Katherine Jenkins is lovely. Welsh songbird, international artiste, voice of an angel (Mark II), forces sweetheart, startlingly pretty blonde — what's not to like? And yet, I spend our evening together feeling incredibly guilty, because I know that pretty soon I'm going to get back to my desk, sit down, and type the words “but her new album is horrible”.
But her new album is horrible. Or, at least, very much not to my tastes. Believe is “crossover”, that curious, nay abhorrent form of music that takes ordinary, inoffensive pop songs and re-jigs them to make them sound like part of an opera. Weird thing to want to buy, in my view. Weird thing to want to do.
“What I really didn't want it to sound like,” Jenkins says sweetly over flickering candlelight in a West London restaurant, “is that French and Saunders sketch. Did you see it? They are in a recording studio, and she is singing ‘I SHOULD BE SO LUCKY, LUCKY, LUCKY LUCKY’ and it just sounds ... . ridiculous.”
Oh dear. That’s exactly what it sounds like. Not all of it, perhaps, but quite a lot. Certainly track eight, which is, no really, a cover of Bob Marley’s No Woman No Cry. When Georgie first made dat fy-er light, I’m thinking this probably wasn’t quite what he
pearl jewelry had in mind.
Look, it’ll sell. They always do. Jenkins is not the 13th richest musician in Britain under 30 for nothing. The point of this album, as she freely admits, is America. Jenkins, 29, has her eye on transatlantic success. Accordingly, she has signed up Madonna’s famed PR Liz Rosenberg, she has recorded a Christmas special with Andrea Bocelli for the Public Broadcasting Service and she has this album.
“Usually we’d have a big meeting at the record company and I’d put forward the songs I wanted to do,” she says. “This time, I went to LA to work with David Foster [the producer] and I had no idea what I was going to do. We’d call up songs on iTunes and then I’d try them at the piano.”
The average American listener, Jenkins concedes, might not have the same classical awareness as a Brit. “You mix in the classical themes,” she says, “or what people would deem classical, like The Godfather, and you make people feel they have had a classical experience, even with pop pieces.”
Jenkins liked Los Angeles, wouldn’t mind moving there one day, but not any time soon because she’s got a house in North London and she’s quite happy, thanks. All bases covered there, you’ll notice — not offending the Americans, but keeping the Brits sweet, too. There’s a lot of this. Often it feels as though she’s taking too much care not to put a foot wrong. She’ll say she was swiftly adopted by the resident Welsh crowd in LA, and invited to the house of somebody very famous to watch the Wales v Ireland rugby match, but she won’t say who the person was. When I say it must have been a Jones — Tom, Catherine Zeta or, at a push Vinnie — she just smiles and very sweetly waits for me to ask something else.
Presswise, she’s had a scarring year. “Yes. I’ve started to read more and more things that just aren’t true. And there are things I just don’t think should be public knowledge. I recently found out that I had half-sisters, which I didn’t know about. I can
biwa pearl deal with that, but they shouldn’t have to.”
The stupidest thing she’s read was that she and her boyfriend Gethin Jones (Blue Peter, Strictly Come Dancing) were bidding against Tony Blair for a house in Gloucestershire with its own dance hall. “I was not,” she says, “even house hunting.”
Until last year she was starting to find her own depiction in the press a little stifling. “They talk about this saintly Katherine who had never made a mistake,” she says. “And that’s really hard to deal with.” The niceness of Katherine reached its most unbearable during an interview with Piers Morgan for GQ. He asked if she had taken drugs. She said that she hadn’t. After it had run, she called him up and said that, actually, she used to take drugs quite a bit. He wrote about that, too, in the Mail on Sunday. The next week there were pictures — Jenkins wide-eyed, coke around the nostrils — with testimony from “friends” about how she used to bake hash cookies. “It’s a difficult question for anybody in the public eye,” she says. “Because if you say you have, are you saying its OK to do this? But look, I’ve made tons of mistakes, and actually, people amazed me. They said: ‘We’ve all done stupid things, we’ve all got skeletons in our closets. At least you were honest about it’.”
Too much regret, I say. It’s not like you were Whitney Houston. Can’t you just say, “Yes, I went clubbing a bit”, and leave the fake self-loathing to politicians? “Image is important to any person in the music industry,” she says, slowly, then she just sort of stops, and waits for the question to go away.
Some have called Katherine Jenkins a control freak, perhaps with good reason. She signs off every aspect of her “product”, from album covers to photographs to the smallest leaflet. At times like this, when she’s on the edge of what she can control, it very obviously bothers her. She’s much the same when we talk about her father.
Selwyn Jenkins was 55 when Katherine was born 29 years ago, and a retired factory worker. She’s often willingly told interviewers about how he died when she was 15. This time, she’s obviously worried I’ll ask about her newly discovered half-sisters (a pair of middle-aged twins from Neath) and, perhaps as a result, barely mentions him. How calculated this is, I have no idea. She has
akoya pearl another bout with Piers Morgan this weekend on ITV1 in which — it was revealed yesterday — she breaks down while talking about an attempted rape she suffered as a 19-year-old student.
Morgan’s show will also provide the first public outing of a video of Jenkins’s first performance, on stage at Alderman Davies Primary School in Neath, aged 4, singing Going Down the Garden to Eat Worms. “My mum taught me the actions. It was all very cutesy and everybody was laughing and it was just, from then on, what I wanted to do.” The interest in classical music came through singing lessons and choirs. Her parents owned almost no classical records. “When I look back,” she says, “I didn’t do much of the going out and playing in the street, like my friends did. I’d be in until eight o’clock having piano lessons and all that. It was what I wanted to do.”