Being Conchita Read online

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  TAKE THE STAGE!

  ‘You can’t stop the river as it rushes to the sea’

  FROM THE MUSICAL HAIRSPRAY

  Starmania – with its heats, semi-finals and finals, and all the surrounding media hype – kept me on tenterhooks for a whole year. People obviously liked to hear me sing, which was great, because it felt amazing being on stage. I love the different ways you can vary the human voice and the way you can use it to evoke emotion. When speaking, we only use a narrow range of frequencies, which often results in very little feeling coming across in what we say. Time and again, I ask myself what on earth it would be like if we spoke to one another by singing. The vocal range of a professional choir covers about two octaves. The top note in the Queen of the Night’s aria in Mozart’s The Magic Flute is two octaves above middle C, so the aria spans a range of two octaves plus a fifth. If you include the accompanying overtones, it’s an additional two or three octaves. It’s astounding the range of notes we can produce with little more than our larynx, vocal cords, mouth and throat! Of course, in the case of professional singers, the body also has a role. The body is our natural resonance chamber, and you can separate the wheat from the chaff among singers by the way they manage, or don’t manage, to make use of their body. The term supporting the voice is used when we work with the diaphragm to make our singing appear effortless.

  I can no longer remember precisely when singing became just as important, if not more important, to me as talking. It was probably the day that I felt for the very first time that I could give pleasure to people when I performed music on stage. All this played a part when it came to deciding what my next step would be. I once heard that Hollywood has a cast-iron rule stating that a filmmaker is only as good and successful as their last film. Austria might not be America, but the same rules apply to fame and success in my home country.

  There was one record company that saw masses of potential if I carried on singing. Not all the Starmania contestants were able to release songs – Nadine Beiler, Gernot Pachernigg, Mario Lang and Eric Papilaya come to mind. But the record company had thought up something special for Thomas Neuwirth from Bad Mitterndorf. The plan was for me to become a member of a boy band, an Austrian version of the Backstreet Boys or Take That. My bandmates would be Martin Zerza, Johannes Palmer and Falco De Jong Luneau, and the group’s name, jetzt anders! (be different!), said it all. I wasn’t exactly overwhelmed with enthusiasm. Someone in a back room had concocted the plan because boy bands were the ‘in’ thing, but, as with many similar ideas, it lacked heart and soul. At the time, I was not mature enough to follow my intuition and say ‘no’ to a project that I didn’t think was going to be a success. I was told in no uncertain terms that either we become a boy band or we would not be allowed to perform, and I was desperate to go on stage. So I became a member of jetzt anders! and got a taste of failure.

  Looking back now, I’m glad I had this experience. It’s never certain whether you’ll make it as an artist, and you can only really appreciate success if you’ve already suffered failure. We sang in German, and our output included the tracks ‘This Moment’ and ‘For Ever and Ever’. Although we were ambitious, things just never really took off. The high point of jetzt anders! was when we played at Paris Hilton’s birthday party at the Ischgl winter sports resort. One way or another, every guest at the party seemed to be someone important, and so the band’s creators thought this might be our big breakthrough. I wasn’t convinced. The illusion that something successful can happen just by chance will always remain an illusion. I believe in ideas that flow from the heart, in hard work, discipline, sustainability and in the ten thousand hours it takes to become good at something. None of this applied to jetzt anders!, so it was hardly surprising when the group disbanded eight months later. We couldn’t do our name justice. During the last performance we gave, I remember thinking: we’re just the opposite of Nomen est omen – true to one’s name.

  I was now out of a job. Sticking with the Hollywood rule, as a singer you’re only as good and successful as your last engagement. All of a sudden, I discovered the dark side of being an artist. No releases or downloads, no concerts or club nights, and no life in the limelight. But I was never one for moping around.

  ‘Looking at things objectively, you haven’t even started’, I told myself. On Starmania, I’d been performing covers of songs that others had already sung. Our band jetzt anders! had been the brainchild of marketing experts who’d thought it could be a success. What was missing from all of this was any personal input from me. Despite facing this temporary setback, my thinking remained positive. ‘Go your own way’, I told myself. Initially, of course, I was at a loss as to what I should do. Ideas don’t appear from thin air just because we’re suddenly in need of inspiration. Ideas are much smarter than that. They appear when we no longer believe that they will.

