"Q" MAGAZINE, MAY 1997

                         When a man walks into a restaurant wearing a skimpy black shirt and rock star
                         shades you might think he looks like Jon Bon Jovi. When the restaurant manager
                         greets him like a long-lost son --"Ah, Jon! I have everything ready" and points to a
                         table, already laden with every delicacy this distinguished visitor is known to favour
                         -- you start to get the feeling it probablyy is Jon Bon Jovi. And then you notice he's
                         being followed by two young women. He throws up his hands in despair and says:
                         "I'm not even sleepin' with these bitches! And they still give me shit!" That settles it,
                         then. This must be Jon Bon Jovi...

                         Strangely enough, the words, "I'm not even sleepin' with these bitches! And they
                         still give me shit!" are almost the only ones he will utter in rock star mode all
                         evening. He slaps a well-defined upper-arm, home to a small Superman logo: "I
                         have to tell'em, this Superman thing is only a tattoo!" He pulls up a chair and takes
                         off his shades. and gives you a hey-just-kidding grin. His manner becomes quite
                         different. He is now earnest, and almost shy. The two young women, one learns,
                         are Jon Bon Jovi's publicity team, responsible for the punishing string of interviews
                         he has undergone today, from a Radio One Roadshow in Bournemouth to this
                         evening's rendezvous with Q, in his favourite restaurant in the world, Cheng Du in
                         Camden Town, North London ("This is the only interview I've looked forward to. I
                         love this place -- I musta been here thirty-five times"). The publicity women are
                         teased for their pitiless brutality. He whimpers and pleads exhaustion. But later they
                         will say: "He's a worka- holic. He loves to have things to do."

                         What we have, in fact, is not the Jon Bon Jovi of legend. He is no longer the
                         hairy-chested, turbo-trousered Love Overlord of stadium-rogering magnitude, but
                         rather a calm, reflective cove, as sensible as a 35-year-old is supposed to be.
                         Married, with two children, he has taken a two-year sabbatical from the band Bon
                         Jovi in order to pursue his two professional dreams. One is to make some
                         introspective, unpredictable solo music such as appears on his new album
                         Destination Anywhere. It's a pretty subtle piece of work that bears scant
                         resemblance to the Jovi's monumental moments: Bad Medicine, Lay Your Hands
                         On Me, Livin' On A Prayer and so on.

                         The other goal is acting: his second major movie role comes with the release of The
                         Leading Man, in which he stars as a manipulative American thespian infiltrating the
                         world of British theatre. He made the film in London last year, living for three
                         months in a house by Wandsworth Common ("I never understood why people here
                         thought that was funny. I coulda lived in Holland Park. But I liked Wandsworth.")
                         It's as if he now looks back on his old Bon Jovi character like that, too, as if it was
                         an acting job. He slips into a line like "I'm not even sleepin' with these bitches!" with
                         an easy irony. It's an echo of the '80, when he was a codpiece-flaunting hair rocker
                         and saying stuff like that was simply part of his job description. It's just not where
                         he's at any more.

                         The revolving restaurant table takes a spin, and he wields his chopsticks -- with a
                         finesse that would attract Shanghai itself -- in the general direction of some crispy
                         seaweed. "Hey, George!" he calls out to manager. "When are you gonna open a
                         branch in New Jersey7 Then I could eat this all the time." "Ah, no good, Jon. You
                         travel all the time. We would never see you." The resting rock god munches
                         somewhat on his seaweed."Nah, man. If I could eat like this at home I'd never
                         leave New Jersey." So, how's life treating you, Jon? "With the exception of this
                         schedule," he shoots a glance at his publicity people,on a nearby table,"I have
                         nothing to bitch about." Outside, on the streets of Camden Town, are red-faced
                         madmen, gripping carrier bags and shouting at the traffic. Behind them are two
                         separate sets of posters. The cheaper ones advertise a collection of pre-Bon Jovi
                         tunes the man recorded under the name on his birth certificate, John Bongiovi. The
                         expensive ones show him modelling Versace jeans, rippling his sculpted torso. Jon
                         Bon Jovi was the only hard rock singer of the last decade to look like he'd been
                         designed by girls. Negotiating an unidentified meat, he describes the origins of his
                         new solo music, attributing its quirkiness to the atmosphere of London.He began
                         writing the songs while filming.

                         "On a movie set you sit around with your thumb in your butt. Nowhere to go, no
                         TV. So I brought my guitar and started writing. It was a very exciting time. The
                         Britpop thing having just started, I was listening to the radio in my trailer- the
                         Manics, Black Grape, Blur, Pulp -- I went, 'Woah! What the fuck is this?' Those
                         songs! Common People. Design For Life. I thought this was cool." Among the
                         London numbers was Midnight In Chelsea, replete with references to goths. Sloane
                         Rangers and Britpop boys. As with his new material in general, soaring
                         guts-or-glory choruses are not a feature, whereas there is subdued moodiness
                         aplenty. What do the old Bon Jovi fans think of his new direction? The singer
                         frowns and stabs thoughtfully at some prawn toast. "Well, I'm not touring, so I
                         don't know how ticket sales would go if I did. To be honest with you. the Midnight
                         In Chelsea single stiffed in America. Nobody knew what the word Chelsea meant.
                         I tried to explain it was a part of London, they didn't give a fuck. Europe, Asia, rest
                         of the world. the single did really well. In America, they didn't want to hear it."

