Illustration by Ashley Floréal
The author bio in Cher: The Memoir, Part One is five words long – “Cher is a global icon” – but the hubris is earned. What a life! Born in 1946 to a heroin-addicted grifter father and a 19-year-old mother who became a model and actress (Ozzie Nelson and Desi Arnaz both hit on her), Cherilyn Sarkisian was slapped into a Catholic children’s home in Scranton, Pa., then tugged back and forth across the U.S. as her mom married and divorced, ultimately six times. But Cher always could belt out a tune.
At 16, she met Sonny Bono, a 27-year-old hustler in the L.A. music scene; he stole her money but made them stars (he wrote their biggest hit, I Got You, Babe, on a shirt cardboard). During a stint at a casino in Windsor, Ont., they developed their signature bickering-spouse patter. By the time Cher was 25, their variety show was the biggest thing on TV.
After Sonny, Cher had relationships with record mogul David Geffen; Allman Brothers singer Gregg Allman (she believed she could help him kick heroin); and Kiss singer Gene Simmons. Facing bankruptcy, she made herself a brand, doing infomercials and residencies in Las Vegas. And that was all before 35 – part one of her memoir ends around 1980, as she heads to New York to become an actress. She’s writing part two now.
When we spoke by phone in late October, Cher was in her Los Angeles home, “looking at the ocean from two views.” Her deep, thrilling voice has cracked a bit, but her laugh teleported me straight back to the 1970s, when I watched her every week. Here are highlights from our conversation.
When I told a young friend I was interviewing you, he said, “Cher Cher?” As if there could be another.
Can I tell you something? When I divorced Sonny, I would call music people and say, “It’s Cher.” They’d go, “Cher?” I’d go [sighs], “Cher of Sonny and Cher.” I had to do that for so long. The first time I didn’t have to I was so excited.
Your memoir opens with you, age 10, watching Elvis Presley on Ed Sullivan’s show. You didn’t want to kiss him – you wanted to be him. What was it like to remember that about yourself?
It was great. My mom was the only one in the neighbourhood who thought he was as great as I did. The others didn’t like his gyrations.
There’s so much remarkable detail here. Did you use photos, diaries?
I did it from memory. I went over thoughts, stories. I could remember almost everything that was important. I wrote it three times. I wish I’d done it four times. Every time, I did it better. I remembered more, I was more honest. The first draft, I didn’t want to tell everything. Telling everything is really hard.
Had you ever before told the complete story of your relationship with Sonny, who died in 1998?
No.
It’s so complex. He made you laugh, made you successful – but he also cheated on you, controlled you.
I didn’t want him to be a villain, because he wasn’t – except sometimes. He was really good, and really not so good. The one thing I’ll never understand is why he thought it was okay to take my money. When I asked him, he answered, “Because I always knew you’d leave me.” Not good enough, Son. But I was 16 when I met him. He was responsible for my first job.
Right, singing backup vocals for “wall of sound” producer Phil Spector. The last one you did was for the Righteous Brothers’ You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feelin’.
Sonny wanted to be an artist, but he’d given up. He wanted to produce me, and I went, “No, can’t do it alone,” so we became a duo. We had a shared dream, we worked hard to achieve it, there was such a bond. And I loved him. But now that I’ve grown up, I realize I never was in love with him, I just loved him. Yet when I found out he died, I fell to my knees.
After writing the book, do you have a new admiration for 16-year-old you?
No. I’ve not yet figured out if I was lucky. Achieving your goal is a double-edged sword. It took great sacrifice. I just wanted to do it. From when I was really little, I always wanted to sing, to act, to be funny, to make people excited. Also because my mother, uncle and grandfather were all great singers, I thought everyone sang.
You knew Lucille Ball through your mom’s appearing on I Love Lucy, and Tina Turner professionally. You have a deep connection: You each left a controlling husband.
When I was thinking of leaving Sonny, I called Lucy. She said, “Screw him, you’re the one with the talent.” I walked out on him a few hours before a sold-out performance at the Sahara [Casino in Las Vegas]. Later, when Tina asked me how to do it, I told her, “I just walked out.” I didn’t know my own power. It’s hard to realize it when you don’t start out that way. Especially with a husband like Sonny. You can’t find yourself.
Was there a moment after Sonny where you went, “Oh, this is what I’ve been missing?”
Almost every moment, to tell you the truth. I was overwhelmed with being able to do what I wanted. Sonny didn’t like music in the house. When I left him, I went to Tower Records and spent $600 on cassettes, and went home and played my music as loud as I could. It was something I’d never been able to do, and then I did it. It doesn’t sound like a big thing. But it was.
