Take That – Now and Then: Inside the Biggest Comeback in British Pop History

The extent of Mark’s childhood capers is pretty normal stuff—he and some friends briefly went missing on a school trip to Tenby before finally turning up in a local nightclub, having persuaded the bouncers to let them in despite their age. Interestingly, his teachers do not recall Mark being particularly involved with or interested in music when he was at school…it was all about football. He styled himself on former greats such as the late George Best, with his flowing locks and immaculate kit being as much a part of his appearance as the match itself.

By now, Mark’s football skills had attracted the interest of several professional teams, not least Manchester United, as well as Huddersfield Town and Rochdale, but a severe groin injury curtailed what had been a promising soccer career. (Being only three years older than David Beckham and also a midfielder, it would have made an enticing team sheet at Old Trafford.) At the time, he was devastated, as soccer had been his main ambition in life. But, like Gordon Ramsay before him, football’s loss was certainly another profession’s gain. Years later, on tour with Take That, Mark would always take a football to play with inside the cavernous venues, hotel rooms or studios, earning him the nickname ‘Booter’.

As with much of the band, Mark left school aged 16 and got a job, initially in a fashionable clothes shop called Zuttis, then for some time as an electrician’s mate, before moving up the career ladder to Barclays Bank in Oldham. The owner of Zuttis, Maggie Hughes, told Rick Sky that he not only impressed her but ‘quite a few girls too…he just wanted to earn some money and was really nice, with a big, beaming, bubbling smile on his face.’ Despite his apparently meek demeanour, Maggie says Mark was a natural salesman because of the warmth of his personality. (Later, Zuttis would make one of Mark’s first ever pair of stage trousers, a see-through nylon number). The Barclays position was destined to last only eight weeks, as another part-time job was about to introduce him to a new friend who would help alter his life forever.

Eager to work, before his final exams Mark had also taken a job as a tea-boy and office hand at the local Strawberry Studios on weekends (his sister Tracey was already working part-time there). Mark soon befriended a local boy who was there to work on his demos…Gary Barlow. Mark often went to Gary’s house to listen to his songs and watch his friend cut and chop ideas onto his four-track Portastudio. It was a natural progression for Mark to start singing on the demos, and before long the duo formed their first band together, using the dubious moniker of The Cutest Rush. The idea was to perform cover versions as well as Gary’s own material. The fledgling band never actually gigged but it did cement the friendship and perfectly prime two members of Take That for their future careers. Meeting with Gary had an indelible effect on Mark and his ambition shifted from the world of football to that of music.

Who Cares Wins (#ulink_8357c407-7548-53f7-8849-626057fcc6b2)

Singers Wanted: Singers and dancers wanted for a new boy band. If you have what it takes, call Nigel Martin-Smith at his Half Moon Chambers office.

Actual text of the audition advert for Take That in the Sun

There were two immediate predecessors to Take That, one British and one American. South London boys Bros were blond near-identical twins playing high-energy, cleverly crafted pop music and selling so many records to teenage girls that legions of so-called Brosettes followed their every move. Lead singer Matt and his drummer twin Luke, as well as their childhood friend Craig on bass, sold millions of records in the late Eighties, changed popular fashions with their Grolsch bottle-top shoe decorations and generated a hysteria among their fans that many observers likened to Beatlemania—when they did a signing in HMV Oxford Street, 11,000 fans turned up. Songs such as ‘When Will I Be Famous?’ and ‘I Owe You Nothing’ shifted hundreds of thousands of copies in a career that included eight Top Ten hits and two No. 1 records.

Just as Bros’s reign over the charts was coming to a close, an American group called New Kids on the Block took over the mantle. Already massive in the USA, where they played to football stadiums full of hyperventilating teenage girls, New Kids on the Block invaded the UK’s shores in 1989. They were originally conceived as an alternative to New Edition, Bobby Brown’s early Jackson Five-inspired group who had a hit in 1983 with ‘Candy Girl’. Blending the vocal talents and personalities of Donnie Wahlberg, Jordan Knight, Jon Knight, Danny Wood and Joe McIntyre was a masterstroke for New Edition producer Maurice Starr. Five was a magic number—it had worked for the Jacksons, the Osmonds, New Edition and now New Kids on the Block.

