Gary Barlow
Open Road

'I don't want any of your songs. None of your damn songs.' This is what Barlow thought when an excited Clive Davis, American music industry mogul and boss of ARISTA (two random names drawn from the deck: Madonna and Whitney Houston) called him to let him know that Madonna and her trusty collaborator Patrick Leonard had written "Love Won't Wait" for him, a pop serenade made for dancing or singing with the windows down when picking up your current girlfriend. "I hated it from the start, I didn't like it." Of course, he didn't tell him that.

Gary Barlow, Gaz to friends, was the only one to exit the fruitful experience with Take That with a bright future ahead. Slimmed down, revamped, with a bank account fit for a king (about seven times that of his companions, because he, besides regular earnings, boasted songwriting royalties on every single track, apart from covers). Williams, obese and high on every kind of drug available on the narcotics market, went from pub outings with the Gallagher brothers to improbable cruises with George Michael and Paula Yates. Howie Donald had suicidal thoughts, thankfully not pursued. Owen recorded an album immediately, which was ignored by everyone. Jason Orange disappeared. The manager, Nigel Martin-Smith, pocketed his thick wallet and decided (wisely) to continue supporting Barlow in his solo career.

The first sign was encouraging: "Forever Love", you know, the kind to play at weddings and so on. Piano, vocals, a few strings accompanying, our hero's voice (never liked it, editor's note) embellishing it. The song worked, and it went to number one. It was the spring of 1996. The album was ready, worked on shoulder to shoulder with the experienced Chris Porter ("Back For Good"). Come on, let's go, let's get started. But then Clive Davis came into the picture, and Clive Davis meant America. Imagine that. Martin-Smith picked up the cordless: "Gaz, Clive Davis wants to sign you" "Great!" "There's just one problem" "Which would be...?" "He dislikes most of the album." Uh-oh.

It goes without saying that good old Gary boarded the first plane, destination Clive's penthouse. He would never have moved his butt for... who? The Take whats? However, during the last tour, he had attended a show and predicted: "Terrible show, awful costumes. But I'm interested in the songwriter." Compliments, ball in the center, keep pushing.

"I arrived late, I hadn't woken up, jet-lag had floored me. Davis was unapproachable, they told me, but that day he was waiting for me."

"Gary, if you want to break into America you have to adapt. Listen: these two country songs, 'I Fall So Deep' and 'So Help Me Girl', we could reinterpret them in pop style, you know, it works here." "Mr. Davis, but I'm a songwriter, I..." "I know, Gary, I know. But to break into America we need to do things differently....".

Baffled, Barlow called Martin-Smith: "Nigel, what's the need for all this? The album is ready, we all like it, what's the point of me being here...?" "Gaz, they know better than us how to move: let's not miss this opportunity".

It goes without saying that Davis tormented young Barlow by imposing more covers, like the muddled "Hang In On There Baby," redone a few years earlier to good effect by Curiosity Killed The Cat. Barlow swallowed the bitter pill and tried to reach a compromise.

The result was a hybrid album, neither fish nor flesh, neither pop nor soul. Sugary, at times stuffed with electronics, boasting the best in sound cleanliness and production care, albeit chaotic. Consequently, the best tracks are those created by Barlow according to his own nature. Standouts include "Are You Ready Now" and "Always", which closes the album. The ending of "So Help Me Girl" is also nice. They tried to refine the composition by bringing in Diane Warren for "My Commitment", but the result was unconvincing. And then, too many cooks "singing" in the production realm: the perfectionist Trevor Horn, pop guru Walter Afanasieff, David Foster, Max Martin, etc.

"Open Road" had a fair impact, but it was less than a swan song. The album was released in late 1997, a year after the leading single, "Forever Love": too much time passed. Barlow knew that from there on, he would be shoulder-to-shoulder with Williams: the press had pitted them against each other, fate had opposed them: the diligent and dedicated schoolboy, the talented one, and the one to be redeemed, the cursed genius, the unruly one. It fit, as a paraphrase. When Barlow heard "Angels" for the first time he got worried. He was with Porter. "Damn, it's beautiful" "Yes... yes, it's beautiful", they exchanged between them.

Soon after, Barlow descended into hell. He regained weight, lost his hair, the world laughed at the sight of his second album, "Twelve Months, Eleven Days", 1999. Robbie Williams became Robbie Williams. And he started shaking off small stones that soon became boulders. "Gary who? Hahaha" and so on.

Barlow hated him. He hated him viscerally. "Robbie had it all: sales, accolades, success. Why bring me into it day after day?"

"Open Road" was the beginning of the end for Gary Barlow, until the rebirth dated 2005 => Take That reunion. There he rediscovered his dimension, success, astronomical sales. He lost weight, lost a lot of weight. Today he's a handsome gentleman of 46 years, and Robbie Williams is his friend again. They vacation together, record duets, confide in each other. Things like that. Time heals every wound, even those made in one go.