Phil Collins: Don’t Call Him Superstar

It’s known in pop circles as the Case of the Unlikely Superstar--or in this case, the Phil Collins mystery.

The enigma: What makes this English pop/rock singer so consistently successful?

With a minimum of fanfare, this unassuming singer and actor--he starred in last year’s “Buster” and is also a member of the pop-rock group Genesis--has become one of the biggest stars in the pop world. Currently Collins is king of both Billboard pop charts.

”. . . But Seriously,” his first solo album since 1985’s “No Jacket Required” (5 million copies sold in the United States alone), took only three weeks to leap into Billboard magazine’s Top 10 sales chart. His No. 1 single is “Another Day in Paradise”--the first single from the album. The success of this bleak, moody tale of the homeless--a most unlikely chart-topping tune--gives Collins eight No. 1 singles during the ‘80s.

The other No. 1 singles include “Against All Odds,” “One More Night,” “Separate Lives” (with Marilyn Martin), “Sussudio” and a pair from the “Buster” score--”A Groovy Kind of Love” and “Two Hearts.”

Yet there’s little about Collins that fits the typical profile of a pop superstar in the ‘80s--and he’d be the first to admit it.

One thing missing is the arrogance that’s almost a staple of superstars.

“I don’t like to think of myself as a star,” Collins said the other day, snacking on chips and guacamole in his room at a West Hollywood hotel. “It makes me nervous. When you start thinking in star terms, you start thinking you’re better than everybody else. I don’t like to think that way. It’s dangerous.”

The Englishman also has little base of critical support. Fans may love his music--mostly pop ballads and mainstream pop/rock--but critics often dismiss it as pop pabulum. Collins has a pleasant voice, but in a vocal contest with some of his peers he’d probably be massacred.

And sex appeal doesn’t appear to be a secret weapon. You wouldn’t call him handsome. Physically, he’s medium-sized and rather nondescript. At 38, his hairline is severely receding.

Collins knows he’s no hunk.

“Do I look like someone who’s going to set feminine hearts aflutter?,” he asked, flashing a grin that soon turned into a chuckle. “I don’t kid myself or live in a fantasy,” he added. “I like to look reality in the face. Maybe that’s my secret.”

Gwen Roberts, assistant program director of KIIS-FM, a station that frequently plays the singer’s records, believes that Collins may be on target when he speaks about coming across as real “He makes you feel there’s nothing phony or dishonest about him,” she said in a separate interview. “He seems very warm and very sincere. Sure, he’s not the standard, good-looking singer but that doesn’t matter. He really knows how to convey his feelings. That’s something that listeners appreciate.”

Given this theory, it’s ironic that some critics have taken potshots at Collins over the years by questioning his sincerity. One reason Collins’ latest album has received such a sound thrashing in various publications is that many critics charge that he’s unconvincing singing about social issues such as the homeless and racism in South Africa (“Colors”). For instance, in a scathing review of “. . . But Seriously,” the Times’ Mike Boehm, unmoved by Collins’ probes of social and political issues, concluded: “It all adds up to the sound of a fat cat purring.”

This criticism caused the usually genteel, mild-mannered Collins to do a slow burn.

“These people say, ‘What does Phil Collins know about the homeless or South Africa?,” he snapped. “It’s like they think I’m some phony jumping on a bandwagon to take advantage of people’s feelings about these issues. How dare these critics say I don’t know what I’m talking about. I know what I see for myself, what I read about and see on TV. I don’t have to be homeless to be touched by what’s happening to these people.”

Part of the problem, he suggested, is the stigma of being rich: “If you’re rich, people assume you’re an insensitive jerk who’s out of touch. But there’s some decent rich people too. Having money doesn’t turn you into a jerk. If those critics knew me, they wouldn’t be making rash assumptions about me. I’m rich but I’m not a bad guy.”

Collins’ room in the West Hollywood hotel wasn’t really fancy. In fact, the hotel wasn’t particularly luxurious--certainly not one of the ultra-elegant spots that cater to celebrities. The setting suggests that Collins’ goal isn’t flash or opulence.

“There’s a certain amount of glamour and flashiness connected with what I do,” he said, sitting at the table in the living room. He quietly scanned his own outfit--a plain, unobtrusive shirt and pants--a testament to his simplicity.

“You can’t escape a lot of the glamour but you don’t have to throw yourself into it either,” he continued, resuming his attack on the guacamole. “I like to keep things as simple as possible. I’m not a flashy person. I tend to blend into crowds. I look like a common person and I like that. I like being down-to-earth. It’s very comfortable there.”

Though Collins is best known as a solo singer, that’s only a small part of his musical profile. He’s also a drummer, producer and an active member of Genesis, which he helped change from an avant-garde rock band in the ‘70s into an ‘80s pop supergroup. The last Genesis album, 1986’s “Invisible Touch,’ sold over 3 million copies.

Born in Chiswick, England, Collins, who began playing drums at 12, started with Genesis in 1970 as a drummer and backup singer but became lead vocalist when Peter Gabriel left in 1975. Just about then, Collins helped form Brand X, a top-notch jazz fusion band that he worked with for the next seven years.

“I need the challenge of many projects,” he said, scraping the dregs of guacamole out of the bowl with his finger. “I thrive on that. If I’m not doing one thing than I can do another. I have all this creative energy. I have to channel it. If I do nothing with it, I’ll just burst.”

Now Collins balances a solo career with his work with Genesis and still manages to find time for extras, including producing two Eric Clapton albums in the mid-’80s, some guest session work and touring with Clapton as his drummer.

Typical of his low-key persona, Collins insisted that he never planned a solo career. Rather than the result of some longstanding, intense goal, Collins’ first solo album--”Face Value” (1981)--was largely an accident. He just wrote some songs that his manager later suggested be used in a solo album.

Those songs, written when he was in the throes of a divorce, had a strong, even heartfelt tone--perhaps the first step in the “realness” connection that his fans seem to prize.

“After my wife left me I had this huge space,” he recalled. “I was writing just to keep busy and to get some of the feelings out. A year later, I played those songs for my manager and he said, ‘You’ve got a solo album here.’ So I added a solo career to my list of activities.”

One of his favorite activities at the moment is film acting, which he hopes to resume late next year, after another solo tour. “Acting lets me express myself a little differently,” he explained. “It shows another side of me. It’s fun to lose yourself--even for a little while--in a character. Assuming another ego, which you do when you’re working on a film, is intriguing.”

Leaning back in his chair, resting after that last guacamole attack, Collins casually mused about his own ego: “I’m not an egomaniac. I have a big ego--like any other artist--and I have great pride in my work, but my ego doesn’t get out of hand. I don’t overwhelm people. When I approach people it’s not”--he shouted for emphasis--” Phil Collins, Superstar. It’s just as Phil Collins--a guy who writes songs and sings. I think that comes across in my music too.”

That intangible, likable, just-plain-Phil quality he’s talking about might be the key to what fans love about him. Maybe that’s the solution to the Phil Collins mystery.