Susan Boyle | Britain's Got Talent Sensation

Source: Reuters

Published Date: 23 April 2009
By Emma Cowing
STORM CLOUDS are forming over Susan Boyle’s house. It’s Tuesday afternoon and the weather has turned cold on this small council estate in the West Lothian village of Blackburn where, 12 days ago, a star was not so much born as made.
At the front gate, a man from the council is building a new fence, behind which several reporters and press photographers hover. They look anxious, huddled against the wind, hopeful even for a momentary glance of the unemployed, 48-year-old local who is, apparently, ‘bigger than Obama’.

It is not easy to get an interview with Susan Boyle now. In fact, it may be easier to get an interview with Barack Obama. The Scotsman has been trying to speak to her since 10 April, the day the first stories appeared about a middle-aged Scottish woman who had apparently impressed Simon Cowell during the Glasgow audition of Britain’s Got Talent, which was due to be aired on ITV1 the following night.

Most of the headlines focused on her appearance and the fact that she had confessed to being a virgin, before going on to mention that – almost unbelievably – she had a pretty good singing voice. It was a mildly curious local story, worthy of closer inspection, certainly, but not exactly front-page material.

You will know what happened next. In the intervening days, following the airing of Boyle’s audition and its subsequent showing on YouTube, Boyle went from minor oddity to major celebrity. In 12 days there have been 1,199 mentions of her name in newspaper stories alone. More than 50 million YouTube hits, making her video clip one of the most watched in the site’s history. At least 19 million Google search results. Offers of dinner with Piers Morgan and a duet with Elaine Paige. Heartfelt plaudits from Hollywood A-listers Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher. Interviews on Larry King Live and Good Morning America.

Commentators wrote that she had shown us how unimportant looks were when true talent prevailed. Others hailed her as the sole bright spot in a world made gloomy by debt and recession. The American talk-show host Rosie O’Donnell described Boyle’s audition as “something authentic in a world that is usually manufactured. It was a perfect moment which will never happen again.”

And the blunt comments about her appearance kept on coming. She was dubbed “the hairy angel”, “the virgin spinster”, “a freak” and “like Shrek come to life” (that one’s from O’Donnell, too). She was called “drab”, “dowdy”, “frumpy”, “fat” and “ruddy”. She was described as having “the hair of a shaggy dog”, “a cowboy-like gait”, “fuzzy eyebrows”, “a ghastly frock”, and “a hairdo from hell”. But, so the thinking seemed to go, it was OK to call her these things, because just wait until you hear her voice.

Meanwhile, the public-relations juggernaut swung into action. The show’s three judges, Cowell, Morgan and Amanda Holden, were wheeled out to proclaim just how wonderful she was. Newspapers, magazines and TV companies put in their interview requests, yet not all were granted – The Scotsman’s among them. The TV production company’s PR office complained that they, and Susan, were ‘overwhelmed’. A member of the production team was flown from London to Scotland and installed in Boyle’s house, to fend off unwanted press and let in a trail of American journalists, including one from the Washington Post, as well as those Larry King and Good Morning America cameras.

In the end, The Scotsman waited until Monday this week, when we were supposed to hear what time our interview would take place, at which point a snappy PR executive appeared to backtrack and claimed, to our surprise, that it had never been confirmed.

Finally, after much to-ing and fro-ing, it has been arranged for today. We’ve been granted 20 minutes. With most celebrities you get at least 45.

It’s a bit rich for the PR people to complain of being overwhelmed. Watch the audition clip and it is clear that this was the reaction Britain’s Got Talent’s production company, Talkback Thames, must have been hoping for all along. With the plodding, circus music, the patronising reactions of presenters Ant and Dec, the decision to use her comments about having “never been kissed”, it becomes painfully obvious just what sort of a Cinderella story they were trying to set up. The media reaction and subsequent rise in ratings (the following week’s show received a bump of two million) must be as manna from heaven.

Now there is a bandwagon. Internet pirates across the globe are registering Susan Boyle domain names (susanboyle.co.uk and susanboyle.us.com are just two) in an attempt to cash in on her fame. Alex Salmond, always one to spot a PR opportunity, wrote her a letter. T-shirts proclaiming “I love Susan” are available online. Just yesterday, a press release from previous Britain’s Got Talent winner Paul Potts’s PR people arrived here, informing us that he is “available to comment about Susan Boyle and her success”.

So what happens next? We will soon see her compete in the second round of Britain’s Got Talent, and she is already the bookies’ favourite to win. But what if she doesn’t? Cowell told the New York Times at the weekend that “of course there’ll be a record”, whether she wins or not. But is that as realistic a notion as Morgan actually wining and dining her at Nobu? Or is it merely hot air, said in the heat of the moment, because it’s what everyone wants to hear?