  Still, there was one small idea that I was able to turn into reality. I wanted to swap Graz for Vienna. Over the past few months, I’d become familiar with the capital and had learnt to love it. If you’ve already visited Vienna, no further explanation is necessary. If you haven’t been, then it’s well worth a trip. But beware! Vienna will present you with an irresistible mix of modern metropolis and historical charm, as bubbly as champagne, as sweet as sugar, but always laced with a dash of bitterness – which, as every gourmet knows, can only add refinement to a dish. And it’s not just the daytime I’m referring to. The same is true of the night. I myself am a creature of darkness: I want a sensual, passionate, life-affirming existence. Since that was the kind of life I was after, I got a job with the fashion retailer H&M in order to finance it. With my eye for fashion, I didn’t find it hard to advise to customers. At first, it was the appeal of doing something new that attracted me, but before too long the magic started to fade. I began to notice that arranging clothes, putting them back, sorting them, hanging them up, selling them and then passing them nicely packaged over the counter could not be what my life was all about. There was a danger that one day I would still be standing there without any professional qualifications. That’s one thing I wanted to avoid at all costs. Still, when I turned my back on H&M and left Vienna, I was sure that this wonderful city would be seeing me again.

  To begin with, I went back to Graz and did my third year at the Fashion College, taking up my work with needle and thread just as skilfully as before. This time, though, I had the advantage of being a bit older than the others – and a bit more famous. Perhaps it was that the bullying had stopped, or that my self-confidence had grown: whatever it was, I passed my matura – the Austrian school leaving exam – with flying colours and went straight back to Vienna. That was the first cause for celebration. The second was an idea that had hatched at the back of my mind. Like I said, good ideas tend to steal up unsolicited and unannounced. This one felt a little bit strange: it was definitely something different. It also came from the heart, and, as I now know, that’s where every good idea begins.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  GUAPA, CONCHITA, GUAPA!

  ‘It won’t be easy, you’ll think it strange

  When I try to explain how I feel’

  FROM THE MUSICAL EVITA

  Throughout my life, there had been many occasions where I’d played the game of a man transforming himself into a woman. It had started in my childhood when, every now and then, I would slip into women’s clothing. The first time I did this in public was at a carnival event, and I subsequently honed it to perfection during the long hot nights of a Viennese summer. What I actually wanted at the time was to become more muscular and butch, perhaps in order to find recognition, at least on a superficial level, in the gay community. Yet I could eat as much as I wanted – and still can – without putting on an ounce. The classiest women’s clothing fitted me like a glove, and so gradually I began to experiment with more and more things: clothes, wigs, makeup, the lascivious game of seduction. I noticed how both men and women got a kick from this really qui
te narrow area of erotic pleasure. Not being able to avert their eyes any longer, they would boldly ask, ‘Are you for real?’ It’s a dangerous question, because it’s not too far off from: ‘What’s wrong with you? Is that really you?’ No matter how deeply we explore the human psyche, we always end up with indecision and hesitation when we confront our ego. Who am I? What makes me the person I am? Men in women’s clothing, drag queens, often provoke this question, perhaps the most important in life. Legend has it that the term ‘drag’ was originally coined by William Shakespeare, who noted it alongside his stage directions whenever a man appeared in women’s clothing, or dressed as a girl.

  When I started to explore drag, I felt as if the concept had been created specially for me. I began to accept my body and enjoyed seeing women get jealous. Where did you get a waist that size? How on earth can you fit into this dress? How do you manage to walk in those heels as if you’ve done it all your life? If I wore them, I’d end up breaking my neck!