Joe McIntyre was only 14 years old on their 1986 debut, but within a year of 1988’s album Hangin’ Tough they were the biggest act in America. They cracked Britain too. Between ‘You Got It (The Right Stuff)’ in 1989 and ‘If You Go Away’ in 1991, New Kids on the Block scored eleven Top Twenty hits in Britain. Private jets, mansions, fast cars, all the signs of multi-million-dollar success abounded. Hysteria was the air their fans breathed. A management team who could market this new phenomenon properly had a licence to print money.

Nigel Martin-Smith was still a young entrepreneurial businessman watching all of these chart developments with great interest. His Manchester-based modelling agency was very successful and he was well-known in the north-west entertainment circles. However, he had designs on a much grander scale. His idea would turn him into one of the most famous pop managers of all-time.

Pop legend has it that Nigel had followed New Kids on the Block’s career closely, but when he actually saw them in person at a TV studio in Manchester, he was of the opinion that they were rude and arrogant. Noticing their behaviour had absolutely no effect whatsoever on their popularity, he’d thought to himself how massive a boy band could be if they were polite, professional and nice to deal with. He was also keen to recruit them from the North, rather than London as was often the norm for pop bands.

Fermenting this idea in his mind, Nigel then had that fateful meeting with Gary Barlow and played the demo tape the young songwriter had given him. Suddenly, almost out of nowhere, Nigel had the centrepiece of his concept: a young, experienced, gifted and very hard-working singer-songwriter. All he needed now was a band to mould around him.

Gary said he had a friend by the name of Mark Owen who was a good singer and great personality, so Nigel met up with him and immediately saw the potential. The jigsaw was coming together nicely. Then, on that day in late 1989 when Jason Orange and Howard Donald walked into Nigel’s offices looking for help booking dance work, Nigel knew immediately that his band was quickly gelling around him. He’d seen Jason Orange on The Hit Man and Her and after meeting Howard was impressed by both their dancing skills, but rather than offer them agency services or management guidance as a dance duo, as they had hoped, he surprised them both by suggesting they enrol in a boy band he was putting together. Jason was very reluctant and at first shunned the idea. Admirably, he spoke with his personnel manager at the council about his concerns over the showbiz proposal. Howard was keen from the start and needed no enticing. Eventually, Jason was persuaded by Nigel to meet up with Mark and Gary, whereupon the foursome got on famously and the nucleus of Take That was forged.

Given Take That’s relationship with, and profile in, the British tabloids, it seems only fitting that the elusive fifth member that was to complete the band’s line-up came to them through an advertisement in the Sun. His name was Robert Peter Williams and his mum went with him to the audition. This green-eyed Stoke-on-Trent boy would go on to become the biggest male solo star of the Nineties and the new millennium, but for now he was literally just an exuberant, hopeful kid turning up for an audition. Entertainment was in his blood: his mum was a singer and his father, Peter Conway, had been a highly regarded comedian who appeared on the TV talent show New Faces in the same year that Robbie was born (13 February 1974). Later regarded as Take That’s joker, Robbie admits that his first ever record was Alexi Sayle’s ‘Ullo John Got a New Motor?’. Typically, Robbie has the most glamorous of stars to share his birthday with, including Oliver Reed, George Segal and Peter Gabriel.

In light of his later battles with alcohol, it seems sadly incongruous that Robbie earliest years were spent growing up in a pub, The Red Lion, which his parents ran (he is the only Take Thatter not to be born and bred in Manchester). His now famous obsession with Port Vale Football Club was perhaps inevitable, considering his parents’ drinking hole was right next to the club’s grounds. (On one match day he showered the passing crowds with his mum’s undies.) Sadly, his mum and dad separated when he was only 3 years old, and he moved with his mother Jan and sister Sally to Stoke. ‘It didn’t have any effect on me,’ he later said, ‘because I’ve always been loopy!’

Robbie has a famously close relationship with his mother, and freely admits that during his darkest days to come, she was his rock. Back then, Jan ran a ladies’ clothes shop, then a small cafébistro and also a florist’s. Robbie went to Mill Hill Primary School in Tunstall, near Stoke, and then St Margaret’s Ward School. He was, perhaps predictably, the class prankster. Former school teachers who have been interviewed by the tabloids confirm this.