Your mother and grandmother once travelled to Reno together to get divorces. Your highest praise for a woman is that she’s a kick-ass dame.
My mom and her friends were models, actresses, the most beautiful women ever. They were balls to the wall, they did what they wanted, but when it came to men, they all wanted a rich husband to take care of them. Then when they got one, they didn’t like him. They would take on the image of “a wife” that the man wanted. Until they couldn’t take it any more, and they would leave.
When your mother told you to marry a rich man, you famously said, “Mom, I am a rich man.” You made yourself a brand before it was a thing. In your act, you were the dominant Ms. to Sonny’s little Mr.; later you dated younger men, got tattoos, did infomercials and a Las Vegas residency when no one else was.
When I played Vegas, it was the elephant’s graveyard. I went because I couldn’t get a job anywhere else. Now everybody wants a residency there. I did the infomercial because I was poor.
Television censors were harder on your solo variety series than they were on the two you did with Sonny. MTV blocked your If I Could Turn Back Time video for being too revealing – even though scantily clad babes were a staple in videos by men. How did you deal with the sexism?
I didn’t care. I just did the things that seemed right to me. Sometimes my feelings were really hurt. But I just couldn’t stop. What else would I do? I’m dyslexic, it’s not like I was getting a normal job. Or wanted one. So I just put my head down and did it.
I have to tell you, I think it’s so much easier now. Women have a voice in what they do. They make contracts, they have their own lawyers. They don’t have to say please. I remember one time I was singing background in the studio, and when we finished, the producer said, “Okay girls, run along.” And that’s the way it was: “Okay girls, run along.” I fought that long time.
You smile when you sing. Can you describe the feeling of being on stage?
Oh God, I loved it. Singing is fun. Acting is more difficult. Acting is like throwing the party, and singing is like going to someone else’s party. I don’t think I can describe the excitement and joy, but you know when you’re doing it right. I joke around with the audience, I’m really funny and they love it. We have the best time. It’s like a circle.
My hairstylist says you should have been president as many times as you had farewell tours.
[Long giggle] I know! Isn’t it crazy? I kept thinking, “I’m too old for this.” But people kept wanting me to stay. I still could go out and work. I might do a residency again.
A collective scream just went up. But I have to ask you – you’ve made so many jokes about your face, your body. Your stage show featured drag queens playing you. What’s your body image now?
I never thought I was beautiful, but I thought I was interesting. The first time Sonny saw me in a bathing suit I saw his face drop, because I was skinny and everyone wanted to be Marilyn Monroe. Then skinny became the style. Also, Bob Mackie was dressing me in these great outfits.
Your belly button became a TV star of its own.
People started to see a different kind of sexy.
Before you moved to New York to act, you had a disappointing audition with Mike Nichols. Your exit line was, “I’m a great actress, and you’ll be sorry.”
I couldn’t get a job at the level I wanted to be in singing, and I’d always wanted to act, so I went to New York. Robert Altman hired me for the play he was directing, Come Back to the 5 & Dime, Jimmy Dean, Jimmy Dean – my first acting job is on Broadway, are you kidding me? I came offstage one night, and Mike was backstage. He said to me, “You are. And I am.”
He cast you in Silkwood (1983), which garnered your first Oscar nomination.
That was an amazing experience. Mary Louise Streep and I are still best friends. I tried to pick the movies I thought I could be good in, things that were comfortable, and things that were uncomfortable.
Tell me about co-starring with Jack Nicholson, Michelle Pfeiffer and Susan Sarandon in The Witches of Eastwick.
The four of us, we fit together so well. Jack — Johnny — was the jewel, we were the setting. The director, George Miller, did not want me at all. He didn’t think I had the chops. He wanted me to go to speech class, change my voice. He said, “I don’t want ‘Cher’ to ruin my movie” — the Cher was in air quotes. But once we started, he loved me.
Were you channelling your mom in Mermaids (1990), playing a glamorous single mother of two daughters?
Yes. Winona Ryder and Christina Ricci were my sister Georganne and I. My costumes came from pictures of my mother.
That must have felt very full circle. We’re out of time, but I have to ask: Can you ever let yourself feel how iconic you are?
When people say I’m iconic, I like it, but I don’t get it. I’m sitting here in sweatpants and a T-shirt. I don’t go around being CHER. But the truth is, I know I do my job well. I got to be an icon because I do my job well.
