"Q" magazine, 9/97

No way! Until recently, Jon Bon Jovi was Rock God incarnate. Now, he has swapped singing about "pussy" and playing stadiums for acting and selling rather fewer records. No matter, for as he tells Paul Du Noyer in his favourite Camden eaterie, "I'm gonna go down the route that's creative and inventive.

When a man walks into a restaurant wearing a skimpy black shirt and rock star shades you might think he looks like Jon Bon Jovi. When the restaurant manager greets him like a long-lost son --"Ah, Jon! I have everything ready" and points to a table, already laden with every delicacy this distinguished visitor is known to favour -- you start to get the feeling it probably is Jon Bon Jovi. And then you notice he's being followed by two young women. He throws up his hands in despair and says: "I'm not even sleepin' with these bitches! And they still give me shit!" That settles it, then. This must be Jon Bon Jovi...

Strangely enough, the words, "I'm not even sleepin' with these bitches! And they still give me shit!" are almost the only ones he will utter in rock star mode all evening. He slaps a well-defined upper-arm, home to a small Superman logo: "I have to tell'em, this Superman thing is only a tattoo!" He pulls up a chair and takes off his shades. and gives you a hey-just-kidding grin. His manner becomes quite different. He is now earnest, and almost shy. The two young women, one learns, are Jon Bon Jovi's publicity team, responsible for the punishing string of interviews he has undergone today, from a Radio One Roadshow in Bournemouth to this evening's rendezvous with Q, in his favourite restaurant in the world, Cheng Du in Camden Town, North London ("This is the only interview I've looked forward to. I love this place -- I musta been here thirty-five times"). The publicity women are teased for their pitiless brutality. He whimpers and pleads exhaustion. But later they will say: "He's a worka- holic. He loves to have things to do."

What we have, in fact, is not the Jon Bon Jovi of legend. He is no longer the hairy-chested, turbo-trousered Love Overlord of stadium-rogering magnitude, but rather a calm, reflective cove, as sensible as a 35-year-old is supposed to be. Married, with two children, he has taken a two-year sabbatical from the band Bon Jovi in order to pursue his two professional dreams. One is to make some introspective, unpredictable solo music such as appears on his new album Destination Anywhere. It's a pretty subtle piece of work that bears scant resemblance to the Jovi's monumental moments: Bad Medicine, Lay Your Hands On Me, Livin' On A Prayer and so on.

The other goal is acting: his second major movie role comes with the release of The Leading Man, in which he stars as a manipulative American thespian infiltrating the world of British theatre. He made the film in London last year, living for three months in a house by Wandsworth Common ("I never understood why people here thought that was funny. I coulda lived in Holland Park. But I liked Wandsworth.") It's as if he now looks back on his old Bon Jovi character like that, too, as if it was an acting job. He slips into a line like "I'm not even sleepin' with these bitches!" with an easy irony. It's an echo of the '80, when he was a codpiece-flaunting hair rocker and saying stuff like that was simply part of his job description. It's just not where he's at any more.

The revolving restaurant table takes a spin, and he wields his chopsticks -- with a finesse that would attract Shanghai itself -- in the general direction of some crispy seaweed. "Hey, George!" he calls out to manager. "When are you gonna open a branch in New Jersey7 Then I could eat this all the time." "Ah, no good, Jon. You travel all the time. We would never see you." The resting rock god munches somewhat on his seaweed."Nah, man. If I could eat like this at home I'd never leave New Jersey." So, how's life treating you, Jon? "With the exception of this schedule," he shoots a glance at his publicity people,on a nearby table,"I have nothing to bitch about." Outside, on the streets of Camden Town, are red-faced madmen, gripping carrier bags and shouting at the traffic. Behind them are two separate sets of posters. The cheaper ones advertise a collection of pre-Bon Jovi tunes the man recorded under the name on his birth certificate, John Bongiovi. The expensive ones show him modelling Versace jeans, rippling his sculpted torso. Jon Bon Jovi was the only hard rock singer of the last decade to look like he'd been designed by girls. Negotiating an unidentified meat, he describes the origins of his new solo music, attributing its quirkiness to the atmosphere of London.He began writing the songs while filming.