Like Mark and Jason, Robbie was a keen sportsman—again, Music Industry Five-A-Side tournaments play testament to his footy skills. Not surprisingly, his extrovert personality was drawn at an early age towards acting as a future profession (he told his mum he had no interest in being a pop star). In his early teens he joined the Stoke-on-Trent Theatre Company, playing small parts in Pickwick, Oliver (as the Artful Dodger) and Fiddler on the Roof. Although he would later claim to struggle with Take That’s dance routines, Robbie was also a keen break-dancer.

Robbie left school aged 16 and, after briefly working at his mum’s florist’s, he took a job as a double-glazing salesman.

He was not very good. ‘I just used to tell people they were over-priced and leave.’ Consequently, this career didn’t last long—he quit in order to focus on auditioning for acting roles. Despite his youth, however, he found that most roles were going to even younger actors with experience and often stage-school backgrounds. He did manage to win one role—and a clip that has surfaced on countless Before They Were Famous TV shows—is a bit part in the Liverpudlian soap Brookside. Years later he had a walk-on cameo role in EastEnders (on the phone behind David Wicks), which sounds like the CV of a typical wannabe actor…except that in between these two soap appearances, Robbie Williams was in one of the world’s biggest boy bands and went on to become the UK’s leading solo artist.

***

The audition for Take That itself was at Nigel’s studio, and a nervous Robbie was keen to appear streetwise when he met what might be his future band-mates. ‘I came with my mum and I was saying through the corner of my mouth, “Right, Mum, go now.”’ He walked into the audition and Gary Barlow was sitting in the corner with a leather briefcase full of song sheets, wearing Adidas tracksuit bottoms, Converse trainers, an Italia 90 top and a coiffured Morrissey haircut. Robbie later said he was told, ‘This is Gary Barlow, he’s a professional club singer and he’s going to make this group happen.’ Despite thinking at the time that Gary’s haircut was ridiculous, Robbie has since admitted that he now sports a similar barnet. Music mythology has it that Gary introduced himself to Robbie and called him ‘son’. Gary’s confidence was understandable, as Nigel Martin-Smith obviously saw him as the core of the band—after all, by the time of these auditions, Gary had composed over fifty songs.

Howard had to take a half-day off his job as a vehicle painter to attend the audition, and he was late. Robbie said Jason was ‘very confident and liked Ford Escort RS2000 cars, Howard was shy, Mark was great and Gary was the obvious main musical driving force.’ Robbie sang ‘Nothing Can Divide Us’ by teen heart-throb Jason Donovan, but oddly admits, ‘I remember thinking what a weird bunch of lads they were and I really didn’t think we could ever be a band.’

The audition was soon over and Robbie was told that Nigel would be in touch. A few weeks later, his GCSE results were delivered and he’d failed all but two of them—consistent if nothing else (he got ‘shit-faced on Guinness’ when he received his results). The very same day, the phone rang and it was Nigel calling with the news that he wanted Robbie in the band. The timing could not have been more serendipitous. In a show of exuberance for which he would later become notorious, Robbie sprinted upstairs into his bedroom, flung the window open and screamed ‘I’m going to be famous!’ into the street. Robbie was just 16; Howard was the eldest at 20. Unbeknown to them, within eighteen months they would not be able to walk down any street in Great Britain without being recognised.

One footnote to add to the embryonic days of Take That is the fact that Nigel Martin-Smith insisted each member brought at least one parent with them to sign his managerial contracts. Pop music is littered with tales of teenage starlets signing contracts that are little more than slave labour. Nigel was clever—he knew that if his master plan with Take That worked, huge sums of money would be generated and he was adamant that every detail was precise. Being contractually transparent was an admirable first move. Plus, it gained the trust of the boys’ parents.

From day one, Nigel’s intellect and ideas were absolutely crucial to the band succeeding. This was immediately obvious by the intense programme of rehearsals he arranged, which saw his new charges spending hours every day in dance and choreography sessions, from the early hours until at least 7 p.m. Gary was writing constantly and their voices were improving all the time. Nigel oversaw every aspect of their prospective career, planning it all in intimate detail. The boys were also put on fitness regimes, with sit-ups, press-ups, aerobic work and gymnastics giving the whole experience a real boot-camp atmosphere. Outsiders sometimes wonder why this is so necessary, but if you were to take a bunch of 16—to 20-year-old men and ask them to create a business turning over an eight-figure sum in two years, you would expect there to be some long hours involved.

