FOR THE ATTENTION OF ROBBIE WILLIAMS

Dear Robbie,

Like you, I have been trying to amuse myself in this increasingly unfunny world. Like you I have experienced fame and fortune . Unlike you, my success faded quickly after our well publicised fight for the Christmas No 1 record in 2001. The single was called ‘How wonderful you are’ and dealt with the subject of low self-esteem, something I believe you know something about, if my hunch is right. My album Harry’s Bar followed and hit the No 2 spot but the follow up struggled at 44 and I knew from the hostility coming from the inner circle of show business that my time was up. I was 57, which was, I admit, fairly ridiculous, but funny, as it annoyed those experts, the marketing boys, so much. I had been lucky. I loathed most of that two years anyway, and found it tedious, empty and depressing, something you may now be feeling, as the hostility builds towards you.
My previous 40 years as a musician, whilst a struggle at times, were certainly more fun than fame and fortune ever were and my faith in human nature, though shaken by betrayal after betrayal, remains intact. I didn’t need re-hab. I know a famous DJ who claimed that rehab taught him to live on planet “Is”, not planet “Should”. I replied “Try giving that advice to the Jews in the concentration camps and you can see what stupid advice it is ”. Fascism is rotten. We should know better. And do.
I believe in ordinary people. Those salts of the earth as your mother used to say. People who make you laugh and make you feel glad to be alive and who aren’t looking for a percentage. People who would give you their last nickel and ask for nothing in return. I may have been lucky to get my success but I always knew I had been lucky before, knowing such beautiful people. But success removed us from beautiful people Robbie . I am only guessing, but I suspect that the people around you now won’t be much help . They take the business of making money very seriously indeed and you’re the money. You ceased to be human to them the moment you became popular as I did.
Those 40 years from the age of 15 taught me what was important, and what was true. I grew up in the benevolent sixties. Most people were friendly, so I have noticed how unfriendly our country has become as greed ,selfishness and cynicism took the place of kindness, trust and a wonderful sense of the absurd.
You were thrown into the deep end at an early age. By the time your first record hit, the industry had been taken over by a different breed altogether. They are remarkably common and not at all pleasant. They live on Planet “Is”
The ordinary people who once would have been regarded as common, are the ones who can help you.
It’s not you Robbie who has got it wrong . It’s the ignorant world into which you are plunged .The world of show business. They won’t come to your aid. They’d rather you took a pill. It makes it good copy for the journalists. Which, as you know, is good for record sales, though I think that concept is fading as quickly as Pete Docherty’s career. It’s what they laughingly call credibility .

I worked as a musician in pubs and clubs for 20 years and during that time I met hundreds of people, distinct individuals, with lots of character, immensely entertaining, a lot funnier than what’s on television, and now I am reacquainting myself with them. They will tell you quite cheerfully how ordinary they are for that is their opinion of themselves, not realising how rare and wonderful they are. Right now Robbie, you need to meet a few of them again before you go completely nuts with that shower from the funny farm.
Show business is a snooty business . At first you might enjoy the feeling that you’ve been admitted into their inner circle. But it is their inner circle, not yours. By now you will be wondering why you feel so lonely, bored and miserable as they begin to mutter amongst themselves snidely , discussing whether or not to renew your membership of their snotty little club. The very same ones who were once all over you , will betray you. Let them. Your health is more important than the approval of those clowns.
By 2001, I had already had 40 years experience of relative failure, and I had learned how to be happy on very little, or just enough. That’s what ordinary people do. They learn how to be happy. Yes, I’m very ordinary too. Most of us are ordinary at heart. Yes, you too. But thankfully we’re not the soulless heartless parasites who cause so much misery in the world and who imagine they are special.

