Mr Sting and Mr Warhol
Because I was in a movie with Mr Sting, when I played his laboratory assistant and he was Baron Frankenstein, people imagine that I see him incessently, whereas I have met him only twice - once when he took me to lunch in a restaurant on West Broadway and told me he was going to write songs about exciles, and again when I was in his videotape of the song about being an Englishman in New York. Then he took me to his apartment, which was a huge place almost entirely bare of furniture, except that in one room I noticed a cot: evidence of Stinglets.
He offered me two tickets to hear him perform at Madison Square Garden, but the idea of getting mixed up with twelve hundred schoolgirls was too daunting. I thanked him but I didn't go. I would like to see him because I am convinced that there is something that he is on stage, over and above anything he does, for he has such a spellbinding effect on his audience. . . I would have described him as tallish, slimmish, blondish, and with a very aware look in his eyes - as opposed to most stars who are self-regarding and do not look out of their faces but turn their eyes inward, like Hamlet's mother but without any of her feelings of misgiving as they comtemplate their souls.
In this he is the direct opposite of Mr Warhol, who would turn his face towards you but never look at you, presenting his image to the world like a shield.
I used to try to stampede Mr Warhol into saying something because he had plenty to say, . . but I never could. If I went to a gathering of free-loaders, and standing apart from the others was a man approaching middle age, looking rather ill and saying nothing, that was Mr Warhol. He would say, when he became aware of your proximity, 'We must be photographed.' Those were the only words I ever heard him utter.
He offered me two tickets to hear him perform at Madison Square Garden, but the idea of getting mixed up with twelve hundred schoolgirls was too daunting. I thanked him but I didn't go. I would like to see him because I am convinced that there is something that he is on stage, over and above anything he does, for he has such a spellbinding effect on his audience. . . I would have described him as tallish, slimmish, blondish, and with a very aware look in his eyes - as opposed to most stars who are self-regarding and do not look out of their faces but turn their eyes inward, like Hamlet's mother but without any of her feelings of misgiving as they comtemplate their souls.
In this he is the direct opposite of Mr Warhol, who would turn his face towards you but never look at you, presenting his image to the world like a shield.
I used to try to stampede Mr Warhol into saying something because he had plenty to say, . . but I never could. If I went to a gathering of free-loaders, and standing apart from the others was a man approaching middle age, looking rather ill and saying nothing, that was Mr Warhol. He would say, when he became aware of your proximity, 'We must be photographed.' Those were the only words I ever heard him utter.