"On a movie set you sit around with your thumb in your butt. Nowhere to go, no TV. So I brought my guitar and started writing. It was a very exciting time. The Britpop thing having just started, I was listening to the radio in my trailer- the Manics, Black Grape, Blur, Pulp -- I went, 'Woah! What the fuck is this?' Those songs! Common People. Design For Life. I thought this was cool." Among the London numbers was Midnight In Chelsea, replete with references to goths. Sloane Rangers and Britpop boys. As with his new material in general, soaring guts-or-glory choruses are not a feature, whereas there is subdued moodiness aplenty. What do the old Bon Jovi fans think of his new direction? The singer frowns and stabs thoughtfully at some prawn toast. "Well, I'm not touring, so I don't know how ticket sales would go if I did. To be honest with you. the Midnight In Chelsea single stiffed in America. Nobody knew what the word Chelsea meant. I tried to explain it was a part of London, they didn't give a fuck. Europe, Asia, rest of the world. the single did really well. In America, they didn't want to hear it."

"The US didn't get second single Queen Qf New Orleans either -- this time quite literally. Janie, Don't Take Your Love To Town was it a more staid replacement."Oueen Of New Orleans would go on the heavy rock stations, but they won't play me now." bemoans Bon Jovi. It's a crazy time. We played the single for what they call Modern Rock stations in the States. They go, 'Man, love this! Who is it? ' You tell them. (Pulls face) 'Can't play it. Too many hits. Can't play a guy with hit records.' Where the fuck is that'!" Is there inverted snobbery at work? "In a weird way, yeah. You get too successful, you're not cool any more. I've sold too many records to be new. Like, people slag U2 because they're not the newest thing any more. Doesn't mean that Bono's not a great singer, 'cos he is. But they're on top of the world. You just deal with it. It's par for the course, I can't stress myself over it."

Like yourself, U2 took a chance in moving away from stadium-friendly anthem rock. "Absolutely. I got an advance copy of the U2 record by begging and pleading. I got an advance copy of the Aerosmith record the same way. My record was done and I'd just listened to it for the first time. To tell you the truth I got nervous. Holy fuck, maybe I've made a mistake here. Should I stay safe and do the Aerosmith route? Qr should I be adventurous and go the U2 route? I thought I'd made a pretty good record. I said, 'Fuck it, I'm gonna go the route that's creative and inventive and movin' on and not pretending to sing to 18-year-olds when you're 35 and talkin' about how I like pussy.' I like pussy as much as the next guy, but I don't wanna hang around high school parking lots to get it. You move on, you wanna say different things."

When you were 25, you made some great young man's music. "You bet! I stood tall and said. 'I am 25, hallelujah! You give love a bad name. Bring it on!' We lived it. Man, I love playin' Wembley Stadium. I love bein' in a rock'n'roll band. But what I won't do is be 35 pretending to be 25 writing about 18-year- olds. When I was 25 I wrote Never Say Goodbye about the High school prom. Can't do that. Move on, man. So what will I do if it's not successful commercially? I don't think I'll lose my record deal."

A theme of Midnight In Chelsea is Jon Bon Jovi's pleasure in becoming anonymous, melting into the city, He says he meant it. "Last year, when the Bon Jovi tour ended. I walked away and, for the first time in the '90', I didn't have a hundred people on the payroll. Didn't have to worry about getting a record out to keep the company happy. It was absolutely from the bottom of my belly. Nobody's asking me for favours, no one's looking for a saviour. America didn't get that lyric, but I'd rather paint it on my chest than take it back."

Did you reach a low point with the band? "Well, 1990 to '92 was seriously low. I was as low as I could imagine myself being. I call it the Grey Summer. I was out in California, drinkin', being miserable, wanted to seek help, jump out of my car when I was driving. I was a mess, it took everything out of it that I loved. Until I took control, it sucked." He "took control", in fact, by firing the band's manager, Doc McGhee. "Now, because I'm further away from it, I can see our old manager was really doing his job. But in the big picture, he and everyone else involved -- agents, lawyers -- should have said, 'You know what? We believe in you. You'll be here in ten years. Go home and have a rest.' Not doing things behind your back to keep you on the road."

The band, he insists, will get back together. v "Definitely. My intention is absolutely to keep the band together and address songs to the venues we appear in, which typically are the big ones. But not to re-write You Give Love A Bad Name, because I couldn't do that, I love the song and the period but I can't do it again." He thinks of his New Jersey homeboy Bruce Springsteen -- another man who knows what it's like to walk away from stadiums and follow his own particular muse. "Yeah. We all had dinner at my house, and he looked right through me and said, I tell you, I'm happier now than I've ever been in my life.' He's playin' an acoustic guitar by himself, pretending to be Woody Guthrie. And I went, 'OK, for the first time I'm not gonna tell you to put the band back together. I finally get it! ' I'd been relentless in telling him to put the fuckin' band back together! He wouldn't have a word of it. He don't wanna be The Boss all the time, either. "And now," he peers outside, "It's time to get my sweaty ass outta my favourite restaurant."

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