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THE MONDAY INTERVIEW: Numan remains
Independent, The (London), Jan 27, 2003 by Fiona Sturges
When I ask if he would call himself right-wing now there's a long pause followed by a frustrated shrug. "I honestly don't know what criteria makes someone right-wing or left-wing anymore. The boundaries of those definitions seem to be in a state of flux. I'm not socialist, I know that. I don't believe in sharing my money. If I go out and work my nuts off and make some money, I don't feel that I should have to share it with my community."
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Numan was born Gary Webb, the son of a baggage-handler father and a mother who worked part-time in telesales. He originally planned to be an airline pilot, but when the careers instructor at school told him that he'd never pass the exams he decided to be a pop star instead. In the mid-Seventies he went to concerts as much to study the singers as to hear the music. He left school with no qualifications and got a series of deadly dull jobs that included building air-conditioning systems and driving a fork-lift truck in a WH Smith warehouse. His interest in music, he says, stemmed from a fixation with hi-tech gadgets.
"Of course, the lifestyle was attractive as well," he says with a not especially lopsided grin. "Naturally, I wanted to be rich and famous and have load of girlfriends."
In 1977, he and his band got their first gig in front of three punters at the Hope and Anchor in Islington, north London. A second one at a club in Soho attracted about 50 people, among them a prostitute who was trying to drum up trade among the crowd. Numan continued his fork-lifting duties right up until the day, on 10 February 1978, that he released his first single.
Amid the awkwardness, there's a discernible cockiness. He says he never had any doubt that he would be rich and famous when he grew up. Even when he was submerged in debt, he claims he never had any doubt that he would get back on his feet. It's in the studio that he becomes plagued by self- doubt. He says he's a terrible singer and is intimidated by other people's talent.
He's is still fond of flying - he's a qualified stunt pilot and instructor - although he's given up teaching and appearing in air shows. Four of the six people in his flying team, along with his former instructor, were killed in accidents. "It got to a point that so many of my friends had been killed, that there was no one left to fly with. It rather took the shine off it."
Still, he has some great stories, such as the time in 1981 when he was flying around the world with his pal Bob and his engine gave out off the east coast of India. They made an emergency landing and went off to see if they could get some help. Having found their planes, customs officials eventually caught up with them and arrested them on suspicion of spying and smuggling (the latter charge on the basis that they were each wearing two watches; the former because they were carrying cameras). The pair were kept for four days while they tried and failed to get help from the British Consulate. Eventually, Numan managed to get hold of his father, who alerted The Daily Star, which in turn got on to the Foreign Office.
