BILLY CHILDISH - AN INDIFFERENT ICON
Feted by rock stars but only occasionally recognised in his hometown; creative force Billy Childish has reached a level of fame somewhere between complete unknown and international cult hero. Not that he seems to care, writes George Nott
IMAGES: Raw Journey Paris
A hundred feet tall and cast in solid gold. That's the brief for the statue Billy Childish is planning to erect of himself.
“It’s going to be a costly number,” he tells me in the cellar of a Rochester café, fresh from a frantic game of backgammon with a friend upstairs.
The pose of this monument: “Something very heroic”.
Twisting one side of his moustache up into a point, then stroking it down, he ponders the possibility of an adjoining theme park. Childish World.
“I’d imagine a sort of really bad fair. Some very cheap knickknacks. Anything that degrades the memory is what we’re looking for. A tea towel possibly but probably nothing as high grade as that. A lollipop with my face on,” he says.
He’s playing, of course. The 60-year-old is not one to court adoration. When a mural of his face was painted on a wall over the road from his Seaplane Works café a few years ago he found it “a bit weird”. Worse still, some people thought he was the artist: “It’s nice to think people would think I’m that egotistic. I’m too vain to let on how egotistical I am,” he says with a grin.
Whether he likes it or not, Childish is cult hero, local legend and national treasure.
“I think the nation would be unaware of the treasure they’ve got. Maybe when the statue goes up they’ll realise what a treasure I am,” he says.
Some know him best as a musician, although he wouldn’t call himself one. He’s released more than a hundred albums – primarily of blistering garage rock but covering country, rock n roll, folk, even calypso – both as himself and with countless bands including The Pop Rivets, Thee Milkshakes, Thee Headcoats, The Buff Medway, Musicians of the British Empire and CTMF.
He’s making “two or three” more albums currently. One is of Bob Dylan-inspired songs and covers – “it’s not that I like Bob Dylan, I’m Bob-curious” he says. Another will be something else entirely. “I’ve wanted to make a few records where people say ‘he was alright up until then’ or ‘it’s quite interesting, better than all that old rubbish’. I want to get split decision on how useless I’ve got and how I’ve come to my senses,” he says.
Childish has earned “seriously, seriously little” from music. He recalls mistakenly being sent a statement meant for Nick Cave “for one record for one quarter which was more money than I’ve ever made on all of my recording output in 40 years”.
He measures the success of his many bands differently: “We are successful because we’re doing what we want to do the way we want to do it”.
IMAGES: Raw Journey Paris
Despite being namechecked over the years by Kurt Cobain, Jack White, The Libertines, Beck and even Kylie Minogue, Childish has steered clear of the rock star set.
“Pop stars - they’re very tiring. I usually antagonise them when they’re fans of mine because I don’t stroke them in a way they require to be stroked,” he says.
Nor are other artists his kind of people, he claims, brushing his moustache with his fingers so it fans out on both sides. Having produced even more paintings than records he has now reached “the lower end of the top end” of the art world, where he paints under the name William Hamper.
That’s come despite rejection of the “tribal” inner circles of art and literature – Childish has written scores of books and poetry collections - where “we’re meant to all hang out and say how good we are”. He nevertheless got his break about ten years ago, thanks to some old friends ending up in positions of power.
“I’m super lucky. I was told I’d never get one – I’d pissed off too many people,” Childish says.
He can have that effect sometimes. “Anything that you can’t undermine isn’t worth having. Any person who doesn’t have humour and mind being dragged down, is a pain in the arse,” he explains.
His output in every field in which he works, is prolific, something not always appreciated in a world where “scarcity of product is value of product” or put another way “all fucking nonsense”. It’s simply “what I’m like” he says.
Despite being feted for most things he turns his hands to, he wouldn’t even go so far as to call himself an artist, or musician, or writer and especially not the media’s favoured term ‘renaissance man’.
“It’s only artists, poets and musician that identify themselves for what they do. Which is next to insanity. Take someone as they are,” he urges.
“Anything that you can’t undermine isn’t worth having. Any person who doesn’t have humour and mind being dragged down, is a pain in the arse”
One label he would probably permit himself is style icon.
“I’m way too bothered about aesthetic. Everything I look at in the world I judge. And it’s very tiring for me and other people,” he says with a cackle.
The fact his signature look – the ‘tache, the short back and sides, the hats, the vintage gear – has gone mainstream is something of “an irritation” to the proto-hipster. Dressing as he does – today in fleece Cossack hat, spotted blue neckerchief, knitted jumper and wide-legged denim jeans – wasn’t always so unremarkable.
“For years I was the only person who wore hats,” he says. “I’d get trouble for that. And then I got a lot of insults for having a moustache for years and years.”
Not conforming, fashion-wise, was a bolder decision once. Especially in this part of Kent.
“If you saw someone who looked like they were cool and into the right thing – they were because they wouldn’t risk having their head kicked in for pretending to dress like that,” he says.
“I was never in fashion. I used to get in a lot of trouble in school for not being in step with anybody and I never, ever followed any fashion…I was always out of kilter, out of step. Now rather than people shouting abuse at me you get people saying ‘cool’,” he says.
The café above is heaving with Childish-alikes.
“I’ve got to take the blame for that,” Childish says. “They all get it wrong as well. Skinny jeans and bleeding god knows what. Bloody shower of shite.”
The rise of the hipster almost drove him to do the unthinkable.
“Me and the wife did consider going to Primark because we couldn’t stand being associated with that ilk,” he says. Thankfully, ethics kicked in. “I always say my clothes are made by underpaid adults in the UK rather than underage children in the far east,” he jokes.
It’s easy to assume, given his style – be it clothing, music or art - that Childish would be against anything too modern. It’s a common misconception, says the man who claims to be “one of the first people to have a computer”.
He owned televisions “for a little while in the ’80s” but would “have arguments with them”. He watches iPlayer. He has some tracksuit pants, although made to 1930s specifications on a vintage loom. He has a mobile phone but doesn’t turn it on unless he wants to call someone. It’s more a “phone booth in my pocket”.
“There’s no real ideology about that stuff, but who is running who? Something that has a use to it I can put up with,” he says.
Childish finishes his bowl of soup with a gulp. Thoughts return to the gold statue.
“I’ve never really strived for anything. It’s not in my nature. I’m not going to convince anybody to build this statue. I realise that. It’s not going to happen,” he says.
“Stay at home and have a cup of tea. Everything’s fine by me.”
