John Otway: Cult figure does somersault to fame

It’s a place where the filthy rich rub shoulders with the beautiful people — a heady spring cocktail of style, sophistication and superlative cinematography.

Inhabiting this riot of red carpets, velvet ropes and swanky yachts will be scores of household names — the actors, directors and Riviera revellers who make this annual celebration of the jetset lifestyle the only place to be seen in May. Oh, and a slightly balding former punk-rocker armed with an electric guitar, a stepladder and two hit records.

A constant presence on the live music scene, self-styled two-hit wonder Otway has moved into the world of movies. And, as with everything he does, he is pushing it as far as he can.

To celebrate his 60th birthday last year, the musician, who had a Number 27 hit with Really Free in 1977 and a Number 9 hit 25 years later with Bunsen Burner, had a documentary made of his life, and booked the Odeon Leicester Square for its sell-out debut. To the delight of his many fans, he filmed the final scenes of the movie earlier the same day — showing the audience arriving on the red carpet, and listing them in the credits.

And now they will be on screen in Cannes. “I called the film Otway the Movie: Rock and Roll’s Greatest Failure,” he laughs. “When I had my first hit in 1977, I took out a pension fund, and when I was 60 it came to fruition so I used the money to pay for a huge poster that hung on the front of the Odeon in Leicester Square.

“My main campaign is the Oscars and BAFTAs, and 100 of us are going to Cannes to launch it on the international arena. It’s a great opportunity to have a banquet beside the Med, go to a pub gig and watch the movie.”

The master of the grand gesture, the always upbeat Otway rarely takes anything too seriously. It’s a trait which has endeared him to his fans, who view him as a cult hero. But it has got him into trouble. He has lost tens of thousands of pounds in over- ambitious stunts. And his trademark head dives and somersaults — many from his trademark stepladder, have resulted in injury. But no one is happier to celebrate his own failures than this most iconic of anti-heroes.

A native of Aylesbury, Otway believed his fate as a musician had been mapped out for him when, on a visit to a fortune teller, he was told he was destined to be a star. She told him he would be famous along with a blond musician. Believing every word, he set about finding one, eventually teaming up with fair-haired Buckinghamshire alternative-rocker Wild Willy Barrett.

His career, however, began in Oxford, where he had a residency at the former Oranges and Lemons pub (now the Angel and Greyhound) in St Clement’s. “It started in Oxford in 1976 and ’77,” he says. “The Beatles had the Star Club in Hamburg, and we had Oranges and Lemons, where we learned our craft.”

Indeed he credits this newspaper’s arts editor, Christopher Gray, as a formative influence. “I have to thank him for my career,” he laughs. “He was a huge supporter and gave me a great deal of help.”

Along with his two hits came a succession of flops. But while commercial success eluded him, his fanbase remained loyal fuelled by his raucous, and frequently dangerous stage shows. Indeed, an offer to play for cash in fans’ front rooms failed to take off — perhaps because even his devotees had little appetite to see their homes damaged by his antics.

“I have been hurt,” he confesses. “Once, at Camden Palace, I dived head first from a 12ft-high PA column and rolled on to my back. I lost all the feeling from my neck down for what felt like a lifetime, but the audience went bananas.

“One half of my brain was going ‘what a stupid thing to do’ and the other half was thinking ‘that was pretty neat!’.”

Yet the fans remained loyal. In 1998, 4,000 packed the Royal Albert Hall for a show which featured Otway’s first musical outlet, the Aylesbury Youth Orchestra. And when, on his 50th birthday, he set out to shake off the mantle of ‘one hit wonder’ by getting another single into the charts, they didn’t let him down. They bought multiple copies of Bunsen Burner — a song inspired by his daughter’s chemistry homework, and featuring samples from The Trammps’ classic Disco Inferno. The fact that 900 of them also featured on backing vocals may have also helped.

“I had got to the point where things were never going to happen,” he recalls. “But then the winds of opportunity blew in. I have taken my fans with me on this adventure so asked them if they fancied the big one: to get back in the charts.”

But he sticks to his description of himself as Rock’s Greatest Failure.

“There have been a lot of disasters,” he says. “For a start, there was my world tour. I tried to charter a 300-seat Airbus A340 to fly me and 300 fans around the world for shows at places like the Sydney Opera House and Carnegie Hall.”

It was an ambitious scheme — and many fans signed up, paying £5,000 for the two-week trip. Finding himself 30 people short, however, he had to cancel it under orders from the Civil Aviation Authority. After refunding the fans, he found himself £150,000 down. “Then there was my 1977 record Geneva, a big orchestral ballad dedicated to a girl who didn’t like me. I think she heard the big orchestra and wasn’t impressed.”

On Monday, Otway returns to Oxford for a show at The Bullingdon, in Cowley Road. And more self-destructive fun can be expected. “I have always been very theatrical,” he says. “People ask if it has harmed me, but I think it’s the opposite; it has kept me fit. There are not many people of my age who can do a somersault with a guitar and land on their feet, and not many others have kept going, playing 150 gigs a year for 40 years. But if you can get people to come and see you, you have always got a job. That’s why I have never had a sensible career.”

• John Otway
• The Bullingdon, Oxford
• Tonight (Monday)
• Tickets from wegottickets.com