Wish You Were Here?

Sometimes - shen the Spice rucks, gay probing, rum wedlock and rollicking rock
solo album get too much - a Spice Girl has to escape.  So Mel C took off to 
the Caribbean and, gamely, took Q with her.  Cue intimate banter: drugs, sex,
Geri, oil, weights, Robbie Williams and - oh, go on then - even more gay
probing.  "Spice Girls, for me, is a hobby", she tells Nick Duerden.


The pink-lensed sunglasses are lowered a fraction down the nose, and a pair of
bambi brown eyes peer out. They see, in no particular order, a hammock tied to
two leaning palm trees, acres of soft golden. sand, the gentle waves of
electric blue Caribbean sea, a whole host of exotic fauna, and a cobalt sky
that goes on forever. Down the beach there lies an attractive honeymooning
couple, Courteney Cox and David Arquette, who appear so much in love it must
be scripted. Otherwise, this slice of heaven is practically empty, as late
June is out of season on the island. The heat is sultry, intense, and every
drink comes with ice and a little straw umbrella.

The pink-lensed sunglasses are pushed back into position, and the eyes blink.
"Nice this, isn't it?" says Melanie Chisholm, a mistress of understatement,
uncoiling her nearly naked body until she resembles a human compass. "Think I
could get used to it."

It is afternoon on the island and, much like morning and evening, it is
therefore siesta time. The pop star stretches and yawns, and in doing so,
swallows a fly. "F***ing s***!" she spits. "I could do without the f***ing
insects, though." Her face is the picture of revulsion. "Urgh.'


Mel C is on holiday. Initially she'd plumped for Costa Rica because it sounded
like the perfect place to unwind after a three-month slog in Los Angeles
recording her debut solo album. But Costa Rica stank. It was not an ideal
holiday location, explains her travelling PA Ying. The hotels weren't nice and
there were no gyms. After six hours there, they'd had enough. A travel agent
was sought, and an atlas perused. An educated finger then fell on St Martin. a
tiny island in the Caribbean, Anguilla's Adam's Apple an hour to the south,
and a place so laid-back that today very often doesn't occur until tomorrow.
"Ideal," beamed the singular Spice Girl, boarding the plane. And it was. It is.

Four days in, and Mel C has reached a plateau of relaxation that has been
alien to her world for the past five years. Rarely does she, her PA and her
stylist Jenny, leave their bungalow at all. Instead, they've created a kind of
permanent pyjama party atmosphere-all girls, no boys-and they do things with
hairdryers, facial creams, nail polish. They drink herbal tea and make up
sexual pseudonyms for one another. Mel's alter ego is Mairy Hinge (transpose
the first letters of both words, then laugh out loud; they did). If you don't
count the two hours a day Mel pumps iron with her personal trainer, then she's
doing a whole lot of nothing.

Padding around her temperature-controlled front room, wearing nothing but a
pair of football shorts and a micro black bikini filled with muscle, she
boasts an even tan and several ornate tattoos. She's dyed her hair blonde, and
in the small hubcap of her tiny nose, there sits a tiny stud that catches as
much light as her gold tooth.

Mel G has described her bandmate as having recently gone very LA, darling,
While living in California, she has dined with Madonna, hung out with Adam
Sandler, and has purportedly slept with Robbie Williams and Anthony Kiedis.
She has been up on stage at The Viper Room with the Neurotic Outsiders (former
Sex pistol Steve Jones, two former Guns N'Roses members, and Duran Duran's
John Taylor). And she's currently making music with Rick Rubin and William
Orbit, two of Beck's band, and Bryan Adams. And now she's holidaying on an
island where many a rich Yank holidays, under a voluptuous sun.

"When I think about it it's all very freaky, the world I move around in these
days," she says, sipping her tea, while on the coffee table a stick of incense
that smells like a hippy's armpit slowly poisons the room. "Very f***ing
freaky." Her grin is huge, teeth everywhere.