                         "The US didn't get second single Queen Qf New Orleans either -- this time quite
                         literally. Janie, Don't Take Your Love To Town was it a more staid
                         replacement."Oueen Of New Orleans would go on the heavy rock stations, but
                         they won't play me now." bemoans Bon Jovi. It's a crazy time. We played the
                         single for what they call Modern Rock stations in the States. They go, 'Man, love
                         this! Who is it? ' You tell them. (Pulls face) 'Can't play it. Too many hits. Can't play
                         a guy with hit records.' Where the fuck is that'!" Is there inverted snobbery at
                         work? "In a weird way, yeah. You get too successful, you're not cool any more.
                         I've sold too many records to be new. Like, people slag U2 because they're not
                         the newest thing any more. Doesn't mean that Bono's not a great singer, 'cos he is.
                         But they're on top of the world. You just deal with it. It's par for the course, I can't
                         stress myself over it."

                         Like yourself, U2 took a chance in moving away from stadium-friendly anthem
                         rock. "Absolutely. I got an advance copy of the U2 record by begging and
                         pleading. I got an advance copy of the Aerosmith record the same way. My record
                         was done and I'd just listened to it for the first time. To tell you the truth I got
                         nervous. Holy fuck, maybe I've made a mistake here. Should I stay safe and do the
                         Aerosmith route? Qr should I be adventurous and go the U2 route? I thought I'd
                         made a pretty good record. I said, 'Fuck it, I'm gonna go the route that's creative
                         and inventive and movin' on and not pretending to sing to 18-year-olds when
                         you're 35 and talkin' about how I like pussy.' I like pussy as much as the next guy,
                         but I don't wanna hang around high school parking lots to get it. You move on, you
                         wanna say different things."

                         When you were 25, you made some great young man's music. "You bet! I stood
                         tall and said. 'I am 25, hallelujah! You give love a bad name. Bring it on!' We lived
                         it. Man, I love playin' Wembley Stadium. I love bein' in a rock'n'roll band. But
                         what I won't do is be 35 pretending to be 25 writing about 18-year- olds. When I
                         was 25 I wrote Never Say Goodbye about the High school prom. Can't do that.
                         Move on, man. So what will I do if it's not successful commercially? I don't think
                         I'll lose my record deal."

                         A theme of Midnight In Chelsea is Jon Bon Jovi's pleasure in becoming
                         anonymous, melting into the city, He says he meant it. "Last year, when the Bon
                         Jovi tour ended. I walked away and, for the first time in the '90', I didn't have a
                         hundred people on the payroll. Didn't have to worry about getting a record out to
                         keep the company happy. It was absolutely from the bottom of my belly. Nobody's
                         asking me for favours, no one's looking for a saviour. America didn't get that lyric,
                         but I'd rather paint it on my chest than take it back."

                         Did you reach a low point with the band? "Well, 1990 to '92 was seriously low. I
                         was as low as I could imagine myself being. I call it the Grey Summer. I was out in
                         California, drinkin', being miserable, wanted to seek help, jump out of my car when
                         I was driving. I was a mess, it took everything out of it that I loved. Until I took
                         control, it sucked." He "took control", in fact, by firing the band's manager, Doc
                         McGhee. "Now, because I'm further away from it, I can see our old manager was
                         really doing his job. But in the big picture, he and everyone else involved -- agents,
                         lawyers -- should have said, 'You know what? We believe in you. You'll be here in
                         ten years. Go home and have a rest.' Not doing things behind your back to keep
                         you on the road."

                         The band, he insists, will get back together. v "Definitely. My intention is absolutely
                         to keep the band together and address songs to the venues we appear in, which
                         typically are the big ones. But not to re-write You Give Love A Bad Name,
                         because I couldn't do that, I love the song and the period but I can't do it again."
                         He thinks of his New Jersey homeboy Bruce Springsteen -- another man who
                         knows what it's like to walk away from stadiums and follow his own particular
                         muse. "Yeah. We all had dinner at my house, and he looked right through me and
                         said, I tell you, I'm happier now than I've ever been in my life.' He's playin' an
                         acoustic guitar by himself, pretending to be Woody Guthrie. And I went, 'OK, for
                         the first time I'm not gonna tell you to put the band back together. I finally get it! '
                         I'd been relentless in telling him to put the fuckin' band back together! He wouldn't
                         have a word of it. He don't wanna be The Boss all the time, either. "And now," he
                         peers outside, "It's time to get my sweaty ass outta my favourite restaurant."