KEITH URBAN’S PURGATORY
It was a year ago that I briefly met Keith Urban. He was grinning and a little mechanical, the overloaded, over there Aussie turned Yank, pressing the flesh and grinning the pearly whites at an “after show” at the Hard Rock Cafe in American Leisure Nightmare theme park Universal studios. We were a gaggle of freeloading UK and Irish media types and all of us were in in that state of disenfranchisement known as Florida, in a town called Orlando. This was some time before Keith was publically twinned with that other Aussie by reputation, if not by birth, Nicole Kidman. When Nic and Keith got together it seemed like some sort of fairytale destiny thing. They had conquered their chosen realms in the land of opportunity and temptation - she as mystical onscreen Goddess he as eye candy country man. The only thing left to do was fall into each others arms and , a few months ago, marry in a starry champagne toasting Sydney wedding with other celebrity Aussies that have had some sort of big mark on the US - Rupert Murdoch and Rusell Crowe - in attendance. Now I read that Keith’s ole “substance abuse and alcohol issues” (PC American Death Speak for the Jack slugging, crack toking bad boy lifestyle) have raised their head again and the Golden Boy has entered Rehab. Frankly if he had to play a string of dates like Orlando, had to do however many nights working his considerable charm to fellas and faces and floozies that he’d never see again, but that might help him up that greasy ladder, then I’m not surprised he needed a little something to balance or zone out at the end of the day. Keith was telling us how he had had to work long and hard to get accepted in the closed world of American country. Endless nights turning into weeks turning into months turning into years playing facilities like the Orlando prison camp meeting a variety of radio pluggers, local record company reps and journos. NOt an appealing prospect, IMHO. I didn’t know then what he had to go through in his personal life to “make it” but I was not surprised that he’d made the breakthrough either - I’d just seen him perform his mix of Gung Ho Jovi Rawk and Tall In The Saddle Ride Em Urban Cowboy New Hat Cuntree. The music and the show - well attended by the all important female demographic suckered by his sparkling peepers and sleek gym enhanced denim and leather clad bod - were a bland staging post of shallow certainty for what was in essence a rootless and bizarre way of life. We were there , 3 UK music critics, a lot of Irish journos and some gals from mags/women tv programmes as part of an awareness making exercise. After Urban’s persistence had paid off in making US in roads he needed UK penetration. God knows why I went but after a few nights in Orlando it wasn’t hard to understand how a life consisting of going in and out of such venues, of being the person somehow at the centre of this regimented plastic culture, might have you crying out for alcohol obliteration or crack addled release. Something to make things seem that they had meaning or momentum. Or both, when really it was stasis and a state of nothingness, sinking into the black hole at the centre of Entertainment USA. Orlando was like something out of Dante’s 7 Circles Of Hell. We were hospitality(ised) with endless helpings of deep fried food and servings of Calorific heavy alcoholic cocktails. Wines and Beers. A ritualistic blow out that seemed to be the one beloved by so many folks in a country so long at war with itself and the world at large. Yet while Keith was chasing down or running from whatever demons made him hit the pipe or the bottle I recall the absolutely horrified look on a local record company rep’s face when a British journo responded to her “anything we can do to help just call” offer with an excited request for “some grass”. Because this is a Godfearing follow the rules and stay in line country. Anything that might cause you to veer from the path to be abhorred. And so what if the star is heading for the treatment facility ? There’ll be another hustling gigoloing sequel along in his stead, ready to press the flash and flash the sparkling baby blues for another crowd of holidaying gals and their wife. The walls of the Hard Rock Cafe are plastered with many who have come and had a go, many who have died young and before their time. Keith Urban/Was meant to be curbing/His INtake/But was the marriage a fake? Keith Urban was meant to be curbing his enthusiasm for hooch/Since he made Nicole his pooch/But by entering the facility/He has rendered my ability… Sheeit - I’ll leave the songwriting to Keith Basically this week’s Keith news explains why the interview I was meant to be doing with him to promote the new album did not happen on Monday and seems to have been indefinitely postponed. I suppose Keith’s fall should have seemed obvious when he was interviewed last month by Elton John, in Andy Warhol’s Interview Magazine - Elton so often has been the rehab celebs last port of call. You’d have to wish Keith well but hope that part of the recovery might involve those around him looking at the world around him, and its part in the cause and effect of addiction….