The career longevity of reality TV talent show winners – particularly those from Scotland – is poor. Leon Jackson, another West Lothian native who won X Factor a mere two years ago, has already been dropped by his record label. Another former X Factor winner, Steve Brookstein, is currently writing a tell-all book about the experience, entitled X Factor Nightmares, and vows never to sing again. The record industry is one of the most fickle in the world: even the most talented can be chewed up and spat out without a moment’s reflection.

Boyle is fragile. It has been repeatedly reported that she was starved of oxygen at birth, that she has mild brain damage and has been the subject of bullying in her village. At the weekend it was alleged that she recently threw a bike at a gang of teenagers in response to intense abuse, and that the local kids often shouted ‘Simple Susan’ at her. The Sunday after her audition was aired, she was apparently seen in her local Scotmid, punching the newspapers whose headlines screamed “48-year-old virgin”.

A knock on Boyle’s front door is answered by a cross-faced young black man, whose expression relaxes only slightly when I explain I have an appointment. The house is dark and silent, all the curtains and blinds drawn to keep out prying lenses. I am shown in to a dim back room with a small fireplace and there, sitting in the corner, looking stiff yet smiling, her face already so famous that it is instantly familiar, is Susan Boyle.

We sit and chat. Her answers are short and professional: she has, I suspect, been given a few lines to say by the production team. “You’ll have to keep watching” and “I haven’t anything further to add on that” fall uneasily from her lips as the young man living in her house, answering her door and phone and keeping the autograph hunters at bay, hovers in the doorway.

The same faux confidence that propelled her across the stage and caused her to wiggle her hips at Simon Cowell at the audition is again in evidence. She seems uncomfortable being questioned and looks as though she’d rather it was all over. In short, she is reacting as most of us would if we were suddenly thrust into the international media spotlight.

I ask her what she enjoys about singing.

“It’s the communication you have with an audience. I just like to show off. I’m a natural showoff.”

Did she always want to be a singer?

“I’d like to be doing this as a career, yeah, but it takes a lot of thought and a lot of maturity and I think I’m ready now.”

Does she get nervous before a performance?

“Everybody gets nervous before a performance, it helps you get it right. You don’t want to make a fool of yourself in front of your mum, do you?”

And what would her mum – with whom she shared this house, and who died two years ago – think of it all? “She’d probably be very proud of me. She’d be 100 per cent behind me. She wanted me to do well in my singing. This is a kind of tribute to her… a kind of payback.”

And the local support? “Oh, they’ve been very supportive. I’ve had lots of nice things said to me. The reactions have been very good. It’s lots of fun. That’s what it’s all about.”

Are you having fun, Susan?

“I’m having fun. It’s really good.”

We talk for a bit longer, but it’s clear she’s said all she wishes to say about herself. A question about her favourite singers elicits the response that there are “too many to go into here”, followed by an awkward silence. Enquiries about whether she’ll stay in Blackburn if her career takes off, or whether she really would like to do a duet with Elaine Paige, are met with the stock answer that it is “early days”.

I give up, feeling a little guilty for having put her through it, and prepare to leave. I tell her that I hope it all goes well and that as well as having Blackburn behind her, she has the whole of Scotland behind her. “Well, I’ll try not to let Scotland down,” she responds. It suggests just how heavy, already, is the weight of her newfound fame.

When the photographers leave (and they will), when the hoopla dies down (and it will), what will happen to Susan Boyle? It is hard to see her flying first-class, mingling with the stars, so far outside her comfort zone that she would never be able to relax. Yet staying here in Blackburn, no longer just Susan but celebrity Susan, Susan off the telly, will bring its own problems.

As I leave, one of the tabloid reporters swoops. Did I get a line? Have I done a deal? I shake my head and phone for a taxi. While I’m waiting, a neighbour wanders over. Susan is lovely, she tells me, but she’s not sure how she’s coping with all the pressure. She thinks she might have been a bit upset at all the reporters hanging about. The neighbour loves it, though. She’s had her face pressed up against the window for days now, she says, watching.

Suddenly, there is a commotion. The front door opens and Susan emerges, walking quickly, a new-looking leather jacket pulled over her brightly patterned knee-length dress, from which protrude a shapely pair of legs.

Seemingly from nowhere, four or five photographers appear, running after her, shouting her name. She quickens her pace, but then a car screeches round the corner and two young men, autograph hunters struck lucky, leap out. They grab hold of her, giving her hugs and kisses, and the photographers catch up, clicking madly.

She looks overwhelmed, confused. Finally she untangles herself from the young men, strikes one final pose with her arms outstretched, then pleads with the photographers to let her go to the shops on her own. They back off and, as she turns the corner out of sight, she looks like the person that until 12 days ago she always was: an ordinary woman, on an ordinary day, off to do her shopping.