Interview Highlights; Morten Harket

When the sweating, glistening body of a-ha's Morten Harket exploded through a glass panel in 'Take On Me', the animation/live video directed by Steve Barron and loosely based on the film 'Altered States', I reacted like a teenage girl would, with a mixture of lust and intrigue. Except of course I was 25, male, and none of my peer group would have entertained the idea of liking the Norwegian with a two-octave singing range. In the early eighties, it wasn't cool to like a-ha. Not then. Not until 'Stay On These Roads'. But I loved their unadulterated pop. And Morten was my guilty pleasure. I bought a-ha's albums, listened to them privately and lusted after him. But I never dreamed he would end up being my one-time car mechanic.

In 1994, Morten surprised me with a call to the MTV offices. He asked if I would like to visit him at his home the next day if I was not too busy. I should have been presenting the news the next day, but my boss, Fiona, understood. The following morning I set off in my five-year-old Fiat Panda to his beautiful mansion set in the English countryside. As I pulled up in front of the house he came out. He was warm and friendly, the same charisma privately that he had on-camera. He immediately struck me as a person who cares, and who can self-reflect. And he was still as attractive as he had ever been. Morton invited me into a room in the house which I presumed was his private hang out. There he picked up a guitar and played a medley of his hits, including 'Take on Me'. He sang and danced. His voice, immaculate, with those soaring, angelic vocals. 

That evening we went out for dinner with his manager and family. Later, when I left his house my Fiat Panda stalled. I continued to turn the key, but the only sound that emanated from the engine was the sound of metal clashing against metal. Morten walked over and told me not to flood the car. It was too late. I had already done so. He asked me to open the bonnet, I had no idea how to do that. I'd had the car five years and never looked once at the engine. I'd never changed the oil or put water into the window washer container. I couldn't even tell you the number plate. All I knew was that it was black. Seconds later Morten was working on the engine, his hands covered in grease, his brow, sweating, glistening. Just how he had been the first time I saw him in that 'Take on Me' video. 

Not long afterward I was out for dinner with Bob Geldof, his late wife Paula Yates was a good friend of a good friend of mine. During the meal, Bob said that Live Aid ruined his music career. I retorted that his music career was over before Live Aid, and without Live Aid, he would never have been able to resurrect it, however temporarily. The meal descended into an argument. When the bill arrived Bob pulled out his gold credit card and I refused to let him pay, pulling out my platinum version. He suggested that I was the type of arrogant, show-off that drove a big red car, probably a Porsche. My friend lept to my defence. She told him that I had a five-year-old Fiat Panda and that it was parked outside the restaurant. What Bob didn't know, of course, was that Morten Harket was my car mechanic.