James Blunt performing in Madrid earlier this year. Blunt’s 2004 smash You’re Beautiful hit No. 1 in 15 countries. Photo / Getty Images
Twenty years after his hit You’re Beautiful turned him into an overnight star, the British singer and songwriter takes his music – and his haters – to task.
Twenty years ago this month, James Blunt was an unknown singer releasing his first album. The song that rapidly elevated him out of obscurity was You’re Beautiful, a lovelorn rhapsody about falling for a stranger on the subway while high on drugs, which hit No 1 in 15 countries, including the United States. The smash helped turn his 2004 LP Back to Bedlam into a triple-platinum success.
As Blunt moved from unknown to highly known, there was a surprise reveal: The slight, diminutive man who wrote You’re Beautiful had been a captain in the British army, and served in Kosovo. Interviewers soon learned he also had an acid tongue and a quick wit. And in recent years, with evident zest, he’s turned it on people who troll him on social media; his retorts make him sound like a skilled stand-up comic who specialises in crowd work. (When someone posted on the social platform X, “My mom hates James Blunt,” he retorted, “Because I won’t pay the child support?” At this point, only masochists post @ Blunt.)
Blunt has released seven studio albums; the most recent, Who We Used to Be, arrived in 2023. Later this year, he’s touring Australia, Asia and Europe, with a return to the United States planned for June 2025. An irreverent documentary about him, One Brit Wonder, premiered on Netflix UK in June and is available to watch in New Zealand on TVNZ+.
In a recent video interview, he reflected on the 20th anniversary of Back to Bedlam from a tiny office in the London pub he owns, the Fox & Pheasant. (The tavern plays his music five minutes before closing, he joked, so people will leave as quickly as possible.) These are edited excerpts from the conversation.
Q: In the documentary, there are lots of instances of people insulting you. Your tour manager calls you “a narcissistic psychopath”. Your mother describes you as “politely ruthless”. And you are likened to Marmite.
A: I like Marmite.
Q: You’re aware that most people don’t?
A: It’s a highly lucrative company, so they must be doing something right.
Q: The point is, are people close to you required to make insults about you?
A: No, strangers can do it, too. When someone insults you, it normally comes from a place of love. And with my friends, we take the mickey out of each other. I’m used to it.
Q: Was there anything you asked them to remove from the documentary?
A: No! There was something in there that wasn’t true, when [the producer] Linda Perry said she’d kicked me out of her studio for doing drugs. She’s wrong. I just wanted to go out to a nightclub. I was behaving erratically, but it’s because I was keen to leave. I decided we should leave the accusation in because it was the most rock ‘n’ roll thing I’d ever been accused of.
Q: Your child has the wisest remark in the whole documentary.
A: My daughter says, “You’re coming across as a little bit of an idiot here,” I think.
Q: I was thinking of when your son says, “Daddy, this is quite embarrassing.”
A: I need to quantify it, don’t I? “Son, when you’re older, you’ll have to explain who your father is, and you’ll know just how embarrassing it is.”
Q: Is there anything that embarrasses you?
A: I’d be lying if I said no. Musicians get up on a stage, reveal ourselves and open up to an audience. You can liken it to removing your clothes and saying, “Yup, this is all I’ve got!” There’s no pretence. I’m not embarrassed to put myself out there, and I’m at ease with myself.
Q: You’ve said that you wanted to be a rock star but ended up as a pop star instead. Do you fantasise about rocking out?
A: I try to, softly. We’re almost a rock band – four of us are rock musicians, and then there’s me in the middle, with my high-pitched, squeaky voice. The poor thing for my band is, once they’ve worked for me, they can’t get employment anywhere else. No one else will touch them.
Q: You’ve talked about Pixies as an influence. Do you think that’s evident in your music?
A: They’d be [expletive] furious to hear that, wouldn’t they? [laughs] The Pixies are amazing. Are they an influence on me? Yes. Can you hear it in my music? Fortunately for them, no, you can’t.
Q: Your father was in the army. How strict was your upbringing?
