THE life has been done to death: umpteen interviews have charted Chris De Burgh's journey from Argentina to Dalkey. There is the crumbling family castle, the tough times, the days in Captain America's, and his views on being the singer whom music critics love to pan. However, since he was savaged over an affair with his children's 19-year-old nanny, Chris De Burgh does not speak to newspapers.
Tony Clayton-Lea's book is written in the style of an interview, one made for television rather than print. It reads like a transcript, with minimal narrative to bridge the gaps. There is one glaring omission. The De Burgh nanny, Merrissa Morgan, gets two references in the index, but the reader won't find her mentioned on the pages in question. You can't help but wonder if she was airbrushed out in the final version and the unfortunate references just slipped through.
Such speculation would, no" doubt, be characterised by De Burgh as another example of a hack's unhealthy fascination with his private life. If he read reviews. His only comment on the subject is a quote from an interview with his fanzine, the Getaway Gazette: "It's a private matter that will be dealt with in private."
So, unfortunately, there is not much in here for the non-fan. The devoted can read that the inspiration for In a Country Churchyard came from ... a visit to a country churchyard. And Record Company Bash was inspired by? You've guessed it.
In the tale of his early years is less coy about his "private life". We are told that he lost his virginity with a prostitute in the French town of Nimes, at the age of 16: "So she took me on to the bed. No I certainly didn't stay the course for very long. She was really sweet, she looked me in the eye, and asked me, C'etait ta premiere fois'" All we need is a tune for those lyrics.
But then back to the serious stuff. We hear about the knocks that Chris took from the world and his peers - for instance, the time when he was touring with Supertramp and they bundled him into a suitcase which they wheeled out on stage: "The case was the audience, I got out, stood up, the audience howled with laughter, and I did my encore. Inside, however, I was fuming."
The book is more readable when De Burgh is recounting the times when the music was flowing. He, writes Borderline in "an absolute flood of emotion", in a flat in Monkstown after seeing a victory parade in London for the Falklands War.
There are a few almost envious references to Bob Geldof, and his" tendency to tell people to "eff off". De Burgh saves the single obscenity in the book for journalists: "I couldn't give a holy fuck what they think about my attitude towards, them."
This sense of Chris against the world is a continuous thread, until it comes to the fans; then you see the gap between the people who packed the venues, lighters held high, singing every word in every song, and the hacks who sneered at him in reviews the next day.
At one point his music manager, Derek Green, describes the other fans as "effectively the silent majority: healthy kids, rather thoughtful about what music they want, a little bit serious-minded.
That's Chris De Burgh's market".
If enough of those healthy kids have grown into healthy adults, then that's Tony Clayton-Lea's market. You either "believe in him and his songs, sentiments, rhymes and reasons, or you don't," Mr Clayton-Lea tells us.
You either want to read this book or you don't.
