Marianne Faithfull
Marianne Faithfull is an English singer, songwriter, actress and diarist whose career spans over four decades. Her early work in pop and rock music in the 1960s was overshadowed by her struggle with drug abuse in the 1970s. During the first two-thirds of that decade, and with little notice, only two studio albums were produced. After a long commercial absence, she returned late in 1979 with the landmark album, Broken English. Faithfull's subsequent solo work, often critically acclaimed, has at times been overshadowed by her personal history.
With a recording career that spans over four decades, Faithfull has continually reinvented her musical persona, experimenting in different musical genres and collaborating with such varied artists as Beck, David Bowie, Nick Cave, The Chieftains, Jarvis Cocker, Billy Corgan, Lenny Kaye, Daniel Lanois, Emmylou Harris, PJ Harvey, Alex James, Rupert Hine, Metallica, Barry Reynolds, Keith Richards, Sly and Robbie, Tom Waits, Patrick Wolf, Roger Waters, and Steve Winwood.
“The way I choose to show my feelings is through my songs.”
“I never trusted anybody at all. I don't know why it was so hard, I just didn't.”
“Rebellion is the only thing that keeps you alive!”
“The voice of God, if you must know, is Aretha Franklin's.”
“The Ballad of Lucy JordanThe morning sun touched lightly on the eyes of Lucy JordanIn a white suburban bedroom in a white suburban townAs she lay there 'neath the covers dreaming of a thousand loversTill the world turned to orange and the room went spinning round.At the age of thirty-seven she realised she'd neverRide through Paris in a sports car with the warm wind in her hair.So she let the phone keep ringing and she sat there softly singingLittle nursery rhymes she'd memorised in her daddy's easy chair.Her husband, he's off to work and the kids are off to school,And there are, oh, so many ways for her to spend the day.She could clean the house for hours or rearrange the flowersOr run naked through the shady street screaming all the way.At the age of thirty-seven she realised she'd neverRide through Paris in a sports car with the warm wind in her hairSo she let the phone keep ringing as she sat there softly singingPretty nursery rhymes she'd memorised in her daddy's easy chair.The evening sun touched gently on the eyes of Lucy JordanOn the roof top where she climbed when all the laughter grew too loudAnd she bowed and curtsied to the man who reached and offered her his hand,And he led her down to the long white car that waited past the crowd.At the age of thirty-seven she knew she'd found foreverAs she rode along through Paris with the warm wind in her hair”
“Never apologize, never explain - didn't we always say that? Well, I haven't and I don't.”