Back in early March, 1999, the Spice Girls did something they don't often do.
As directed by a year-old schedule, they took some time off. The timing turned
out to be perfect. One had already left to educate the uneducated world in
matters of safe sex and boob health and to launch her own solo career, two had
settled down with men, had babies, and, in the case of Mel G, hot-headed rows,
and one went shopping with her mum. Ever since Wannabe sold four million
copies around the world, rapidly elevating the Spice Girls into the most
successful and famous British group since the Beatles, Mel C - born Melanie
Chisholm, in 1974 in Widnes, Cheshire - has harboured dreams of doing what she
describes as her own "stuff". "Spice Girls, for me, is a hobby. But my solo
stuff is my proper job. This is the real me."

And so, four months ago, she left her native, tabloid swamped island for the
smog and partial anonymity of Los Angeles to lay down tracks for the rubbishly
titled Northern Star, which comes out in the autumn. Every time she'd look up
from recording a vocal, producer Rick Rubin - who talks about her in much the
same way Diana used to talk about Mother Theresa - would stare back, beaming,
his thumbs aloft. He describes her talent as "undeniable, instinctive", and
Mel herself as "lovely". The pair had become great friends a year earlier when
the Spice Girls were supposed to record a track with Blackstreet for the South
Park album, before legal wrangles intervened. Rubin was to be at the helm for
that track, and when he heard of Mel C's own songwriting ambitions, he offered
a hand which she promptly grabbed.

"He's perfect for what I had in mind," she says. "Very few people so far have
actually heard my solo stuff, and there has been a lot of initial cynicism,
which I kind of understand, because of the Spice Girls. But then, that's
unfair really because Spice Girls make brilliant pop music, only it's not
considered `serious' by people who like Oasis and The Verve. Thing is, my
stuff is quite different, so it's going to surprise a lot of people."
Why? Is it any good?
"It's f***ing excellent, if you want my opinion." And then she folds herself,
yogi-like, on the floor by Q's feet and slips a CD of work in-progress into a
small music box that Dixons would sell off for £29.99 in a post-Christmas sale.
She cracks her knuckles then presses play.

Since Geri Halliwell's solo album Schizophonic delivered so few surprises, and
Mel G's excellent Missy Elliott collaboration, I Want You Back, was followed
by a pointless version of Cameo's Word Up, expectations aren't necessarily high
for Mel C's effort, despite the fact that she's widely credited as the Spice
Girls' best singer. Yet between Going Down (rocking hard but measured like I
Wanna Be Your Dog meets Skunk Anansie), Closer (wafting, balladic, like
expensive perfume), Ga Ga (Garbage, basically) and Follow (co-written by Bryan
Adams and sounding nothing like Bryan Adams) there's much to admire.
Throughout the airing of these songs, Mel C keeps her eyes closed and sings
along. Occasionally she glances up at Q to gauge reaction. She plans to debut
them at this year's V99 festival, then, come October, she'll undertake a
typically small tour for a Spice Girl, taking in London, Liverpool, New York,
Toronto, Tokyo and Sydney.
"These songs are probably a very fair indication of who I am," she says. "I've
always been a massive fan of indie rock."
Indie rock?
"Y'know Blur, early Oasis, Suede, Cardigans. I love Hole, and I'm still in awe
of everything Madonna has ever done."
She must hate Spice Girls records, then/
"No, not at all. They're not me, but they're a laugh, they're fun."


The all-important Spice schedule has dictated that Spice Girls will reconvene
in August to record their third album. Mel C must surely be reluctant to
rejoin her "hobby" now the "real her" has emerged from its pupa?
"I hope not," she says, hesitantly "No, I'm sure it will be fine." Her face
folds in on itself, deep in thought. An analogy's coming. "It's a little like
when you're contemplating that hellish f***ing flight across the Atlantic,
when you'll be stuck in a small seat for nine to fourteen hours. The thought
is horrendous. But when you're actually on that plane then it's really not
that bad at all. We've had it scheduled for so long now anyway, and I'm used
to living by schedules."
Come on, confess. She's not going back, is she?
"Me not rejoining the Spice Girls isn't even an option," she says with
emphasis. "It will happen."
OK, but will her heart be in it?
"Of course it will, but in a different way. My main love is my solo album. I'm
very keen to prove myself to people, to show them just what I'm capable of.
Just thinking about it gives me the shivers."
She holds both arms out in front of her, hands curled up into fists. And,
hovering atop the muscles are, yes, goosebumps.


