MARY
“Just wait one minute,” an adorably flamboyant PA said as we entered the BBC One studio.
I hung towards the back of our pack, hesitant to step up front. My plan was to stick to the script, make the new label happy, and look professional.Don’t look too butch. Don’t be too Swedish. Focus on our song and what we are about.I didn’t want to discuss drama or mention the reason I wrote “Justice” at all.
“Right this way.” The sweet baby gay waved us into a studio with Leighton Jones, the presenter.
Leighton Jones waited, with a genuine smile, across from a suite of chairs: two short and two tall. There were no mics before the rear barstool chairs, so I made my way there. Unfortunately, Alicia practically sat me up front.
I glared.
She whispered. “Bitch, like it or not, you are the frontwoman. Know your place!”
I sat by Clarice right before the main mic while a PA passed mics to the others. I glared as if it were a punishmentand said little as we exchanged pleasantries. Leighton was good at her job and kind enough, but my nerves got the better of me. This was the big time. It felt familiar in abadway.
Leighton kindly introduced us. “And how did you come up with the Zamboneys? That’s a departure from Playground.”
I looked back, hoping someone else would answer.
Thankfully, Alicia did. “Oh, well, we thought it was funny. Mary’s dad played ice hockey back in Sweden.”
“He was known as The Zamboni,” I snickered.
“What does that mean?” Leighton asked.
“They smooth the ice. He was a defender. They brought him in for cleanup,” I explained. “Barry suggested the name and we ran with it.”
“Why not stick with Playground?”
Clarice grinned at me. “Because, with Mary in the band, it made sense to take on a new name. It was a fresh start—a funky change—and we loved it.”
“That’s so interesting. People seem to like it. It’s offbeat like your origin story.” Leighton turned towards my seat. “This is your first hit single together, but Mary, you are no stranger to the charts.”
I blushed. Barry elbowed me. “Go on, champ.”
“Oh, you’re so modest!” Leighton said, surprised. “You’re prolific in songwriting! And weren’t you a performer when you were younger?”
“Don’t make me feel old, Leighton,” I groaned, trying to evade her question.
“I don’t but… at youryoungage as a pop singer, your first single went platinum.”
I blushed. “That was a different time.”
I wasn’t sure how else to respond, so I tried to end the line of questioning. The honest answer was that going platinum in Sweden as a teen not even able to drive was an experience Iwouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. Saying that would derail the interview and anger our label.
“Well, after that, you had three platinum hits, a platinum album, four gold albums, and that’s just your producing credits. You have your hands in more pies as a writer. How is that for you?”
Deep breaths. I was my least favorite topic.
“Well, it’s really odd to be onthisside of the stage again.”
“Brits might not remember your first act, but I can assure our listeners you were quite the star in Sweden.”
I swallowed, longing for her to drop the line about my life as a poptart.
“I just mean that since growing up, I don’t think of myself as a vocalist, but more of a writer and producer. The band needed me and it worked. These people are my friends. I enjoy playing with them. Honestly, I’m honored that they trust me.”
“If it wasn’t for them would you have graced the track?” Leighton asked an interesting question.