It wasn’t you who stopped me getting to No1. It was EMI Records and the pressure from their stock-holders. The Financial Times called me that week before Christmas 2001 and explained a few things to me about the world of big business. The real problem on EMI’s mind was the share price as it is again this week. You had to be No1 and you were. Hey, I was thrilled to be No2 despite all the shenanigans behind the scenes. At the time I revelled in the fact that little old me could disturb such things way beyond my imagination. But this is not about me. It’s about what drives us and many others all to the very edge of insanity not just in the music business., but in just about everything . The daily fudging of the truth. It’s the corporate way, straight out of the Harvard Law School.
You probably have had time in your own career to work out the whole crummy game by now, but I’ll carry on , just in case it is helpful to you in your present state.
Ever wondered why Bob Dylan and Van Morrison always look so abjectly miserable despite their millions? It’s only their egos that keep them going. They ceased to be artists years ago when they found out the pointlessness of it all. One can feel worldly wise as a poor man but it all changes with sudden wealth.
We will never know it all. But like CBS’s profits from good old Bob Dylan going straight into the Pro-Vietnam War Republican coffers in the 60’s and 70‘s, life is complicated and us musicians are supposed to remain sincere, silent and dedicated. We can, we do our best, but that’s at the heart of why the whole thing has become such a sham. Some try to escape the crap of it all with a pill or a line or two, to serve those unimaginative journalists who prefer their rock stars to be drug addicts. The longer we stay, the uglier it becomes. Our creativity leads us straight into the sewer if we’re unprepared or unaware.
Imagine my surprise with that Christmas No 2 record when I found my spirits sinking. With £500,000 in the bank, and prospects of a lucrative career, so late in life, I suddenly became the target of every parasite and maggot that crawls the earth. I began to receive death threats. Someone nearly managed to kill me. We all know it is common to be cheated. You don’t have to wait to be famous for that so I hesitate to even mention the cheating going on with the pay-checks. I was insulted continually by music critics who are especially common particularly as they think they know something we don’t.
Think of them like this Robbie, as I know they depress you greatly.
A critic began life as the child who stood alone in the playground and who couldn’t find a friend, and has sought revenge on the popular ever since. Critics are like members of the Klu Klux Klan. They wear silly clothes, are always white skinned, soulless and ignorant and are constantly looking for someone to lynch. They have the power to put people out of business overnight, yet they never risk one cent of their own money. Ask any Broadway producer or the thousands of actors and backstage staff thrown out of work without notice or pay, all from one useless good for nothing critic, who never bought a ticket in his miserable pathetic life. You don’t have to ask. And neither do I. They lynched the pair of us. How dare we be popular. How common we are..
Like you, I found myself alone with my fame and fortune. It was during this time that I heard about the problems of ‘Robbie Williams’ as we were using the same musicians. You were alone too, and depressed. In the past 40 years of making records I have witnessed many tragedies waiting to happen within our business. Most of them were blamed on drugs , prescription or otherwise. I don’t want to hear about anymore pointless deaths. The public are too busy grafting away for a pittance to care about rich spoilt pop stars so you’ll have to understand their lack of sympathy. But they’d come around if they knew. The public are OK. Your problems are closer to home than that.
Back in the pubs we had all laughed together, loved together, hoped together and had had faith together. We were all in the crapper together and the camaraderie saw us through all our hard times. With success, all that good side of human nature disappears . Fame separates you from those good people and puts you in a place where those who surround you make your flesh crawl. You’re just the money machine. Some of them may even say in contempt, ‘We made you’ . You are their prisoner from that moment . The word manager even suggests you are outranked. You are their boy.

Everyone is an expert when it comes to music or art. Especially those who create nothing. They don’t know anything but they have managed to convince others that they do. As a musician you will know Morrisey is total rot and Marvin Gaye was the real thing. David Bowie is a good actor and John Lennon was the real deal. But it’s no use. You’ll just start a rumpus. You have to shut up . Or take drugs and get completely out of your head as the lies, and the act you are forced into, gradually drives you insane .How can you stay sober surrounded by such idiocy?
The repetition of record promotion will bore you to death and the 20 hour days that it involves will have you reaching for a pill as your self-disgust increases and your self-respect begins to wane. Hendrix, Jopling, Judy Garland, Elvis Presley. It’s not surprising they died, though when it involves the Stock Market it gets a bit ridiculous. Greed is driving everybody nuts Robbie. You’ve made plenty, so you can afford to quit, especially if it annoys the shareholders. The fakes who surround you will starve you of your natural light that attracted your audience in the first instance. Save it for the folks back home.
‘ The Critics’ are the real sick people who deserve to be depressed. Send them to the funny farm. They are the ones who are psychologically cock-eyed. I don’t need guidance when choosing a film to watch or a record to listen to or a show to go to, or a book to read. And from my vast experience of dealing with the general public over the last 50 years, neither do they.
Critics are a fairly modern affliction , a blight on everyone’s creativity. It is they who have become common in the old fashioned sense of the word. They are just misfits looking for a better job and are so full of envy for those who have found one.
In 1971 a certain music critic reviewed what he thought was a John Lennon masterpiece, only to discover after publication, that he had been listening to the Line-Up tones one will find on a blank acetate ( the vinyl days). Far from being ridiculed for raving about a blank recording he managed to get promoted to Music Critic of The Times.
So, on reflection, I think I’d rather be one of the common people. Robbie, they are a lot more knowledgeable. Take the money and run and to hell with the whole stupid game. It’s still a beautiful world and you can do a lot of good. Don’t devote your time to such an ugly bunch . Get out while you’re still young. You don’t need to be famous to make a positive contribution to society.

It’s a beautiful day, so I’m going fishing. You’re welcome to come along. It’s a lot cheaper than rehab and the air is a lot cleaner. Get well soon.

Gordon Haskell