Sir Tim Rice: ‘It’s bonkers when people turn awards ceremonies into political rallies’

Lyricist Tim Rice achieved fame with composer Andrew Lloyd Webber on their musicals Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, Jesus Christ Superstar and Evita. Among his other collaborations are Chess, with Bjorn Ulvaeus and Benny Andersson of Abba, Disney’s Aladdin, with Alan Menken, and The Lion King, with Elton John.

He has a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, is a Disney Legend, was knighted by Queen Elizabeth in 1994 and has won Emmy, Oscar, Grammy and Tony awards. He has three daughters and a son, and seven grand­children; he divides his time between Buckinghamshire and Cornwall.

Best childhood memory?

Going to live in Japan for a year in 1954 with my father Hugh, mother Joan and younger brothers Jonathan and Andrew – I was 10 and old enough to appreciate it. My father’s job with the De Havilland Aircraft Company in­volved some Far East travel and on this occasion he decided to take the family with him. American Forces radio in Japan was a staggering ear-opener: the biggest hits of our time over there – Unchained Melody, Cherry Pink and Apple Blossom White and Rock Around the Clock – turned me on to pop and rock.

Best subject at school?

History. I’ve always favoured true stories as subjects for musicals, such as Joseph, Superstar and Evita, over made-up ones. A big plus with a story that’s true is that directors can’t change it: you couldn’t have Jesus being let off by Pontius Pilate, or Eva Peron living to 90 and being found in an old folks’ home in Buenos Aires. So my control of the story was stronger. But the main reason for favouring them is that truth is always stranger than fiction.

Best trait?

One of the things I hate is pretentiousness, so I like to think I’m down to earth. I treat the man who comes to service the alarm the same as I would treat the Queen. I do think you get much further in life that way. The young Cliff Richard proved that to me when I was a glorified office boy, aka management trainee, at EMI Records: he treated me like I was one of the Shadows.

Best decision?

Leaving EMI at the age of 21 in 1965 to work with Andrew in a three-year deal with our new manager, the theatrical impresario David Land. That was a gamble for me: I was working with big names and might even have ended up running a record company myself. Whereas Andrew was 100 per cent in favour of it from the word go, because he was still a student and hadn’t got a job and was three years younger than me; at 18, you don’t look ahead so much.

Best songwriter?

I always liked the songs with clever words, so I was very much influenced by the lyrics of Oscar Hammerstein when I started out. Oscar always got to the point: Edelweiss is such a simple yet brilliant song, as is Some Enchanted Eve­ning. You can have a great tune that is ruined by crappy lyrics, but if both words and music are really good, you’ve got a chance of success. I also like Jerry Leiber, the lyricist for a lot of Elvis’s hits such as Jailhouse Rock. Eddie Cochran also wrote some great lyrics, as did Buddy Holly – and then from my own generation, Paul Simon and Bob Dylan.

Best day?

When my first child, Eva, was born in 1975, although you don’t think of these things in a league table of great events. We named her after Eva Peron, but also because Eva is a good old English name.

Best moment?

Being sent the first advance copy of our Jesus Christ Superstar concept album, which preceded the musical. I had no idea at that stage if it was going to be a small hit or a big one, but it felt as exciting as receiving a hardback copy of your first book from the publishers. When it got into the US charts for the first time, Andrew and I thought, “Wow, great” – especially when it became the biggest-selling album in America in 1971.

Worst childhood memory?

Going to my first prep school at seven and screaming and yelling when I got there, having behaved very well in the car. I’m very ashamed of that moment: I was very wet and weedy. And, of course, after about 20 minutes, I calmed down. At subsequent schools, I might have had the odd moment of being shy or worried, but on the whole, it was a fairly happy time for me, especially after forming a rock group, the Aardvarks, at Lancing College.

Worst habit?

Hypochondria. Although I’ve always been very healthy, I did panic when my blood pressure went up a lot in the early 1970s after the huge success of Superstar. I never look up symptoms because then you see something and you think, “My God, I’ve got that.” I’m also bone idle, so all my productivity is maybe my way of forcing myself to defy that natural instinct – which is why I’ve written lyrics for three new songs for the first London revival of From Here to Eternity, the wartime musical I wrote with composer Stuart Brayson, which premiered in 2013.

Worst job ever?

Being an articled clerk – or articled par­ticle, as we were nicknamed – in a London solicitors’ office before I went to EMI. I was always unhappy, even though it was a nice firm with nice people, one or two of whom I’m still in touch with. But during my last six months there, I thought, “This is really ghastly.” I was struggling to pass the exams as I wasn’t working hard enough, not being that interested in law.

Worst decision?

Failing to spot Bryan Ferry’s charismatic potential in the mid-1960s. I was sent talent-spotting in Newcastle by EMI and chose a group called the Sect instead of a college one called the Gas Board, which was fronted by Bryan – who wasn’t wearing a lamé tuxedo in those days. I decided the Sect were slightly better: they were a good bluesy band, more Stones than Beatles. I think they have disappeared into history, but I still have their demos.

Worst TV show seen recently?

BBC Two’s Mock the Week; so unfunny and so predictable. I prefer news programmes, historical documentaries and all sport, especially cricket.

Worst thing about social media?

People are always on their phones and don’t seem to be making real-life ­contact any more, except indirectly through the phones. Half-witted, vicious idiots get a bit of a platform and people can hurl abuse anywhere anonymously. Also, individuality disappears: it puts too much stress on popularity when that popularity is measured by numbers.

The absolute worst

One of my pet hates is people in businesses like mine who are trying to ­lecture the world. Because they happen to be quite good at acting or writing songs, they then think they can tell everyone else what to do. That really annoys me. It’s bonkers when people turn very lightweight, trivial events such as awards ceremonies into political rallies.

‘From Here to Eternity’ opens today and runs until December 17 at the Charing Cross Theatre, London; charingcross theatre.co.uk; 0844 493 0650