  The deeper I delved into this world, the clearer it became to me that the search for one’s true self is a life-long quest, like the challenge of learning to love oneself. These thoughts were on my mind when I was invited to a party one evening in Vienna. In response to the call of love, a friend of mine was moving to Hamburg, the German city of vice, of the famous Reeperbahn street of bars and the red light districts of St Pauli and St Georg. The perfect opportunity to get my heels out, I decided. One of my closest friends, Matthias, did my hair, while my wonderful friend Nicole, whom I’d met doing Starmania, showed off her skills in the art of verse. She composed a poem that I then did my best to perform in High German [an old German dialect]. Much fun was had by all, and after I’d finished my rendition, one of the guests took me to one side. It was Kitty Willenbruch. I recognised her at once: Kitty and her burlesque-revue show were famous throughout Vienna. She was looking for a compere and thought I might be the right man – or woman – or both – for the job. As a man, I felt comfortable with my beard. It wasn’t as immaculate as my beard today, so Matthias touched it up with some makeup just for that evening. It was an idea I’d been toying with for some time: if this is a game in which a man squeezes into a bra, pads it out and then puts on a pair of excruciatingly uncomfortable panties to conceal his manhood – if this is what he does to transform himself into a woman – then why on earth shouldn’t he benefit from what nature has given him? And this includes facial hair. When you think about it, the Bible tells us that God made Eve from one of Adam’s ribs – so this is a game with a long history behind it.

  ‘Sounds good,’ I said to Kitty, and I meant it: it really did sound good, which is important for me as a singer.

  ‘What stage name do you want to use?’

  It’s a question asked not only at leaving parties, but also when you make the decision to turn professional. I shrugged my shoulders, not knowing what to say. ‘No idea. I’ll have to think about it.’

  And that’s precisely what my friends did when I told them about Kitty’s offer.

  ‘What about Concha?’ asked Damavis, who was from Cuba and had a penchant for Spanish-sounding names. ‘Guapa Concha, guapa! Beautiful Concha, pretty girl!’

  ‘No, no!’ I protested. ‘It sounds like a brand of chewing gum. No way!’

  This just went to show I wasn’t up to the job of being a prophet just yet. Fortunately, Damavis stuck to her guns. ‘In Cuba we always refer to the sexiest women as conchas. Or conchitas, if they’re really sweet. And you’re not telling me you don’t look sweet in that get-up, are you?’

  I now pricked up my ears. To me, Conchita sounded different, lovelier, sweeter. And my creation really was sexy – I’d already seen the effect she could have on people of either gender. Despite that, I didn’t warm to the idea immediately. ‘Well, if you think so. Whatever. Probably not worth giving a damn.’ (Or, as we say in German, ist ja auch wurst.)

  And there it was: wurst. A word every Austrian understands, because it’s a common way of saying you don’t give a damn, or couldn’t care less. All of a sudden, I remembered how my parents hadn’t had the luxury of not giving a damn about what other people thought since their livelihood depended on it, and what impact this attitude had had on my own life. I became aware of the whole variety of senses the word can be used to convey: it’s used in expressions that range in meaning from ‘what do I care?’ to ‘I can’t afford not to care!’. Such a lot of power for such a small word! The die was cast.

  ‘Conchita Wurst,’ I announced. ‘That’s what I’ll call myself.’ And so I did.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE LETTER

  ‘Know that I was always there’

  FROM THE MUSICAL BILLY ELLIOT

  In 2011, as one friend of mine moved to Hamburg, another needed a compere for her show. As a result, Conchita Wurst was born – at least, that’s how things might appear to have happened from the outside. In reality, Conchita had existed inside me for some time, as shown by a letter I wrote her a year later. We don’t need to plumb the deepest depths of psychology, but, as I live in the home city of Sigmund Freud, the world-famous father of sexual psychology, allow me to quote his colleague and long-standing friend C. G. Jung, whose basic principles of psychoanalysis can be summarised in the following words: we can’t suppress what is inherent within us. If we try to do so, we’ll eventually reach breaking point – something we see, hear and read about in the news every day. It’s much healthier for us if we address what’s inside us and wants to come out. In my case, it was Conchita and what Conchita stood for: tolerance and love, or everything that can make our world a better place.

