Blue Eyed Soul

Doobie Brother MICHAEL McDONALD found a new generation of fans in the 80s, yet his romantic image masked the reality of his wild life in the fast lane: “My career suffered greatly from drink and drugs and I would have been dead by the 90s if I had carried on,” he tells JONATHAN WINGATE

At first glance, Michael McDonald appears to be almost painfully shy – both on stage and off – so it is hard to imagine him exactly relishing the prospect of talking about himself. He is here in the UK to promote a new compilation album that takes in his work from The Doobie Brothers right through to his criminally underrated solo career, and having just flown in from Nashville, he looks tired. He greets me in a measured, thoughtful way, friendly and polite but not effusive. “Well,” he says with a wry grin, “we’re talking about music, and that is my favourite subject. I only get really self-conscious when I’m talking about myself.”

We are in a luxurious hotel suite in central London, and the mid-morning sun is shining onto his silvery mop of hair. There is a knock on the door, and a young girl stifles a yawn and smiles apologetically at McDonald as she delivers our breakfast of coffee and croissants, utterly unaware that the courteous 57-year-old before her is a true soul legend.

His voice – a rich, multifaceted jewel of a tool to rival any black soul singer of the last five decades – is utterly unique and instantly recognisable. While his music has always been lavishly praised by his peers, McDonald’s public profile has remained …

by JONATHAN WINGATE
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