As voices go, it’s a good one to listen to.
ON HOLIDAY WITH SIMON COWELL
I’M SAT DEEP IN THE stalls of the London Palladium theatre, watching four glamorously dressed people on stage argue with each other. Above them hangs a huge backlit Union Jack resplendent with the words ‘Britain’s Got Talent’. And beneath it sits the man who has most definitively proved that assertion to be true: Simon Cowell.
After the judges finish play-fighting and filming wraps for the day, I’m brought backstage to meet the main man. He’s sat in the centre of the room, surrounded by a bustle of black-clad assistants, cameramen and producers: the calm eye in the middle of his own media storm.
I know his reputation for cutting to the chase, to put it politely. I also know from his media director that he’s twelve hours into a twenty-hour day, so I am a little apprehensive, expecting a terse, short conversation. But the exact opposite ensues and, embarrassingly for a forty-three-year-old straight man such as myself, over the hour we spend talking I fall hopelessly and completely in love with Simon Cowell.
It starts with Simon sitting me down and making sure I am comfortable. He then offers me a cup of his homemade fresh ginger tea, but it turns out to be so fiery I start to cough and my eyes water uncontrollably. Simon is concerned and makes sure I am OK. Then, once he is happy I’ve recovered, spends the next ten minutes enquiring about me, my business, my story. He speaks softly, probes gently, listens intently. He invests more time just asking about me than the time we’ve been allocated to talk.
Eventually he allows me to move the topic of the conversation from me to him. His manner is so warm and kind and charming, and his voice so soothing, I totally relax. A lovely feeling washes over me, like being on a sunny holiday. He uses my name a lot and drops in the odd compliment. I get the impression he really likes me. I start to think we might become good friends. Maybe we’ll even go on holiday together.
I catch myself. This is ridiculous. I’m a grown man behaving like a teenager. I need to concentrate. I push my man crush and daydreams to one side and tune back in to what he’s saying. He’s certainly someone worth listening to: a rich and fertile source of practical wisdom and insight, anecdotes and stories. I say his team strike me as exceptional in their commitment and professionalism, and he explains how he learnt to get the best from people. ‘Well, Richard, my dad told me there’s an invisible sign on everyone’s head which says make me feel important. Remember that and you’ll be fine.’
He’s charmingly, self-deprecatingly candid about where his ideas come from, which makes me like him even more. ‘So, Richard, I’m in my kitchen one night, cooking dinner and watching some boring programme, saying to myself, “I’d rather watch a dancing dog than this,” and then a few seconds later I think, “Actually, I really would rather be watching a dancing dog than this.” And that’s where the idea for BGT came from.’
I can see his assistants hovering, but I don’t want my time in the sun to end, so I play for time and keep on asking questions. Given his dominance in the music industry, what’s his advice for aspiring artists trying to make it? ‘More than anything else, you’ve got to have a great song. Do small gigs. Listen to the crowd’s reaction, find out what works.’ And how does one cope with all the inevitable rejections? ‘Listen to the feedback, you may learn from it. But if the people saying “No” are more stupid than you, don’t get discouraged.’ What if someone finds themself auditioning or pitching to Simon Cowell? ‘If you get a “Yes”, then shut up. There are times I’ve said yes and the artist starts with “I knew it, we’re going to do amazing things together” and the more they talk the more I’m thinking, “I’m really going off you”. The better ones just say “Good, call my lawyer” and leave. That confidence has me reaching for my lawyer within ten seconds.’
I would keep going all night if I could, but I know that sadly all holidays come to an end. And with local versions of his shows running in more than 180 countries, Simon has a long night ahead of him, with many questions to be answered, many auditions to watch, many people to make feel important.
So I finish by asking for his number-one piece of advice.
‘My best advice is listen, listen rather than talk. I was never bright in school, but I was a very good listener, and I still am. I have a better life because of it. When I meet people, I’m curious about their story, about how they did what they did. Along the way you meet people smarter than you and they teach you what you don’t already know. So I listen to them, take away my little titbits, and off I go …’
And with that, a final wave and a ‘lots of love’, he’s whisked off by his ever-faithful team. Unfortunately my holiday romance with the talented Mr Cowell is over. I wonder if he’ll write.
‘IF YOU GET A “YES”, THEN SHUT UP. THERE ARE TIMES I’VE SAID YES AND THE ARTIST STARTS WITH “I KNEW IT, WE’RE GOING TO DO AMAZING THINGS TOGETHER” AND THE MORE THEY TALK THE MORE I’M THINKING, “I’M REALLY GOING OFF YOU”.’
– Simon Cowell
SHAMI CHAKRABARTI: ALL TOGETHER NOW
I AM HAVING COFFEE WITH ‘THE most dangerous woman in Britain’, according to The Sun newspaper. Shami Chakrabarti, former director of Liberty (the human rights lobbying organisation), was given that illustrious title after 9/11 due to her high-profile work in defending civil liberties, or, as The Sun saw it, cosying up to terrorists and criminals.
It was a title Shami was happy to accept. ‘It was like an honour, better than a CBE from the Queen.’ In a brilliant twist of fate, a few years later Shami found herself helping the journalist who had written the piece. He had been sacked from a radio show for describing a Tory councillor as a ‘Nazi’ for preventing smokers from being foster parents and his defence was his right to freedom of speech under the Human Rights Act, an act he had so wilfully attacked in the past. But as a protector of everyone’s human rights, Shami was there to support him too. It was a situation that illustrated a contradiction that Shami knows only too well. ‘We all like having our own human rights, it’s just other people’s we have a problem with.’
Unfortunately for Shami, being branded ‘dangerous’ was the least she had to deal with in her job: constant racist, misogynistic and personal slurs also came with the territory. But she’s not complaining: ‘Elsewhere in the world human rights campaigners get physically attacked or worse, so if I have to deal with someone saying nasty things about me in the newspaper or social media then bring it on.’
The reason why she experienced so much hate was partly the context she was working within. Shami’s time at Liberty was shaped by the 9/11 terror attacks and the world’s response to them. ‘I started at Liberty on the tenth of September. On that first day, I was told to blue-sky think about what our priorities could be. Then the next day happened, so no more blue skies.’ Her role required her to defend very publicly the basic principles of human rights when the world suddenly wanted to ignore them. ‘The country did really bad things, not just for human rights, but for our own security: extraordinary renditions, indefinite detention without trial. So I had to say things nobody else wanted to say, and a lot of people didn’t want to hear them.’ The scorn of members of the Establishment and the Fourth Estate followed.
She never shirked once, no matter how unpopular her campaigning