Let’s be honest, Take That is a pretty dreadful band name. It’s not as bad as The Backstreet Boys and not as good as Foreheads in a Fishtank, but it isn’t great. The boys had seen a photograph of Madonna with the caption ‘Take That!’ written under it and this was elongated to read Take That and Party. The latter two words were dropped when it transpired there already existed an American group called The Party, so that was that…Take That!

When they first heard there was a band called Take That, many music journalists thought it was a joke. It just sounded so limp, so wet. But their success became so huge that you soon forgot the actual words: they became more of a sound that you associated with the five superstars, and any reservations about the moniker completely dissipated.

***

Over the twelve months after the five members of Take That had each inked the contract with Nigel Martin-Smith, they were still rehearsing and preparing. Rick Sky quoted Gary describing the band’s first ever gig in Flicks nightclub in Huddersfield thus: ‘There were about twenty people in the audience and a dog. Only about ten of them were watching…but it wouldn’t have mattered if only the dog was watching. Afterwards we were on such a high.’ That’s all those years playing to the pie-and-mash circuit coming in handy right there.

They had finally started to gig, and their workload was exhausting. In the year or so before they hit the big time, Take That took to the road relentlessly, racking up dozens and dozens of shows. At this stage the band’s lifestyle was far from glamorous: their average week comprised of piling into Nigel’s Ford Escort XR3i and/or a yellow Salford Van Hire vehicle and driving hundreds of miles to play countless gay clubs, then later schools and nightclubs. Funds were understandably tight, so the best they could afford each night were either numerous Little Britain-esque bed and breakfast guest-houses or a long drive home through the small hours. Howard later recalled in the ITV1’s 2005 documentary, Take That—For the Record how most of the gay clubs saw them ‘having our arses pinched and our front bits pinched’. If a gig was particularly hostile, missiles would be thrown. ‘Some of the audiences were kind enough to give us free beer. Say no more,’ said Mark on one occasion. Jason later admitted that he ‘left’ Take That for about two days during this very early phase, and actually considered going back to painting and decorating—he found the pressures and workload a culture shock but was soon able to gain some perspective and ‘rejoin’.

No record companies had shown any interest at this stage, so Take That’s debut single, ‘Do What You Like’, was recorded ready for release on Nigel’s own Dance UK label in July 1991. Written by Gary with Ray Hedges, who went on to work with Boyzone, the track itself is pretty ‘unforgettable’ (but for mainly the wrong reasons), a high-energy, keyboard-driven pop song that had none of the sophistication of the band’s latter-day pop classics. But this was a band learning as they went along, and the single was sufficiently rousing to help them book yet more live shows to promote it.

In the weeks and months leading up to their debut single, the band played scores of gigs. All the time, Nigel Martin-Smith continued working hard to break the band. He arranged press showcases, such as one at Hollywood’s Nightclub in Romford, and spent countless hours on the phone soliciting interest.

Without doubt, the most memorable moment of this fledgling phase of Take That was the bizarre and risqu?promo video they shot for ‘Do What You Like’, which would make The Village People blush. It was shot in Stockport, which is not currently famed for its glitzy showbiz vistas. In a blatant attempt to capture the pink pound, the boys were filmed in a white-wall studio wearing virtually nothing but numerous leather jockstrap-style combinations, codpieces and studded leather. Copious amounts of jelly were slapped and rubbed over various naked body parts and there was enough cavorting aplenty to make Will Young look like Arnold Schwarzenegger. Gary Barlow’s hair is a miracle of modern science and the only thing tighter than the jockstraps was the budget. According to legend, the closing ‘bum’ shot was so hotly sought-after that the boys each auditioned—a screen-test for arses, believe it or not—to see whose was better. Not surprisingly, the moral minority complained the clip was too obscene and pornographic, but the vast majority took it as intended—a tongue-in-cheek bit of fun. Nonetheless, even David Brent from The Office would cringe watching the blatantly homoerotic video. It was all a far cry from seeing a velvet-voiced Robbie play the Royal Albert Hall years later in a suave lounge suit, but this was their first foray into the pop world and it is rare that a pop band nails their image from day one.