Some things about Melanie Chisholm. She was brought up on one of those '70s
council estates architects presumed would revolutionise family life for the
better. When she was three, her parents split up, then divorced. Both soon
remarried, and suddenly there were half brothers everywhere, five at the last
count. She also has a half sister who was kindly unearthed by the tabloids
only a couple of years ago. Her mother was a singer in the early '70s, with
her own dreams of worldwide stardom, and almost landed a record deal herself
before Melanie's birth. She continues to sing locally today, although her
recent grisly performance of Nutbush City Limits on GMTV suggests that she
doesn't do so very well.
At school, Melanie was a model student. She became a prefect, and took an
interest in acting and dancing. As a consequence of the latter, she
developed muscular legs, which her father joked resembled those of
footballers. To this day she hates her legs, and blames him. She adored
Madonna, had her first crush on Adam Ant, and spent her entire teenage years
convinced George Michael was straight. She has two scars, one on her forehead,
the other on her knee, both the results of childhood accidents, and she
always wanted to learn how to play the guitar. She also loved the idea of
becoming a pop star.

"When I was seven, I was that archetypal little girl singing into her
hairbrush in front of my bedroom mirror," she says. "I never thought it would
actually happen because I had no idea how to go about making it come true.
But somehow it happened. I got into a band and couldn't believe me luck, we
got a record deal and I couldn't believe me luck, then we became one of the
biggest bands in the world and I couldn't believe me f***ing luck! It's funny.
Someone asked me the other day whether I was frustrated that I'd wasted four
years in the Spice Girls when I could have been developing my solo career.
Hello? What a ridiculous question! How could I possibly be frustrated? I've
lived out everybody's childhood dream. I'm a multi-millionairess, and I'm
only 25. I'm so f***ing jammy, I've got an amazing life."

Word comes up from the beach. The photographer is ready. Mel C, dressed only
in a red vest and a pair of briefs that are as much adjective as they are
noun, skips across the sand and takes her position on the shore. As she
frolics in the warm waves, her vest riding up to reveal the legend ANGEL on
her midriff, a sun the colour of ripe melon cracks on the clouds behind her,
then slowly bleeds into the horizon. Outside of the click and whir of the
camera, there is silence all around, everyone slowly drinking in the postcard
beauty of the view, quietly revelling in the temporary pleasures of a
lifestyle not bound by financial constraint.
A day later, the rains come. Unlike British rain, which drizzles, teems and
spits and seems to hang around forever, tropical rain is sudden, temporary,
and very, very heavy - the mother of all power showers.
"F*** me! Rain! Inside, quick!"

Mel C pads into her little kitchen and puts on the kettle. More herbal tea is
made, and, infuriatingly, she insists on lighting another stick of hippy's
armpit. Then she sits on the floor again, crosses both legs on top of one
another in a fashion reminiscent of origami, and smiles widely. Mel C chooses
her words less carefully than Sporty Spice.
"It's not that I put on an act or anything," she insists, "it's just that it's
more difficult to speak your true mind in a band situation because everything
you say represents three other people. I don't want to spout off only to find
out I've offended one of the other girls. It's all about respect, basically.
Alone, though, I'm my own boss. I can say what I want."
And so she talks about the band and how they split up regularly. She talks
about Geri Halliwell, and while doing so wrinkles her nose as if smelling
something sour. And she talks about the whole gay thing. But let's take it one
step at a time. To her left, the tea goes cold, ignored.

"We're girls, you know, and girls bicker all the time. So there are rows and
ructions every other day. There'll always be one of us who flips and says. . ."
and here, perhaps not accidentally she slips into a very passable impersonation
of Mel G, ". . . That's it! I'm leaving! But it never amounts to anything. I
think the rumours of us all hating each other is hysterical. If we really hated
each other so much, why would we stay together? We hardly need the f***ing
money do we?"

