Wilko interview in full from today's edition of The Times.
‘The doctor said, “You’ve got cancer”. I was absolutely calm. And then later I began to feel almost euphoric’
In the febrile world of showbusiness, farewell tours are common enough.
They are undertaken by artists of a certain age planning to spend more
time with their grandchildren, the golf course, or perhaps the contents
of their wine cellar. Sometimes the warm rush of approbation, and
consequent ticket sales, are so impressive that the performer will
become mildly addicted. Kiss, the Eagles and Streisand have all been
accused of never quite being able to say goodbye. But there is
nothing optional about the farewell gigs soon to be undertaken by Wilko
Johnson, one of Britain’s greatest rhythm and blues guitarists, whose
former group, Dr Feelgood, were, for a heady year or so in the
mid-1970s, just about the biggest band in the land.
65, has terminal cancer of the pancreas and last week announced that he
would not be undergoing chemotherapy. Tickets for four last shows in
March to say thank you to the fans went on sale yesterday — three of
which have already sold out and an extra London date has been added.
In the rock’n’roll business this is surely the first time that an artist has signalled so starkly that there can be no encores.
And yet the tall, thin gent in black T-shirt and jeans splayed on an
armchair in his yellow, crenellated house in a suburb of Southend,
Essex, has none of the air of a condemned man. He laughs: “Apart from a
touch of cancer, I’m fine. Physically, none of the symptoms have started
yet. The specialist told me I may have four or five months before they
“I had the analysis just before Christmas, and I don’t
know if the guy was an expert in telling people bad news but he said
those words, ‘You’ve got cancer,’ and I was absolutely calm. I
didn’t freak out at all. I mean, I’ve always been a miserable bugger but
I felt OK and then later I began to feel almost euphoric, and the
strange thing is that the feeling hasn’t worn off. I realise that all
the things that I usually worry about don’t matter.” He says he has
refused chemotherapy because, at most, it would offer only another three
poor-quality months of life — “and that didn’t seem like a good deal”.
On the coffee table in front of us, next to the chess set and the
Russian dolls, is a pile of letters from Japanese fans, where news of
the illness emerged during recent dates. “It’s funny, I never realised I
had touched people so personally. They’re very moving, the ones in
broken English are the most heartbreaking.
“We’d finish the
gigs with me singing Bye Bye Johnny and I was waving at the fans and
they were waving and it should have been sad, but it was great.” He
laughs: “Terminal cancer is in many ways a good thing for a show-off.”
It’s an illness, though, that has stalked his adult life: carrying off
the lead singer of the Feelgoods, Lee Brilleaux; his chum and bandmate
Ian Dury; and, eight years ago, his beloved wife Irene, whom he says he
still thinks of every day. “Oh God, that was terrible. We’d been
together for 40 years. She was so brave, she never once complained.”
But Johnson insists it’s been a good life. Growing up on Canvey Island
in Essex, an odd blend of East End holiday resort and oil refinery
grime, he found fame playing choppy lead and rhythm chords with Dr
Feelgood. They wore thin-lapelled suits and played a lean, spare rhythm
and blues that had a raw excitement that made the loon-panted denizens
of prog rock suddenly look very old-fashioned indeed. Future members
of the Sex Pistols, the Jam and Madness all came and mentally took
notes. In New York, Blondie wore out the grooves on an import copy of
Down By the Jetty (click here to listen to the full album), the Feelgoods’ debut album.
stealing the show was the frenzied, bug-eyed Johnson and his red and
black Fender Telecaster with tunes that transposed Chicago blues to the
south Essex badlands. Soon they were the band of the moment: at a
residency at the Kensington pub in West London (he hates the term “pub
rock”) a pre-Charles Lady Di and the author John Mortimer were regulars,
though he remembers neither. When the Feelgood’s live album, Stupidity (click here to listen to full album),
went to No 1 in the UK and they began to tour the States, a Stones-like
future of stadium glory briefly seemed to beckon. But Johnson, sole
songwriter, rowed violently with the other three (“I could be a moody so
and so”). He says he was thrown out; the band put it about that he quit
“I’ve played ever since — either with my own band
or with Ian Dury. I mean, what else could I do? But the career was
always an accident, we were a little local band, we just happened to be
“Originally I wanted to be a poet. In fact The
Spectator published one of my old poems, from 1968, the other day — Get
Your Kicks on the B1014 — I was delighted. So not only am I a published
poet but I was talking to my son, who lives in the Philippines, and on
the news there they described me as Game of Thrones actor Wilko Johnson.
So I can add actor to my tally. I played an executioner in one or two
shows — I had to look daggers at people then cut their heads off. And it
was great because I was mute, so didn’t have to learn lines ... So
actor, poet, musician. Not bad.”
There’s an erudite range of
domestic interests too. On the flat roof of the house is a dome
enclosing a large telescope. Johnson spends hours up there, gazing at
the heavens and hopes to see the rings of Saturn “one last time this
year”. He studied English at Newcastle University and took a course in
old Icelandic and is one of the few English people who can read the
ancient sagas in the original. He loves Shakespeare and Marlowe and can —
rare for an electric guitarist — quote speeches from Tamburlaine.
Julien Temple, who made a film about him and the Feelgoods in 2009
called Oil City Confidential, has called him one of the great English
But Johnson is stoical about leaving all this
behind. And as an atheist he is certainly not expecting life ever after.
“If you asked me how I feel about knowing it’s over, I would say that
sometimes I’ve been feeling truly happy for the first time in my life.
“When we were in Japan we went to this temple in Kyoto and the scene with the mountains behind was sublime.
A light snow was falling and the scene was utterly beautiful. Normally
I’d be trying to take this in as a memory. But I thought there’s no
point, so I was just in that moment completely and I felt fantastic.”
It’s time to go and, as the photographer and I leave, we notice the
graffiti that Johnson has scrawled on the inside of his garden wall —
“Viva”, an anarchist symbol, then “Venceremos”.
“Yes, that’s my
bourgeois rebellion,” laughs Johnson, “only I can see it ... Yeah,
Venceremos, we will overcome. Well, maybe not this time.”
Johnson performs four farewell concerts: London Koko (March 6 and 10
(extra date), Bilston Robin 2 (March 7), Holmfirth Picturedrome (March
8), Glasgow O2 ABC (March 9). More gigs may be added if his health
permits. Tickets: 0844 4780898, thegigcartel.com.