Chesney Hawkes: After The One And Only, fame chewed me up and spat me out

First Liz Truss was ignored at Goodwood, then a Paris restaurant didn’t recognise Serena Williams… My advice? Don’t take it personally

My dad Chip used to say that I came out of the womb singing. Because he was in the band The Tremeloes, we had guitars in every corner of the house and all his friends were 1960s superstars like Gerry Marsden from Gerry and the Pacemakers, the Searchers, Herman’s Hermits, and Marmalade. My parents were always throwing parties – it was a very rock ‘n’ roll and liberal upbringing. I guess I was never going to be an accountant!
Still, I could never have expected to become famous the way that I did. I got a part in the film Buddy’s Song, playing Roger Daltrey’s character’s son, and we had this song on the soundtrack called The One and Only, which was written by Nik Kershaw and sung by me. Amazingly it went to number one and stayed there for five weeks. 
I was only 19 years old and I found it really weird. One minute I was just the piano player in the local pub, banging out Elton John and John Lennon songs, the next I couldn’t step outside my house because there were hundreds of girls camping on the lawn. I used to sneak past them by hiding in the boot of my mum’s car.
Sudden fame like that is a shock to the system. You quickly realise that your life is not your own. When it’s that big, everyone in the country – all over the world really – knows who you are, and you can’t go anywhere without being recognised. I found that difficult in a way, because all my friends were going through these rites of passage, heading off to university, and I couldn’t even go to the pub.
It’s a lonely existence in the eye of the storm. I think that’s why I get on with people who’ve been through it – like Robbie Williams and Gary Barlow, because Take That used to support me in those days. When Robbie put his documentary out, I gave him a call and got really emotional about some of the things he was saying. I said “I could so relate to that” and he was like “Of course you can”.
Most people think that what happened to me was amazing, it’s every young boy’s dream, but there’s another side to it – like what happened after. I only had the fame and all the crazy stuff for about a year or two. But because I was a naïve, precocious kid, I had grand plans and I thought “Well, we put out a record and it goes to number one – let’s do that again”. Of course that’s not the way it works. My next single didn’t do nearly as well, and I was dropped by the record label.
It really hurt, because I was so young and impressionable. I thought all these people I was working with, like the record company and management, that we were building a close-knit family. We’d go off to New York and Australia and have all these experiences together. Then suddenly I couldn’t get anyone on the phone.
Money was a problem too – I got myself into debt, badly, about £20,000. I’d done that classic pop star thing: I bought everyone in my family a car. “You get a car! You get a car!” Very Oprah. I treated myself to a red sports car: a Triumph TR3 1968. Bloody money pit that was, but brilliant fun. I spent a quarter of a million on building myself a studio. The only good financial decision I made in those days was buying a two-bed house in west London for about £120,000. I’ve still got that.
People think I must have made millions off The One and Only but I really didn’t. I always say I should write a book: Fame, No Fortune! Yes, I had a lot back then – you get advances, people throw money at you. But what you don’t realise is it goes really quick, and the label spend a fortune, so you have to pay that back before you see any royalties. It’s an age-old story: my dad got totally ripped off by his management and label back in the 1960s. 
So as big as that record was, I didn’t break even for 10 years. I still couldn’t live on the royalties from it. It’s not like I’m making thousands every year. Nik got a much bigger cut as the writer – he got a couple of houses out of it.
Back then, I thought my career was over. I was chewed up and spat out. It was like being in the club in a booth in the VIP arena sipping champagne, being looked after, and then suddenly the bouncers come grab you and kick you out the back – the door slams and you’re in the rain. I was only 21 when that happened and I didn’t know how to deal with it. I’ve since done a lot of reflection, some therapy, and I look back and think “Actually that was a bit s—. It was a tough thing to go through, so it’s OK to feel emotional about it – let it out and cry a bit.” 
It was strange because I really did everything the wrong way around. I had the fame, and then I started paying my dues afterwards. I went from travelling the world, being mobbed by screaming fans, to playing with bands in sh—y little clubs in Camden with five people watching us, and no one knew who I was. That was very humbling. Now and again there’d be some drunk at the back shouting “Do The One and Only!”. I experienced the biggest highs and then the real lows. I remember our amp blowing up because we couldn’t afford the right equipment.
It was also a weird feeling going from having all those girls outside the house to people not looking at me twice in the street – that took some getting used to, figuring out who I was without the attention. The press made it worse too: they built me up as the next big thing, everything was “Chesney this” and “Chesney that”, then the next minute they just loved knocking me down. It’s part of the British psyche. I went from being the It boy to dirt on the shoe – yesterday’s chip paper.
It was really heartbreaking, and there were definitely times where I didn’t know who I was and what would happen next. I wondered if my career was already over. 
It’s terrible now with these reality shows – there’s been some awful treatment of kids who go through that process. I feel for them because I went through something similar and didn’t have any support after. Back then, it was “Therapy, what’s that?”. They get all this incredible hype, front pages, five minutes of fame, and if you don’t have the right support around you, you can buy into that crazy s—. But none of it’s real. 
I know that now – but you don’t understand it at that age. If you believe it, the good stuff and the bad, it really affects you. Now with all the social media comments too, it’s like arrows flying towards you on a battlefield. You can’t avoid it.