The arguments seem generally to revolve around Mel G. Is she really as horrible
as the recent Spice Girls documentary suggested? "Melanie is, um, definitely
the loudest," says Chisholm, carefully. "And there are some days I don't even
bother talking to her, to be honest. But other days we're bosom buddies."
Oh. "Honestly! I'm telling you the truth, I'm not just being diplomatic. We
really are great friends - you'd have to be after what we've experienced
together."

Who's her favourite Spice Girl? "Favourite?" She thinks a while. "Me!"
Sorry. Try again.
"Well, Emma and I spend a lot of time together, but then I also... (cue five
minutes of approved Spice blather) And I used to be very close to Geri," she
concludes.

Geri Halliwell, Mel C insists, left the band without any explanation. The girls
have yet to divulge the whole story because, she says, they don't know the
whole story. Sure, she had arguments, especially with Mel G, but no more than
anyone else. And, yes, they each have several theories as to why she chose to
leave. Which were, exactly?
"We'd rather keep those to ourselves," she says. Oh, go on.
"No, they stay with us."
She will say that Halliwell's very abrupt departure shocked them all greatly.
And she will profess ignorance of the breast cancer interview Geri Halliwell
alleges the Spice machine made her miss: in Halliwell's version, the catalyst
for the split.
"The ball is in her court now" says Chisholm, with a certain resignation.
"We've all tried to get in touch with her, but she won't return our calls. She
can't seem to bring herself to talk to us. Maybe her wounds are still healing?
It's a shame, but whatever. I'm sure she'll get in touch when she's ready."

In her travelling CD case, Mel C has a copy of Schizophonic. She's played it
twice, at most. It's unlikely she'll play it a third time.
"I was very excited to hear it," she says. "And I have to admit, part of me
wanted it to be awful. But it's a collaboration with Absolute (the team
previously employed by Spice Girls), so it didn't shock me in any way. I did
wonder about how she'd handle it vocally though."
And her verdict?
"Not great, but alright. I've got loads of advice for her, which songs to
release, and just things I'd love to say to her if we were still talking, but
we're not, so I'm sure she's not interested."
She reaches over for her tea, and grimaces as she swallows.
"I don't want to offend her, but I find it difficult to take her as a serious
artist. For me, she's just cotton wool. She's not a talented musician, and
she's not a very strong singer. I think she's ambitious, and I've got a lot
of respect for her in that way. She's a great celebrity, but musically, it
doesn't come from here (taps heart). It's just hollow"
Does she think Geri will make it to a second solo album?
"She'll probably be good on TV"


Time, as they almost used to say on Pipkins, for the gay thing. Mel C is one
of the four most recognisable pop stars on planet earth. She's young,
attractive, but emphatically single. The last time she had a serious
relationship, no-one knew who she was. She was 21, and Wannabe was yet to
happen. She'd like to think she's a "good kisser", but concedes she's out of
practice. She says she's not very good with boyfriends and that she's the
first to leave. Recently, she's been linked to several men: Anthony Kiedis,
Robbie Williams, footballer Jason McAteer and, tragically, pop himbo Kavana.
Did she, as rumour would so love to have it, jump between the sheets with any
of them?
For the first time during our two-day chat, she blushes. "It's true that I've
dated some of those men, but they could have just been one-off dinner dates or
completely platonic friendships."
So which were which, exactly? Her nose scrunches up in embarrassment. She
looks about six. "I think I'd rather not say" Then, "Well, none of them
actually"

Cue, then, the big rumour: that the permanently tracksuited Sporty Spice,
someone who wouldn't know glamour if it came up and assaulted her, was
constructed specifically to appeal to lesbians. True or false?
Mel C's mouth makes a perfect O, then her lower jaw falls to the floor. The
laughter is loud, incredulous.
"Is that what they say? No wonder I've got trouble getting a bloke!"
But is it true?
"Of course it's not true! It's a load of f***ing bollocks! I wore tracksuits
because I've always been into sports and I've never been comfortable in
dresses. I wasn't `constructed' in any way. And when the nicknames took hold,
I could hardly start wearing one of Geri's dresses, could I?"