It is odd looking back at this video and the early photographs of Take That, because, to be honest, their look is laughable. Leather gear, tassels and tight trousers: it was all so camp and exaggerated. Fast-forward to the sophisticated, grainy images of ‘Back for Good’ and it might as well be a different band. But some context is needed. This was a bunch of young guys who—with exception of Gary Barlow—had relatively little entertainment experience. Contrary to popular belief, they were involved in their own look to some degree—they would shop in High Street Kensington at places such as Hyper Hyper, the amazing alternative clothes emporium where young, breakthrough designers often sold their wares direct.

This look would quickly subside as Nigel began to notice a strange thing happening at a lot of their club shows—specifically, one night when they played an under-age mixed-sex club in Hull. Nigel—ever perceptive—noticed that the reaction to his band from the girls was actually far more frantic than from the gay clubs they’d been focussing on. Cleverly re-focussing his strategy, Nigel twigged immediately that he had a boy-band sensation in the making, and he began to book scores of mixed-sex nightclubs in order to confirm his suspicions.

At this point, Take That were just another pop band in among the thousands of wannabes trying to make it. But Nigel was more than just your average pop-band manager. Somehow, he got them a slot on a satellite TV show called Cool Cube. Gary worked on new material especially for the performance, including a track called ‘Waiting Around’ and they prepared special dance routines too. The tight ‘hot pants’ they wore might have been better suited to a softporn channel but the viewers (perhaps because of, rather than despite the shorts) approved and the band were asked back several times. Breaking a pop band on TV is a crucial way of operating nowadays and Nigel was ahead of his time in using that medium to gain exposure (in more ways than one) for his band (especially important because Simon Bates was the lone DJ playing their music on Radio 1 with any frequency). Furthermore, Nigel understood the need to have omnipresent press coverage, and managed to get a press officer called Carolyn Norman to work for the band before they had even had a hit, and was pivotal in orchestrating the band’s amazing press profile right from the early days. Thus, as quickly as June 1991, she had managed to shoe-horn the band coverage in various teen magazines such as My Guy, Jackie, Number 1 and Smash Hits.

The infamous jelly-smearing video was first shown in July 1991 on another influential TV show, Pete Waterman’s The Hitman and Her, the very same show that Jason had previously appeared on as a dancer. This coincided with the release date of their debut single, entirely self-financed by Nigel and his partner—a real risk for them, and also a genuine show of faith in the band’s potential. Nigel had already spent close to £100,000 investing in Take That.

‘Do What You Like’ charted at No. 82.

The Fuses Are Lit (#ulink_9a733c14-eb1c-519c-90f0-949ea6769ea4)

The furore surrounding the debut video may not have helped the record chart but it did contribute to seducing the major record label RCA to sign the band in September 1991. At the time, RCA’s head of A&R was Korda Marshall, who would later go on to found his own record label and sign Muse, Ash, Garbage and The Darkness. He is now the Managing Director of Warner Brothers Records UK, but in the early days his experience with Take That had a pivotal impact, both good and bad, on Korda’s own career.

‘The irony was,’ he told me, ‘that when we finally signed them to RCA, it was actually the third time we’d looked at them. Originally one of our scouts brought them in but we were not convinced about all the leather-bondage imagery and suchlike; the second time, a guy called David Donald brought it to an A&R meeting but again we did not commit; then the third time, one of our senior A&R managers called Nick Raymonde brought a Take That demo into a meeting, just a few months after he’d joined the company. It was a three-track demo with “Take That and Party”, “A Million Love Songs” and “Do What You Like”.’

Before now, Nick Raymonde has never been interviewed at length about his time with Take That—he worked with them on a daily basis for their entire career and, as the key A&R man, was their central contact with the record company. He still talks about the band with real passion and it is easy to see how he persuaded RCA to commit to a band that no other label was interested in: ‘I’d been doing club promotion for ten years before I started work at RCA, promoting dance music predominantly. I had started looking through all the pop magazines that I hadn’t really looked at for years, doing mental research—suddenly I’m reading all these magazines that I’d never looked at before like Smash Hits, Number 1, Just Seventeen and so on.

‘So I’d been reading through all this pop press and, in the back of my mind, the idea started to ferment that there weren’t any new pop stars—they were all TV stars: Jason and Kylie, Beverley Hills 90210, etc. I didn’t think “Right, I’ll go out and sign a pop group,” it was just registered in my mind. Then a scout called Dave Donald brought in this video of some TV Take That had done and said, “You’ve got to see this video, it’s hilarious.” I watched the video and I didn’t think it was hilarious, I thought it might be an opportunity.

