Diva Anti-Diva

One of my heroes came into the radio station today. Well, hero is a strong word. A minor celebrity who I had always believed deserved bigger celebrity than she had received, let’s say. Mike and Acey invited me to stay after work and sit in on the interview, not in small part because I was the only one of the three of us who had ever heard of Carole Pope. Beyond that, I was actually something of a fan.

I respected a woman who was singing about creaming her jeans over a girl back when even Joan Jett was in the closet. When Pope’s book Anti Diva came out in the 90s, I bought it and ate up every last shamelessly dropped name. So Mike and Acey figured I would be a good addition to the interview—I could ask her about something more than what I had Googled for the afternoon show prep.

So when she arrived, I met her at the door, which was locked for the after-hours, offered to get her a glass of water, and introduced myself. She was entirely non-plussed. Fine, woman’s busy; I understood.

However, when I returned with the water, I asked whether it would be alright if I sat in on the interview, because I had followed her career and was interested in what she had to say.

Ms. Pope gave me a long once-over with a curl to her lip and said, “I….suppose so,” in a way that clearly meant, “I’d prefer you didn’t.”

So I left. And when I got home in the evening, my copy of Anti Diva went to the curb.