Skin: 'I don’t need to look up to someone. Why be the second when you can be the first?'
At 18, I had no idea of the places you could go or the ways you could live. As you get older, the circle that contains all the things you want to achieve gets bigger.
Coming from the background that I came from, growing up in Brixton, everything I’ve achieved has felt like a bonus. If you have rich parents or ones who are actors or architects, then you have more of a view about what you can do with your life. My younger self would be quite confused and proud if she saw me now. She’d be like, “Wow, you have a house in Ibiza?”
Growing up in an area that could be dangerous at times, you’re always seeking a place that feels safe and you don’t want to be poor. It’s maybe the other way around for some middle-class artists, who seek out that danger. There’s a very strong community in Brixton, though, and it would have been very easy to have stayed there and had a nice life, but I didn’t have that mindset. I knew other things were out there.
I have no recollection of being asked what I wanted to do when I grew up. Jamaican parents can have that attitude that children should be seen and not be heard. I think it’s different now, but in the 1960s and 1970s, adults didn’t have those conversations with you.
My first notions of what I wanted to do with my life were photography, film and news; ideally a combination of them all. I wanted to be a photojournalist.
I never wanted to do something in front of the camera, though; I always thought I’d be the person behind the scenes, making it happen.
Shaving my head was one of the things that really changed me as a person. If my 18-year-old self saw me, I reckon she’d go straight to the barbers and shave all her hair off there and then. No dilly-dallying.
From 18 to 26, life was all about failing, and coping with all the things that were happening. I’d been very quiet and shy growing up, but I started to realise that, actually, it wasn’t a good thing to be as shy as that and be a performer. I remember being on stage for the first time in my band, Skunk Anansie, and jumping around and going crazy with the pure joy of it all. Cass, my bandmate, was really quite shocked when he saw me like that. Offstage, I’m still a lot quieter and more subdued. At first, even I didn’t know I had it in me. Both sides are the same person, though. It’s all me. But if I walked around all day screaming, “Yes, it’s f------ political”, I don’t think I’d get invited to many dinner parties.
Our songs were political because when I was growing up, Brixton was one of the places that the press would always talk about, but that was my community and my people. We didn’t need to read about it in a newspaper, because we were living there.
Before Skunk Anansie, there were other black female artists who had a rocky sound, such as Tina Turner and Debbie Davis, but they were still very funky and R&B. Skunk Anansie wasn’t typical black music. And we always had to battle with being cool. We weren’t a Britpop band like our contemporaries, such as Oasis or Blur. We were British music, but just not what the industry wanted to promote at the time. When we headlined Glastonbury in 1999, we weren’t deemed worthy by some people because we weren’t cool enough. It’s a shadow that’s followed us, but our fans love us.
Someone asked me recently about role models and inspirations. I felt I had no one to look up to, but my answer to that question is, be the first. Just go for it. I don’t need to look up to someone. I was always more interested in doing something completely fresh. Why be the second when you can be the first?
Being odd and weird is my personality. When I try to conform to what a “rock’n’roll person” looks like, it just doesn’t work. I look like a black woman trying to be a white guy. I learnt that lesson in my first band, Mama Wild; there was no point trying to be the girl next door, because I’m not and I never was.
My voice has changed as I’ve got older; my singing voice has definitely got lower, and has a lot more control now. When I was younger, I had a high, squeaky voice; I was Mickey Mouse from Brixton.
At 24, I remember writing a five-year plan. I wanted to be in a signed band and make albums. The one thing I would be really delighted with myself about would be: “Wow, you actually got to do that as a full-time career.”
It Takes Blood and Guts by Skin and Lucy O’Brien will be published on Sept 24 (Simon & Schuster, £20)
