GIVES HIM SHELTER: Bill Wyman in his London home
built in the 1700s near the Thames. He uses the study to write.
Daniella Zalcman for The Wall Street Journal
Bassist
Bill Wyman,
77, was an original member of the Rolling Stones from 1962 to
1993 and currently leads Bill Wyman's Rhythm Kings. He is author of the
limited edition "Scrapbook" (Concert Live), a career-long collection of
personal photos and reminiscences. He spoke with reporter Marc Myers.
The
Chelsea section of London is important to me. I joined the Rolling
Stones in December 1962 at the Weatherby Arms pub on King's Road, and
I've lived in a series of flats in the area since 1980. Twenty years ago
my wife and I bought the three-story, 16-room Chelsea house where we
live now. When I'm home, I'm usually in my study.
Our
house was built in the 1700s. In the 1800s, Dr. John Samuel Phene lived
here—he persuaded London to plant trees in the streets all over the
city to improve the air quality. My study was his study, so that feels
good. From my house, I can go on walks along the River Thames and stroll
over to the Chelsea Physic Garden where there are plants and trees from
around the world. I'm a member there, so they let me photograph
butterflies and pick mulberries off the trees and eat them.
WILD HORSES: Bill Wyman, far right, with Rolling
Stones bandmates Charlie Watts, Mick Taylor, Mick Jagger and Keith
Richards in a 1960s photo.
Dezo Hoffmann/Rex USA/Everett Collection
Just walking into my study puts me in
a frame of mind to bounce right into everything I have to do. It's
where I think, read and work on a range of projects. For example, I'm
now writing a history of my country home—a Tudor manor with a moat. It's
in East Anglia—a two-hour drive from London—and dates back to the
1480s.
In Chelsea, my study is on the
ground floor and relatively small—about 13 feet square with 11-foot-high
ceilings. It's lighted by a series of ceiling spotlights. Two walls are
taken up by floor-to-ceiling wooden bookshelves with closed cabinets at
the base. I work on a computer at a large modern desk that looks out
through the study's two tall windows.
My
favorite color is burgundy, which was the color of my grammar-school
football team. All of the furniture in the study is burgundy—including
my upright leather chair and a chaise longue sofa from the 1860s. The
wallpaper is a pink burgundy and we had the walls around the bookcases
painted the same color. Even the curtains are burgundy and beige. It's a
warm, cozy color.
I keep lots of fun things in here. On
my mantelpiece and windowsills are numerous photos of my mom and dad,
my wife and three daughters, and my son. On the walls I have a photo of
Marc Chagall and his wife that he signed for me and a drawing of Winston
Churchill by actor Joe Sirola. I also have a painting of my favorite TV
detective—Peter Falk as "Columbo." I keep an acoustic Martin guitar in
the corner to mess with when writing songs. I have a little digital
studio downstairs, where I'm working on a new album of original
material.
I also have two early Rupert
Bear dolls. At my country house I have nearly an entire set of Rupert
Annuals. They're children's books that have been published here every
year since 1936—the year I was born. They feature illustrations of
Rupert the Bear and his animal friends going off on fabulous adventures.
When I was young, my family never had enough money for Christmas
presents except a single Rupert Annual for all five of us to share.
I'm
curious about virtually everything, so my Chelsea shelves are lined
with books covering a variety of subjects—from histories of London to
books on Atlantis and ancient cultures. My music shelf has books on
early blues, country music, gospel and a history of jazz from the 1930s.
I like to know how things work and how they became that way.
I
never close the door. Gizmo, my favorite dog—a papillon—likes to come
in and climb onto my lap no matter what I'm doing or where I'm sitting.
Despite the open door, parties never extend to this room. I couldn't
bear a spilled glass of red wine or a ring on the wood furniture or
shelves.
But in the quiet confines of my
Chelsea study, there's always the risk of overthinking things or
feeling a bit boring—at least my daughters sometimes think I am.
Recently I won the Gold Badge Award that's given out by the British
Academy of Songwriters, Composers and Authors. When I came home with it,
I told my youngest daughter—15-year-old Matilda—about the event. She
listened intently. But Jessy—my middle daughter who's 17—didn't seem so
interested.
Later, after dwelling on
her reaction in my study, I told Jessy that I had only wanted to share
the experience with her. She said, "Daddy, you don't have to win things
for me to be proud of you." Wow, just when you think your kids have let
you down, they haven't at all, have they?
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