  Dear Conchy,

  It’s the late 1990s, and you don’t really exist. Little Tom is still hiding you away in his imagination. But you’re already there, and the 10-year-old boy knows it. He’ll find his own subtle way of giving expression to you by dressing up in women’s clothes. Because it’s so much fun. You are, to be honest, something of a forbidden fruit at this point in time. Not many of the people who know Tom are happy with his feminine side. But never fear, dear Ms Wurst: your time will come! Tom must first make it through a few difficult years generally known as puberty. This is the time in a boy’s life when he grows up and is forced to face annoying things such as his own identity. Believe me, this is never a fun time. That’s why you, dear Conchy, will have to stay hidden for a few more years yet. During this time, Tom will learn how to gain personal benefit from negative experiences, through self-reflection and situational analysis. Don’t laugh! At his age, he still doesn’t know why people give these things such complicated names. But he’ll learn to distinguish between others disliking him and hating themselves. ‘Do they dislike me because I’m gay? Or do they treat me like this because they can’t stand themselves?’ These are questions he’ll ask himself. We both know, Conchita, that it was mostly the second of the two. So the years go by, and you still have no proper appearance and no name. But be patient! Your moment of fame will come. After waiting twenty-three years on the bench, you’ll suddenly be sent out onto the pitch. With your long black hair and even longer eyelashes, wearing incredibly uncomfortable shoes and sporting a beard. Yes, that’s right, love. You’ll have a beard. Why? Because no one gives a damn.

  In doing so, you’ll open up a new reality to an insecure young boy and empower him to lead a life in which he can be what he wants to be and be who he really is. With your help, he’ll fight for a bit more tolerance and acceptance. And as far as I, your future ego, can judge these things, you’ll endure each other’s company for a good while.

  With love, Tom

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE WORLD IS YOUR OYSTER

  ‘Then you begin to make it better’

  FROM THE MUSICAL ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE

  In one of his interviews, John Lennon recalled the time before The Beatles made it to world stardom. Between 1960 and 1962, they gave a record number of 270 concerts, some of which lasted six, eight or even ten hours. The concerts took place in a stri
p club on Hamburg’s Reeperbahn, where a nightclub owner by the name of Bruno had brought in nonstop striptease. The Beatles played to attract passers-by, and John Lennon commented on these formative years of the cult band as follows: ‘We played the whole night. We had to work flat out and come up with new ideas all the time. That made us widen our repertoire, get better and gain in self-confidence.’

  I went through a similar process on becoming a compere at Kitty’s revue show in Vienna. Her revue was a non-stop underground show performed in front of a discerning public who wouldn’t allow themselves to be fobbed off with cheap ideas. We were socially critical, with our finger on the pulse: when we tore a politician to shreds, we sometimes knew more than the next day’s papers. Just like The Beatles on the Reeperbahn, we worked flat out, constantly coming up with new ideas, and this helped to broaden my horizons. I got better and better, Conchita got better and, most importantly, I got to know her better.

  To begin with, I gave her a social context, a back-story, as they call it in the filmmaking world. So Conchita first sees the light of day in the Colombian highlands, where she was married to Jacques Patriaque, played by my talented friend Thomas. This gave us an opportunity for an on-stage dialogue, ranging from biting short sketches to full-length plays. Our stage setting was reminiscent of the 1920s, when Vienna vied with Berlin for the title of hub of European culture. In New York, we would have been classed as off-Broadway or off-off-Broadway. Similarly, in Vienna, the city of opera, operetta and Austrian national theatre, we were initially just part of the underground scene. That’s where news about us began to spread. First, the established arts scene made quiet references to Salon Kitty Revue. Next, the first visitors turned up, curious to see for themselves what was behind the whispered recommendations. There was talk of a woman with a beard and her seductive husband, really hot stuff. Not wishing to miss out, more and more people started turning up at our shows. Until that point, I’d always borrowed my high heels, but it was now worth my while going to the right shops and buying my own. I started looking for wigs and discovered how much technology went into their professional manufacture, and how this was an art mastered by only a handful of people. I soon learnt how to apply my makeup to a professional standard and proudly posted the results on Facebook. As my fan base slowly began to grow on social media, people in the outside world started talking more and more about Conchita Wurst. This led to a decisive step forwards: Conchita emerged from the world of shadow, burlesque and creatures of the night and came into the public gaze. Die Große Chance was the name of a talent show on Austrian TV, similar to the UK’s Britain’s Got Talent.