‘The lads were sort of boy-next-door, just dead ordinary, and they gave off the vibe that they were really enjoying what they were doing. I contacted Nigel and it turned out they’d been turned away by RCA—they ended up sitting down in reception and not even being seen—so he was quite amused by the whole situation. By this time he’d been rejected by so many people he’d actually raised ?0,000 to make the infamous “Do What You Like” video—he spent even more of his own money on school shows. He just thought, “Fuck it, I’m going to do it myself”, which is amazing really. Him being involved was a big plus: I liked Nigel, he was one of those few people in the record industry like Tom Watkins, Jazz Summers and Malcolm McLaren-Bell—real larger-than-life characters. People don’t always realise but he is hysterically funny, he has you in stitches, yet at the same time he is totally driven.

‘I went to see them do a PA [Personal Appearance] at an under-18s club in Slough at four o’clock one afternoon. They were supporting Right Said Fred, who were just about to have a big hit with “I’m Too Sexy”. They were sat in the dressing room and I went and said hello and they were all dressed in this ridiculous bondage gear, but it was entertaining! Once they went on stage, there was sort of thirty or forty girls stood around the fringes, pretty disinterested in what was happening on stage and more interested in the boys that were there to chat them up. And do you know what? By the time Take That had finished doing the first song, they were completely mobbed. As I said, I’d done club promotion for so long, so I just did some simple multiplication: there’s about 4,500 clubs in the UK and of that I reckoned there were probably a thousand of them that you could put this band on at; therefore, if you get the same reaction at each club, then make a decent record and somehow aggregate all the fans together, then you could be successful.

‘Because they weren’t on the radar yet, I thought we could have a clear run at them as a project—Korda was a hugely experienced A&R guy and I thought that he would help me with it. He wanted me to succeed because he’d actually brought me into the record label as the A&R manager, so he wanted me to be successful.’

So Nick took the tracks to his boss and this time Korda was hooked by one track in particular: ‘I remember listening to “A Million Love Songs” and thinking That’s a smash record,’ says Korda. ‘Nigel Martin-Smith had a very clear vision of what to do and I thought Gary’s songs were really very good. “A Million Love Songs” had that sax solo, there was something going on in there from chord progressions to harmony, melody, the whole feel. Yet what people won’t realise is that Take That were actually a bit of a joke at the time in the A&R community, and in fact when Nick brought the tape into that meeting, everybody kind of laughed. But Nick took it seriously.’

Nick agrees: ‘As we were going through the process of signing the band, everyone is telling me that I’m an idiot. “This is going to be your first signing for RCA, Nick, and you’re gonna sign this joke group that everyone has turned down!” Hearing all this, I started to get cold feet; I started to imagine how it would look if it all failed, the losses we’d make and so on. I mentioned this to Korda and he said a remarkable thing: “Look, if you sign them and they are successful, you’re a star and we’re all laughing because they’ll sell millions of records; and if they fail, you can blame me.” It was amazing. No one has ever brought that to light, Korda’s never mentioned that and it was unheard of for someone to put it like that. So we decided we’d sign them.’

The context for this relative scorn was that, for many, pop was dead. As mentioned earlier, Bros had ruled the pop world in the late Eighties and New Kids on the Block had taken over their crown shortly after, but since then many ears had either turned to the Pacific West Seaboard and the approaching juggernaut that was grunge, or lost a few brain cells in the rush for ecstasy and raving. Guitars and clubbing were back in, and a squeaky-clean boy band with carefully choreographed dance routines was in many ways the absolute antithesis of what was considered fashionable. ‘I remember the day we signed them,’ recalls Korda. ‘We got all these faxes from Sony and EMI basically saying, “What the fuck are you doing? You’re the laughing stock of the A&R community!” But you have to look at it from a social and cultural aspect, about whether there is a space with nobody in it. For example, years later I went to see Deep Purple and Lynyrd Skynyrd and you could see there was a huge audience for that style of music but there was nobody new doing it…and then I came across this band called The Darkness. Likewise, there was a phase in the early 2000s where there weren’t a lot of singer-songwriters around; there were a few “arty farty” singers and some quality people like Damien Rice, but for me there was no mainstream commercial singer-songwriter. Then I heard James Blunt. You look for a gap. That’s what we saw with Take That.’