Why no boyfriend, then?
"Well, I've been a bit busy recently as you may have noticed. And also, the
right man hasn't come along yet, that's all. But I'm a patient girl, I'll
find him eventually."

Another reason for the rumours is her current build. When she flexes those
muscles - and even her veins bulge, as if on the verge of bursting - grown men
cower.
"I'm a complete perfectionist, and I'm always striving to better myself in
every way. Keeping fit helps me in many ways. I'm a very up and down person,
and I suffer a lot from stress. Working out in the gym, I've found, is
perfect for working off stress. Also, I feel safe in the gym. When I'm working
out, it's just me and the weights: No-one can get to me." She shifts her iron
buttocks on the cold marble floor. "A lot of people in this business turn to
drink and drugs when they come off the road because they're looking to
recapture the buzz. I've got enough problems without turning to drugs."
Problems?
"Like most artists, I suppose, I have a lot of highs and lows, y'know? Loads
of mood swings. So if I did turn to drugs, I'd completely f***ing lose it, no
question. So instead, I put all my energy into keeping fit. That keeps me
focused."
But she has taken drugs, hasn't she?
Silence. Pause. A shrug. "Yes, I've dabbled, but no more. These days, I barely
even drink."


Two weeks later, in London, Q wonders what's the most bizarre rumour she's
heard about the Spice Girls. She answers in a second. "That whole lesbian
thing we talked about on St Martin, actually," she says. "Y'know, that really
shocked me."
Since we last met, she's cut her hair short and, for the photo shoot, she's
oiled up her body. Everything ripples, including her tattoos.
"I suppose that now looking like this, everyone will be completely convinced
that I'm a dyke!" She grabs her head in, presumably, mock agony.
And is she?
"What?" Gay? "No" Oh.
Does it worry her when people question her sexuality?
"Not now, no. It would have when I was younger. But there's always speculation
about the Spice Girls, it's part of the territory."
Talking of which. Has she heard the one about Geri leaving when her love
affair with Mel G goes sour?
Mel C throws her head back and laughs out loud. "Fantastic! I've not heard
that one. What a lot of bulls***!"

What about the one concerning Emma Bunton's abortion after her affair with
sacked manager Simon Fuller?
"Oh, that's nasty, and it's not true. Emma never had an affair with Simon in
the first place." She grunts, the sound emanating from the back of her throat.
"The whole time I was in LA, I didn't see one tabloid, and it was so
refreshing. That's why I'm no longer bothered about all this bulls*** that
flies around the Spice Girls. I'm working hard to ignore the s*** that's
written about us."

A week on, and the Spice Girls are slapped over every tabloid in the UK. The
occasion, this time round, is the marriage of Victoria Adams and David Beckham.
OK! Magazine pay a million for the photos, keep the sexually frustrated
Beckhams awake till 5.15am on their wedding night sifting through them, and
publish them a week later. The results looked quite vulgar.
"It wasn't vulgar," sniffs Mel C. "It was OTT which, if you know Victoria, is
very much her style. She's very tongue-in-cheek, she knows how to have fun,
take the piss."
It still looked crass, though.
"No, it was actually a beautiful day. I've never seen two people so intensely
in love before." While all the guests gorged themselves on a buffet of Tudor
magnitude, Melanie Chisholm played Self Disciplined Spice once more. Not even
a smorgasbord of excess such as this could tempt her away from purity.
"Being in the Spice Girls is very demanding, and each member is very demanding
in themselves," she says, at the airport a couple of days later, LA-bound once
more to finish off the album. "To work on my own record I needed a change of
scenery. That's why I went to LA. And that's why I'm going back. I had to get
away from all band responsibilities and distractions. When I set my heart on
something, then I go for it with complete focus."
She walks through the departure lounge and down the ramp towards the plane,
and she keeps walking until she becomes, temporarily, a blur.