A: My father was a Colonel and although he and my mother were strict, I learnt to enjoy the beatings. [laughs] My father does my bookkeeping now. Yes, he was old-school to a degree, but with great love.
Q: Did your quick wit get you into trouble when you were in the Army?
A: No. In the army, you need to be straight-talking. We’re not politicians and we’re not there to be diplomatic, but to tell the truth: If you’re losing, you need to know that you’re losing. It’s not like being in the music industry. My A&R man, who I love dearly – I’ve been in this business 20 years, and every song I’ve ever sent him, he’s told me is great! That’s not of any value in the army.
Q: Would you encourage your children to go into the army?
A: It’s a tough question. I would want my children to fight for good. If you see someone who needs defending, you should come to their defence. You shouldn’t get out your camera and film it for your social media. That’s where society is almost breaking down right now. People need to help rather than watch, and I think we should be teaching people to get involved.
Q: The word “wet” comes up in the documentary, and you’ve used it to describe your music. It’s a very British term, so can you clarify what wet means?
A: Unmanly would be the obvious explanation. My music has emotion, which is not a thing real men should show. But music’s supposed to make you feel. Maybe that’s why I love it, because I come from this strange, reserved background: maybe music is where I express emotions. Language is sometimes limited, in describing a feeling, but music does it beautifully and instantly. One stroke of a string on a violin or a cello will make you feel something.
Q: I think the Marmite quality in your music is the sincerity; it’s the thing that some people love and other people hate.
A: I think you’re right. I sing about my failures and my fears, and some would say it’s too much. I write songs in the hope that you hear something of yourself in them, just to tell me I’m not crazy because you feel the same way. I’ve been very lucky. Both my fans have looked after me very well!
Q: In the documentary, there’s a sense of “I did all kinds of idiotic, self-destructive things. And it was great.”
A: Bingo! Life is for filling with everything. You realise after the event that some of those things were silly, but that’s called learning.
Q: Has your wife read your memoir, Loosely Based on a Made-Up Story?
A: When I was writing it, she looked over some drafts where I said that the best parts of my life were living in LA and staying at Carrie Fisher’s house. She said, “We’re married, but that was the best part of your life?” She absolutely will not read it, and it’s probably for the best.
Q: Has the composition of your audience changed over the years?
A: When I was playing small clubs, it was a mix of boys and girls. Then You’re Beautiful hit big, and the advert for my album was played after Desperate Housewives. Some of the negative press implied that men shouldn’t be listening to this kind of music, and men fled in droves.
Over the last few albums, I’ve done a couple of collaborations with a DJ, Robin Schulz, including a song called OK, which exploded around the world. And my song Monsters has resonated with some men because it talks about the time when my father was very ill and was dying.
Q: You and Linda Perry have something in common. A song she wrote for 4 Non Blondes, What’s Up?, has been on lists of the worst songs ever, alongside You’re Beautiful.
A: I wish you’d equipped me with that knowledge years ago, because every time she gives me grief, I could say, “Hey, you’re just as unpopular.” But What’s Up? is a great song. You can come for You’re Beautiful, but not What’s Up?
Q: So what is the worst song of all time?
A: There are a ton of joke songs out there, like Crazy Frog. Actually, what am I talking about? This is my only chance of being at No 1: You’re Beautiful is No 1 in the list.
Q: There’s a common process of revisionism in music, where things that were once considered uncool are reevaluated and embraced. But in order for revisionism to happen, the artist has to go away for a while.
A: Are you telling me I need to bugger off? I’m really glad we’ve had this chat because in some interviews, I don’t learn anything. Point taken.
Q: You could just retire to your home in Ibiza. You have a family, kids at home and plenty of money.
A: You sound like my wife now. I enjoy what I do, and people are still turning up. But the American public can take heart in the fact that I haven’t toured there for many years. You’re welcome!
This article originally appeared in The New York Times.
Written by: Rob Tannenbaum
Photographs by: Tom Jamieson
©2024 THE NEW YORK TIMES
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