I’ve had that chat with my kids – they’re 19, 21 and nearly 23. But will they listen? I think you have to experience things to learn those lessons, and as a parent you’ve got to let them trip up here and there. I’ll be there to put an arm round them when they need it.
The funny thing for me is that I’m still defined by a three-month period in my life when I was a teenager. That’s strange for a 52-year-old man. People who meet me in the street, if they do recognise me, it’s all about The One and Only. I sometimes feel like saying “What were you doing when you were 18? Can you imagine being defined by that forever?” 
But I’m very aware that that period of my life is what got my career started, and now I love that music. There was a time when I wouldn’t play The One and Only because I was an angry kid rebelling against what had happened to me.
Nowadays I do these retro festivals as well as my own headline stuff, and it’s so amazing to see people reliving their youth. That’s what music does, doesn’t it? It connects you to another time. I’m so honoured to be part of so many people’s lives. I’ve had messages over the years saying they played the song at their wedding or their brother’s funeral. So I can’t have any regrets or bitterness about that making me a “one-hit wonder”, because it’s so beautiful. 
I’ve been adopted by the ’80s fraternity, even though I’m really a ’90s kid, so I’m now pals with Howard Jones, Toyah Willcox, Go West, Nick Heyward, Holly Johnson. I also get to do ’90s festivals. I didn’t plan it that way, but I seem to have bridged both decades, which is handy!
I know all about the other downsides of fame as well. Ten years ago my dad and another member of The Tremeloes, Richard Westwood, were accused of indecently assaulting a teenage girl. It was awful. My dad was treated terribly through that whole ordeal – his name and address were printed in the Mail on Sunday, there were threats and people turning up to the house, it was a nightmare. 
This was right in the middle of Operation Yewtree and trying to address historic stuff – this accusation was supposedly about something that happened in the 1960s. Of course anyone who has done something like that deserves everything they get, but my dad is such an innocent.
He was in remission from cancer when it happened and then his cancer came back. I blame the investigation for that. He also got badly depressed. In the end he was completely exonerated, but he’s been through it. Thankfully he’s still with us now and in good spirits.
Now I’m older, I understand how ridiculous the whole fame thing is – how it’s basically all fake. But I found that one positive way to utilise it is to bring awareness to charities close to your heart. I have a few causes, like charities that support people with mental health issues. That connects with a lot of the stuff I’ve witnessed, or been through, or that’s happened in my family.
I did Flackstock the other night, the festival held in memory of Caroline Flack – I knew her from 20 years ago. I’ve got a song called The Meaning of This, which is about a young girl our family was really close to, Kiersty Rouge, who tragically took her own life at the age of 24. That’s probably one of the hardest things I’ve been through, having to tell my kids. I sang the song at the festival, and it was like a huge mass therapy session. I could see people in the crowd crying – I hardly got through it. But that’s what we need to do more of: talk about how we’re feeling.  
It’s especially hard when you’re trying to make the most of your 15 minutes of fame. I remember visiting seven countries in one day. I wound up in Japan and I stood up in the middle of an interview and just passed out. You become a commodity and the record company wants you everywhere: sell, sell, sell. You see it now with artists who are just exhausted and have to take a break from shows, like Adele or Harry Styles. 
I’ve definitely got a different perspective now. Being a father does that to you, and getting older, you stop sweating the small stuff. I honestly think you can choose happiness, if you have a positive outlook on life. I focus on the things that bring me joy: my daughter’s laugh, or seeing the dogs when I come home. 
I’m putting out a new album next year that’s written and produced with Jake Gosling. He’s an old friend of mine but also now a big A-list producer: he basically discovered Ed Sheeran. I’m really proud of this record. There are some kick-down-the-doors pop bangers, as you would expect, but also some introspective songs about pretty tough subjects. I think people who just know me for The One and Only might be surprised.
Before this, I put out songs independently and more quietly. Looking back, I wasn’t ready to make music that reflected what was in my heart – songs that mean something. I was still burnt from what happened. Now I’m willing to get back on the horse and show who I am. It took me a long time but I got there in the end.
And when people don’t recognise me, like with this week’s incident with Liz Truss, when she was ignored by an ITV reporter at Goodwood, I never take it personally. So what? In fact, I quite like it and it can be quite amusing at times. 
Serena Williams suffered a similar fate this week too, when she was turned away from a Paris restaurant after a member failed to recognise her during the Olympics. I’m a huge Serena fan, and anyone that has achieved all that she has achieved deserves respect and admiration. But in this moment, she’s in the queue with the rest of us.
The best part is that my son is in my band now – he’s a phenomenal guitar player, a much better musician than I ever was. It’s one of my favourite things in life to be at the front of the stage and look over and see my 18-year-old boy throwing shapes and nailing his solos. As long as he deems me worthy, he’s welcome on my stage, but I know he’s got a lot of life ahead of him.
If I’d had that crazy level of success right from 18 to now, I wouldn’t know the price of bread. People do s— for you when you’re famous. I got to actually be a dad and go to the playground with them and be a normal guy. I’m really, really grateful for that.
As told to Marianka Swain 
Chesney Hawkes performs at Reminisce Festival on September 7. Tickets are available via www.reminiscefestival.com