Four years and 45 minutes with Neneh Cherry: the four years it took writing her memoir, and our 45 minutes on a Monday afternoon. The sum of this moment, with some of the best company I’ve shared. Her book’s title, A Thousand Threads, suggested by daughter Tyson, concedes that every strand in Cherry’s life has contributed to the fibre of her now, that no experience is ever isolated.

Born in Sweden, where her family still has a house, Neneh was raised in the countryside by Moki, her artist mother, and stepfather Don Cherry, the renowned jazz trumpeter. After spending time in New York, she moved to London on her own aged 15, met punk firebrand Ari Up and joined The Slits, then Rip, Rig + Panic where she met best friend (now chef and broadcaster) Andi Oliver.

If whirlwinds happen over forty years plus, it’s been a whirlwind. Whether performing pregnant on Top of The Pops, melting down Brit awards, enjoying a long, creative friendship with legendary stylist and iconoclast Judy Blame, marrying musician and producer Cameron McVey, raising her daughters Naima, Tyson, Mabel and stepson Marlon, or putting out records and remixes on her own terms. Despite working to her own schedule, her musical collaborations could fill a better record shop’s rack of 12”s.

She has been photographed by Jean-Baptiste Mondino, Jamie Morgan and Juergen Teller – that’s just the Js. She adores and has modelled for Martine Rose. Don’t forget she figuratively kicked Massive Attack up the arse to make Blue Lines. There’s plenty more.

Our chat is a postscript to all the insightful and moving words Cherry has already said between the hard covers. To me, she is one of the most iconic Londoners, representing everything great about the city. File her book under the letter ‘E’ for ‘essential’: the authority on Neneh Cherry is Neneh Cherry.

How was writing A Thousand Threads?

I think what led me to writing the book was an arrival in time where I felt very conscious of how quickly life passes by and how crazy it was to be at that point now I'm 60 – 56 when I began. I had this mixed feeling of achievement and of course being grateful for the fact I'm still alive. I've lost way too many people along the way, so I have an insight into how fragile life is. I wanted to be with what has become… or is still becoming, and honour the life that I've led. Everything's connected – that’s why A Thousand Threads became a good metaphor.

Having written the book, what’s the first thing you'd like people to understand about you?

That I'm still figuring things out. [Laughs]. 

I love the way you move – albums in your own time, when you've something to share; effortlessly crossing genres; working with multiple generations of collaborators, and always giving them the same respect; raising your children and being an amazing mum. What leads you? Reason or instinct?

I mean we try, don’t we? That's all we can do! I try to be better at actually listening to my instincts because I think instincts are way more knowing: we allow ourselves to overthink. Passion is also a leader within us. No matter how passionate you are, there's a certain amount of things that you have to do. If you don't have routine and a discipline within, it just becomes a bit wanky and self-indulgent.

We've all got to put the bins out. [Laughs]

Fucking put the bins out, you know what I mean? Whether you like it or not.

Naima, Tyson, Mabel and Marlon are all musicians and they’re each very true to their own way. Can you compare the experience of having musical children with your earliest days falling in love with music? Were you encouraged by your parents? When your children told you they wanted to make music, you must have brought to that your own thoughts and lessons that you've learned?

My parents were really supportive. I've got loads of siblings in different corners, but I grew up with Eagle-Eye [Cherry], and I think my stepdad, Don, and my mother Moki had a very powerful insight into who we were, wanting us to be children first then allow us to grow into ourselves. Obviously, they weren't the kind of parents that were steering us. With my kids, I recognise the way I am with their choices. The music business is no child's play, is it? It's a really, really hard place. When I look at my kids, they're all so young. There are aspects of what they're doing, things that they've done I love. But I also love the things they haven't done yet.

Artists are sometimes prisoner to their back catalogue, which can become too sacred. But you're not shy to revisit songs and perform them in new ways: there’s The Versions but also ‘Golden Heart’ [by Don Cherry] on The Cherry Thing. Songs change mood like we do.

Music is magical, isn't it? You can take a song and you can respectfully do what you want with it. Those possibilities to me are magical, and I think there are aspects of musicality and music that we don't own. That is what to me means a song lives on forever.

There's an entrapment in getting stuck in what you think people are expecting from you, or what you are expected to produce, rather than what you want to say. Being an eclectic artist isn't necessarily the thing that's going to make you the most money [laughs] – but I've always felt having freedom in music was my journey, and to not be scared of being on that journey. 

To become a karaoke version of yourself is one of my biggest nightmares. I have songs that follow me from my past, like ‘Buffalo Stance’ and ‘Manchild’, and sometimes I'll be like, “My God, why don't you ask me about ‘Red Paint' or, ‘Out of the Black’ that I did with Robyn?” But I do feel – and I wrote about it in the book – there are certain songs that fall out of nowhere, that have a kind of golden nugget fever. For some reason they contain something where you can't sit down and go, “Oh let's write another song like that.” I feel very blessed to have a few of those. Though I never wanted to be completely reliant on those little golden nuggets, they have to be a part of everything rather than the only thing you have.

Can you recall when you first met Judy Blame, who you had a long friendship and collaboration with?

The first time we spoke to each other was at New Cavendish Street in this building that Ray Petri was living in, and Mark Lebon had a flat and Judy I think was sleeping in his flat quite often. There was a Buffalo office in the building. Judy was there one day, and I guess I was with Cameron [McVey] and Christopher Nemeth. We were both really drawn to each other. I asked about him and Chris making me a jacket from a postal bag, those canvas sacks with leather straps that were left on train platforms. I've been missing Judy so much lately. He was an incredible visionary. He was able to translate his impressions in a very unfiltered way, which made him such a powerful force.

Do you still have clothes from the time?

I do have a few of Judy's pieces which are literally treasures. And I've got some Junior Gaultier and a couple of Azzedine pieces, that Mabel is probably the only person in the family that fits into.

Didn’t Azzedine Alaïa sew you into your wedding dress?

He did. Azzedine was on his knees, stitching me into my dress! 

I wanted to ask you about your 1990 Brit Award that you melted down into jewellery. Where did the pieces end up?

We made necklaces – I gave one piece to Jazzie B. Judy knew a jeweller, and he took it and melted it down. I definitely had a piece, and Judy had a piece. We gave another bit to someone. We were all really upset that Soul II Soul didn't get a Brit that year. I mean I had definitely done all right, but like, compared to me, Soul II Soul were literally ruling the roost and it was a shock in that sense – they really deserved to have one.

When do you have the most fun?

Good question. I think I have the most fun when I feel other people around me are happy.  Everyone’s just kind of harmonising and in the same space feeling good together.

What makes you most proud?

My kids and my grandkids now.  

NENEH CHERRY
TEXT DEAN MAYO DAVIES
PHOTOGRAPHY NICOLA AND MANUEL
FASHION HAMISH WIRGMAN
RE-EDITION #22, AUTUMN/WINTER 2024
COVER STORY