Petula Clark: "Elvis wanted a threesome - he really wanted to go" (2023)

PEtula Clark doesn't like to look back. She doesn't celebrate birthdays - she hates nostalgia. Spending several hours in a studio listening to her first records — like she was recently coerced into for a compilation of songs from her seven-decade career — was "a kind of torture," she says. She fakes a moan, eyes rolling under her spider lashes.

Clark is among the best-selling British artists of all time, with one of the highest charting performances of any artist in history. She has been on Desert Island Discs three times: in 1951 (when she was just 18); 1982; and 1995. She debuted as a child artist just before her tenth birthday in 1942; in October, a month before her 87th birthday, she returns to the West End as the bird lady in Mary Poppins.

She rose to fame in 1964 with Downtown, the hit that earned The Beatles a Grammy and earned her the title of First Lady of the British Invasion. It was #1 in the US – “There was no escaping it. It cut absolutely everything” — and Clark was quickly sucked into the upper echelons of American show business.

She has worked with Fred Astaire, Dean Martin, Bobby Darin and the Muppets. Steve McQueen, the King of Cool, told her he made love to her at a restaurant. Meeting celebrities was exciting, she says, but "the really great people" stood out — Quincy Jones was "wonderful," and she and Harry Belafonte "adored each other." "I think he kind of liked me," she adds, a little shyly.

They accidentally caused a media firestorm in 1968 when Clark took Belafonte's arm during a duet for his hour-long NBC special; A Plymouth Motors advertising executive criticized a white woman and black man who were acting on television. Belafonte, a prominent civil rights activist, was aware of the potential consequences, but Clark was "an innocent man," she says. "I stumbled on this ... I never had anything to do with politics."

Clark, her husband Claude Wolff and their attorney ordered NBC to delete the other shots so that only one would touch them, Belafonte branded her in her autobiography as a malicious co-conspirator to "get the bastard." But Clark now insists it was an artistic decision, not a political one. "I didn't like the idea of ​​a sponsor telling me how to make a song... It had nothing to do with racism.

"That was the best shot. This is how music should be made – with this feeling, this emotion. When it became this whole running thing - it sounds silly, but I didn't quite get what the point was.

His career decisions were made by other people; Clark says it's "probably true" that she would have benefited from more involvement. When she was performing in Montreal in 1969, she was questioned because she had sung in both English and French — she hadn't been warned that a separatist movement was afoot. Distraught, Clark sought advice from John Lennon, who was in Montreal to sleep with Yoko Ono. She recalls appearing at the door of her hotel suite in the pouring rain, whimpering.

Lennon received her warmly. "They were both still in their nightgowns. I sat there dripping water on their bed and told them the story. He said, 'Oh fuck it'. I said, 'Thanks, John.'" Lennon is happy to play therapist, she says. “He was so funny and very philosophical. We spoke about the situation. Was it really important? 'This too shall pass'. Something like that. Then he said, "Tell you what - you need a drink." Which was true enough.

There was a crowd in the next room, including Allen Ginsberg, Timothy Leary and one of the Smothers Brothers - "but no drugs," she adds firmly. Someone gave her a sheet of lyrics and she joined the group, singing "a simple little tune: 'All we're saying is give peace a chance.' I don't think any of us knew we were recording became."

Clark was a pop artist, never part of the counterculture. “I was nervous quite often. There used to be some parties in LA where you just walked in and hey, you were high from the moment you took a breath. She had no interest in drugs and felt "a certain responsibility" to her family. “I've played a bit – it never impressed me. And I saw a lot of the damage it was doing.

(Video) Petula Clark sings from her new album and talks Elvis and Lennon - BBC Newsnight

One of Clark's close friends was Karen Carpenter, whom he met in Los Angeles in 1969 at the Los Angeles premiere of Goodbye, Mr. Chips, in which Clark starred opposite Peter O'Toole. The then unsigned Carpenters performed at the after party. Impressed, Clark introduced himself and referred her to Herb Alpert, who signed her to A&M. She didn't see Karen very often, but "we had this connection, so whenever we saw each other we were close."

When Clark and Carpenter - then the two "best girls" in pop - met Elvis Presley in his dressing room after a show, she says he wanted a threesome. "He was looking forward to going. Karen was adorable but somehow innocent. I felt kind of responsible for her, so I took her with me. So I looked around and Elvis was at the door and he looked at me like, 'I'll get you one day.'” But he never did, she says straight into my dictaphone. "Some think so. I think he spread the rumor that he did. But he did not do it.

No regret? "I didn't find him that attractive," she says, seemingly unconcerned. But when I ask what era Elvis was in, she jumps at the implication. "Oh, that was when he was at his best! But he was almost too much.

After Carpenter died of complications from anorexia in 1983, Clark paid tribute to his "dear friend" and her "strange and tragic end" at the Royal Albert Hall. "It was terrible," she says today. "I remember when I first met her I saw the different stages of this thing, I could feel something was going on. She got into this Beverly Hills thing because she was skinny.

Clark worked in the studio with Richard Carpenter after his sister's death. "I think he was still trying to find someone to replace her - he never will. But he was a tough disciplinarian.” She hisses, rolling her eyes. "I think that was probably the secret. Not very funny, no — but very, very smart.” Clark says he's only had one “nightmare session” with one producer: Bob Crewe. "He just wanted me to sound different."

