Shut the door on your way out

The real stars and the only ultimate winners in the Pop Idol advertising bonanza seem to be the four seriously minted industry moguls who sit in judgement of the procession of curiously coiffed, singing, dancing lemmings, and of the fantastic four there is one in particular whose enduring appeal in spite of continuous dereliction of musical duty is a mystery and frankly a problem to me.

Surely it’s time for Pete Waterman to find an alternative source of gainful employment? The sight of him consistently drooling over the lovely blond lambs to the slaughter (and before the watershed) with his, “I tell ya what, you’re a lovely, lovely girl, if I was a few years younger etc. etc.” is what has really brought this to a head. It’s just about acceptable from Simon Cowell. He may not be every woman’s dream but he’s hanging in there, thanks to his commendable, though unsubtle employment of a typically male take on cosmetic surgery. No girly running off to Harley Street and blowing the hard-earned billions on lipo for our Si – nah, he just hitches the trousers up another inch. Everyone knows the anatomically correct definition of the stomach is “that which is above the belt” after all. Coming from Waterman however, such behaviour is seriously unsavoury. He hobbles around my nightmares, inviting contestants up to his hotel room to discuss their “big future”. He invites them to try out his Jacuzzi, “oh no love, of course I could climb into it if I wanted, it’s just that having a door in the side is the latest thing.”

It’s not even as if Pete has aged, he’s always been ancient. He’s been about my consciousness since the halcyon days of the Stock, Aitken and Waterman ‘hit machine.’ I can vividly remember first seeing the video for ‘I Should Be So Lucky’ one Saturday morning on Get Fresh, presented by crazy guy turned scientist Gaz Top. Even back then Pete looked like somebody’s grandad. It occurred to me that Pete may once have been a young man before he became a pop svengali, and may even have had a previous career. Perhaps there could be a way to convince him that it’s time to return to that first love in the world of work, whether it was fighting fires, clowning or selling cockles and mussels, and thus put a stop to his reign of hit-making terror (you know them all: Rick Astley, Sonia, B*witched, Steps, Jason Donovan). No need to go as far as rival aging hipster Louis Walsh was suggesting when he told the Sun, “Pete Waterman threatened to kill himself if One True Voice were a failure – well he should do it now.” No, let’s just encourage the old fella to grow old with some grace.

A check of Pete’s biography at the reservoir of humility that is his website (www.pwl-empire.com) yielded disappointing results. Turns out he’s been messing around with records since he was old enough to wind up his old man’s gramophone. Indeed, if you believe this not at all slanted view of his career, presented as a synopsis of his mein kampf, otherwise known as ‘I Wish I Was Me’, Pete Waterman is actually responsible for the discovery of every genre of popular music, and every decent band along the way. The links are consistently tenuous and qualified, of the “in 1974 Pete went to Jamaica, and four months later Bob Marley was No.1 in the UK charts!” variety. Although there is no evidence to back it up, I am assured that in 1977 Pete had his finger on the pulse because he “became enamoured with the punk scene” and “At the height of the Acid Revolution Pete took cameras into the Hacienda. Excerpts from this historic footage has (sic) been used many times by film companies to recreate the period and today is the only footage (shot of any quality) of an acid house club with the rave generation into a full, head-on rave.”

Say no more, it’s perfectly clear from the lingo that Pete Waterman was a true acid house pioneer. I got the impression that ‘shadowy figures’ may have been glossing over some of the inevitable obstacles faced on any rise to the top, even one as meteoric as Pete’s. I hit paydirt after a bit of digging around with the unquestionably impartial BBC. Its News Profiles Unit explained that as in all good rags to riches stories Pete left school with very little education, not learning to read properly until he was 38. That must have been a crucial factor in his early success as it would have protected him from having to read reviews telling him how crap his records were.

His entrepreneurial spirit was evident early on – he used to sell coal to his neighbours from a pram. Later, Pete had an apprenticeship at the electricity company where he was an active trade unionist. Unfortunately not much can be done with this, except using it as another reason why everyone can be angry at Thatcher. If she hadn’t wrecked the mining industry and crushed the unions we could be rid of Mr. Waterman down a pit, or he could have ended the FBU strike in twenty minutes with the negotiating skills he has learned as a recording industry shark. Having said that, I’m sure if the iron lady was aware of this it would be the biggest regret of her thirteen years.

The career that could really be right for Pete, the one we could use to prize his liver-spotted hands from his teetering pop empire, is in the railways. You would never suspect it from someone with such a flawlessly cool public persona, but Mr. Waterman is a major train buff. He claims to be the first man to have bought a piece of the privatised network and used to go trainspotting with Chris Rea in the 70’s, presumably in breaks between drug-fuelled jam sessions. Rather than frittering away his fortune on restoring old girlfriends he chooses to restore old steam-trains. It seemed clear that Pete Waterman wants to be a train driver, but it hasn’t quite occurred to him yet.

I called Pete Waterman Limited to float the idea. Sharon McPhilemy told me that Pete’s train fetish originates form working as a stoker in his youth. She said she was sure Pete had once wanted to be a train driver and definitely gave me the impression that if he ever leaves the business, trains would be his thing. Unfortunately she also said that he’s in music for keeps and is happy to keep trains as a sideline for now.

However, I still think there is cause for hope. If this idea could be kept on Pete’s agenda, he would find it hard to avoid giving it some serious consideration. If the public he has always aimed to please so indicated that it would now be more pleased for him to be a train driver than a record producer, he might just dust off the Scotrail application form languishing in the bottom drawer off his desk, underneath Cleopatra’s gold disk.

Therefore, I would encourage anyone reading this, particularly any careers consultants out there, to make a bee-line for Pete’s website and send him an encouraging e-mail with any practical tips for those seeking to change careers at a more advanced age. I for one would wish him all the luck in the world.