Marianne once told me she didn't think she'd live past the Sixties. Her magic will live forever

Yahoo

30-01-2025

Marianne Faithfull has died, aged 78, and the world of music will seem quieter, and sadder, without her in it.
She was an extraordinary person, whose striking looks, rich character and quixotic presence exercised a subtle, unquantifiable yet utterly magical influence on popular music in our times, a presence that touched so many other artists and music listeners. Plus she was also an absolute hoot, a delight to spend time with, an adorably complex woman who left her mark on every life she brushed against, mine included, and probably yours too. She was someone special.
The first time I met Faithfull was in a rehearsal room in east London in 2009. She was sitting on a bar stool, golden hair swept back, right hand tucked into the waistband of her black leather trousers, left hand holding a lit cigarette. As her band struck up a familiar chord sequence, she sang As Tears Go By, her classic debut, penned by Mick Jagger and Keith Richards, two young rockers both desperately enamoured of this beautiful, smart, bohemian 17-year-old wonder.
The decades since had changed her voice, which was no longer that of an angelic convent schoolgirl, but deep and raspy, with a weathered sensuality that left you in no doubt that you were listening to a woman who had shed more than her fair share of tears. Afterwards, all the musicians applauded. 'It's a long way from the Sixties,' someone said. 'It really is,' said Faithfull. 'I didn't think I'd live this long.'
Faithfull was an icon of the Sixties pop counterculture, the beautiful girlfriend of a Rolling Stone, who descended into a drug hell, became impoverished and homeless, before reconstituting herself with a shattered voice as a great musical interpreter.
The daughter of a high-ranking Second World War British army spy and an Austro-Hungarian baroness involved in resistance activities, she grew up in Hampstead, London, a rebellious spirit who left school at 16 to sing folk songs and dabble in acting. She was talent spotted by Rolling Stones manager Andrew Loog Oldham, who notoriously described her as 'an angel with big tits'.
She quickly became part of the Stones' inner circle, and once claimed to have slept with three of the band before settling on Jagger as boyfriend material. She was better read, better dressed, better educated, with more classical musical knowledge than her partner, and a strong artistic impulse that helped expand the band's cultural range.
The Rolling Stones' 1969 single Sister Morphine is credited to Faithfull, Jagger and Richards, but in truth her influence was much bigger than that. To confine Faithfull to the traditional role of 'muse' might seem insulting, but she once told me: 'I was very good at it. A muse brings her style, sensibility and mind to the artist. Mick would have written great songs anyway, they were just a little bit changed by my presence, suggesting a line here and there, topics, giving him books to read, I found that fascinating.'
During our last interview in 2021, she was a little more dismissive of the concept. 'For me, it was a bit of a put-down. But I don't want to complain because I've had a wonderful life. And yes, Mick broke my heart, but I learned how to make records with Mick and Keith. I wouldn't be who I am without that.'
For some, Faithfull will always be the girl at the centre of a notorious 1967 drugs bust at Keith Richards's house where police found her dressed only in a fur rug. She later spoke about how the salacious publicity was much harder to take than her imperturbable presence might suggested. 'Bad behaviour makes men more glamorous. Women get destroyed, thrown out of society and locked up in institutions,' she told me.
By the time the decade ended, Faithfull had become addicted to heroin and, in 1969, spent six days in a coma after a suicide attempt during the break-up of her four-year relationship with Jagger. She descended into a narcotic nightmare, becoming impoverished and homeless before she resurfaced in 1977 with her extraordinary self-penned song of struggle and dislocation, Broken English.
It was an incredible piece of work, that still crackles with intensity today. Hedonism, overdoses, smoking and a bout of severe laryngitis had wreaked a toll on her vocal chords, which she told me 'was a fantastic relief. I couldn't have done what I do with that voice. It was pretty and pure but ever so silly.'
In the four decades that followed, Faithfull produced a fantastic body of work, arguably much bolder and more interesting than anything the Stones were making, 13 adventurous albums of complex songs in which she brought to bear the poles of her experience, from 'incredibly pure to incredibly wicked.' Her magnetic appeal saw an incredible array of artists beating a path to her door. Faithfull's albums featured songs and duets with Jarvis Cocker, Cat Power, Rufus Wainwright, Anthony Hegarty, Sean Lennon, Daniel Lanois, Roger Waters, Beck, Billy Corgan, PJ Harvey, Damon Albarn, Mark Lanegan, Nick Cave and Warren Ellis.
The last time we spoke she was sounding a bit down, suffering the effects of long Covid and emphysema, and barely able to sing any more. Sometimes, she admitted, there were times she wished it was all over. But when I expressed sympathy, she laughed her warm, wheezy laugh. 'Don't worry, darling, I am strong!'
Indeed, I heard recently that she was singing again, and had recorded a new album. I hope so. I know that she had long since come to accept the contradictions within her personality. 'I am very extreme. It's one or the other: death or glory. That's it.'
But how about death and glory? So long, Marianne. Your voice and your spirit will endure in the crackling grooves of your records.