Papa was a Rolling Stone...Jimmy Jagger, 25, a musician and the elder son of Mick Jagger and Jerry Hall, on being a better cook than his mum and keeping his scruples intact
Ria Higgins
Jimmy has followed his father into music, but Mick has yet to see his band perform (Muir Vidler)
If I’ve had a late night, I’ll get up about 10.30-11. I’ll take a piss, then go down and let the dog out so he can go too. He’s called Vinnie, he’s an alsatian, and I got him after we were burgled three times in one month. Admittedly, we live in a dodgy north London area, lots of drunks and crackheads, but there’s seven of us in the house, including me and my girlfriend, Anoushka. So I was getting paranoid; it got to the point where I had a cricket bat by my bed. But since we got Vinnie, we’ve been fine. I’ll give him his food, make a cup of milky tea and read Arseblog, an Arsenal blog, on my laptop, and maybe listen to Alan Davies’s Arsenal podcast. Then I’ll get ready. Innocuous wear is my general rule of thumb, so nothing designery, shiny, garish or flash. I like early American work wear: old-school Levi’s, jean shirts from the ’70s and ’80s, Carhartt stuff and trainers.
At the moment I’m focused on Turbogeist, the band I’m in. There’s four of us and we’re unsigned. We’re not long back from a tour round the US and we’ve recently recorded our first single. I guess you’d call our music rock’n’roll, but it’s varied — lots of punk and heavy metal. Luis and I — who are both guitarists and singers — work on the songs, then Josh, our drummer, and James, the bassist, will make them complete. So now I just want to improve on my playing. Ironically, I never had any pressure on me to learn an instrument. Dad never sat me down and said: “Son, this is a guitar. This is an A string. This is an E string. Come back in two weeks and show me what you can do.” Occasionally I think: “Dad, why the hell didn’t you force me to learn my scales? If you had, I’d be a virtuoso by now.”
Like most schoolkids I took up the recorder and got as far as Baa Baa Black Sheep. When I was eight I started the tuba, only to spot this fit girl learning the trombone, so I switched, much to Mum’s chagrin, because it’s so loud. In the end I gave up on all the brass and began listening to the Clash and Nirvana. But the band that probably had the biggest influence on me was the Replacements. I wouldn’t be playing guitar if it wasn’t for them. I heard their song I Hate Music and knew I had to play it. But I was a studious kid, so I always felt some pressure to do well. Mum hoped I might become a lawyer. Ah, well…
When I’ve got a day off, I love cooking. If you’re eating on a budget and want decent food, it’s the best thing. Maybe I’ll get a bit of fresh fish and rustle up a Moroccan spicy mackerel dish. It’s easy. I marinate the bad boy with chilli, garlic and cumin, whack it under the grill and have it with salad.
I got into cooking out of adversity. Mum couldn’t cook to save her life. She even burnt our pasta and scrambled eggs. I first started making Christmas dinner when I was 13 — that was one meal I wasn’t willing to sacrifice.
What with wanting to concentrate on the band, it’s hard to hold down a full-time job, so one of the main ways Luis and I make money is by staging warehouse parties, raves and club nights. We do it with our manager, Sam. If it’s a new venue, we’ll check it out first, then work out budgets — DJ hire, the cost of the beer, etc.
We don’t like anything too expensive, so for instance the other night we did one at Aldgate East. It was £3 to get in; we had cheap beer, great music and a skate park. We made a bit of money, but left with our scruples intact — unlike a lot of people in the club business.
If it’s a gig night, most of the day is taken up with rehearsing and getting to the gig. I’ve invited everyone in my family, but only two of my siblings have seen me perform. Mum wanted to come to one of our last gigs, but I told her not to because it was in an underground bunker and she suffers from claustrophobia. Dad hasn’t seen me yet. I’m not even sure if he’s heard our music. He once joked about coming along, but I joked that he couldn’t because there’d be too many teenage girls there.
If we’re all in the house for the night, things can get mad in the kitchen, with seven people trying to get to the cooker. But the other night I was there by myself because it was a flatmate’s birthday and he’d asked if I’d make his favourite dish. I cooked a lovely bit of crispy pork belly with roast potatoes. The only snag was they’re now threatening to nominate me for MasterChef. They forget I’m no culinary purist. If I’m out for the night and we’ve had a few beers I’ll head for the nearest McDonald’s or Chicken Cottage.
Before bed I’ll walk Vinnie round the block and listen to music. Now and again I’ll get into a good book — maybe an Alan Furst or Sebastian Faulks — and check Arseblog again. I don’t get to bed until 1 or 2. When it comes to going to sleep I’m a bit anal about light. I’ve not only got blackout curtains and blinds, I’ve got black gaffer tape at the bottom of our door. Then I’m set, happy in the knowledge I don’t want much, don’t need much and am lucky to have found something I love doing.
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