these years later. What
age are you?
"I'm whatever age you want me to be!" he
whoops. "Say I'm 50 if you want."
Fifty going on 15, popbitch
Louis Walsh will regale you with how the local newsagent in Kiltimagh
would order a single copy of New Musical Express specially from London for him
when he was 13. And how on Saturdays, Louis and his li'l
sister Evelyn would take the magic bus to buy the new releases from the Beach
Boys or Abba.
He also remembers being a boarder at St Nathy's College in Co Roscommon, as like being in prison.
He was equally unenthusiastic about following his father Frank into working in
a bakery and on their farm. "I hated all that. My father was a farmer and
he worked at the bakery. I just wanted to get out of there."
How would you have felt if you had ended up working in
the bakery in Kiltimagh? "I believe anybody can
do anything they want," he smiles, "at a price. You have to give up
your personal life sometimes. But anybody can do anything they want if they
really try."
Barry Egan
Credit/Source: www.unison.ie