The music industry has come under scrutiny for sexual harassment and abuse - does it ever feel vulnerable, especially as a young girl? She examines the question carefully. women have changed; so does the world. "Of course I found all those things." She pauses for a long time. "I don't want to get into that," she says quietly, almost to herself. Then she picks up her train of thought again. "It's right for women to come out and say what needs to be said. It's still a male-controlled world. I think the world would be very different if more women were in power.”

Clark was first spotted at the age of nine on It's All Yours, a BBC program that sent children's messages to the troops. When rehearsal was interrupted by an air raid, Clark volunteered to sing to calm the nervous audience. She found herself on stage, climbing a crate to reach a big, old-fashioned microphone—the first she'd ever sung on, in front of the first orchestra she'd ever seen. “I sang and the orchestra played along – like in a movie. That was really the beginning.”

Referred to as "Britain's Shirley Temple" and "The Singing Sweetheart", Clark recorded hundreds of songs for the armed forces and toured Britain by train. She remembers sleeping in the trunk next to Julie Andrews, three years her senior. "Now she could really sing," says Clark. “We got off the train, did our little things, came back and went home. It was fun – and not many kids enjoyed it.”

Vera Lynn was the "sweetheart of the armed forces" and Clark was their "little girl" representing the children they left behind. She was a good luck charm for the troops, her picture was emblazoned on tanks. "I was cute and had a cute little voice - that was really all they asked of me." But his education suffered; When she started school, she was bullied because she was famous.

At the age of 12, Clark was signed as an actress by the Rank Organization, Britain's largest film production company, and remained there until her teens. She wanted to be Ingrid Bergman, but there were no teenage roles. Her chest was bound until she was 16 to protect her child star image in ankle socks. "I think I was part of a moment in people's lives during the war that they wanted to cherish," she says. "I'm going to be a woman - they didn't want to see that."

But Clark was growing up and wanted to sing more adult songs. "And of course, as soon as I did something like that, we got letters like, 'We don't want our pet to sing about LOVE.' what should i sing The shoemaker forever? It was an extremely unhappy time - she said she almost had a breakdown - made worse by her strained relationship with her father Leslie, who was also her manager and a frustrated actor. "He liked the so-called glamor of it, probably more than I did, and I think he could see me walking away. It wasn't easy for any of us.

Clark eventually ended their relationship, which she firmly says was "necessary but not easy." Does she feel resentment towards him? She stops, stops and begins. "I adored my father. He was my idol for many, many years. It's hard for me to talk about." "Nothing strange happened," she hastily adds; "But when we broke up, it was very, very painful."

She was also dismayed to discover she was broke as her finances had been managed by her throughout her career. "It was a surprise, let's put it that way." But she had two successful records, With All My Heart (1957) and Alone (1958), and together with her sister managed to save up enough for the two to have an apartment in London could rent. Now in her early 20s, Clark was independent for the first time in her life — she bought a pink sports car and "several boyfriends."

She was then called over the channel by her record label, who was irritated that a French singer, Dalida, was having some success covering Clark's songs. After a successful show at the Olympia Theater in Paris, she was persuaded to record in French with the promise of spending time with the label's "wonderful" publicist, Claude Wolff. "They said, 'He'll show you around.'it changes everything.“

You knew what you wanted when you saw it, I say. "I didn't know I was going to make it.marriedfor him!” she says. "But he was kind of sloppy."

Clark spoke no French, Wolff no English, and he had an "extremely beautiful" girlfriend ("I couldn't stand her"). But at the end of his three weeks in Paris, the night before his return to London, Wolff came to her hotel. "He said, 'You're coming with me' — dot dot dot."

After a long-distance love between London and Paris, they decided to move to Paris where their careers began. The British press was angered and accused her of running away from her past. Clark is adamant: she left England because she wanted to be with the man she loved. But "it was nice to get away from being 'our pet.' The best part about becoming a star in France is that they didn't know anything about my background. They thought I was sexy. I thought it was great!"

Her marriage to Wolff was unusually feminist for the time: "It was a partnership." They had two daughters and a son. Clark has often spoken with regret about her "maternal guilt," believing that she didn't manage parenthood or her career as well as she could have — a concern she has expressed to her children. "They say, 'What are you talking about? We had a great time.'” Wolff and the nannies shouldered the burden, but it took all of the effort, she says, personally and professionally. "It wasn't always an easy decision — and leaving kids was always traumatic."

Clark and Wolff have been married for 58 years and continue to live together in Geneva - but now lead separate lives. They "broke up," Clark says softly, "He has his life and I have mine. how to talk about it Personal relationships are complicated and it is very difficult to explain that to the world.”

She is happy? Looking surprised at being asked, she pauses and begins her answer. "Um, yeah, you know, Happiness — I actually wrote a song called Happiness." She pauses, and it takes me a moment to realize she's quoting lyrics: "It comes and goes, it's like a summer rose , and we settle for contentment and the status quo – and suddenly it’s back.”

A complete recording of Petula Clark's 1974 Valentine's Day Concert at the Royal Albert Hall will be released later this year.