“I stopped praying so I hope this song will do/I wrote it all for you/I’m not perfect but you don’t mind that do you/I know you’re there to pull me through/Aren’t you?”—from “Make Me Pure”
Before Michael Jackson’s off-stage shenanigans got the best of him, he was known as America’s “King of Pop” with the kind of iconic status typically reserved for the likes of Elvis or The Beatles. Across the pond in Britain, that particular title still belongs to Robbie Williams, whose popularity probably even rivals that of the Queen herself.
But before becoming a household name in England (he’s yet to connect the same way in the States), Williams was introduced to the masses via superstar boy band Take That. While Williams had an amazing singing voice and plenty of sex appeal, critics decided that his bandmate Gary Barlow was destined for a solo career. That didn’t sit well with Williams, so he left the group in 1996.
While always known for his wild ways (drugs, alcohol, sexual promiscuity) in Take That, Williams’ overindulgences began to spiral out of control after leaving the group. In time, he realized his need to clean up—especially if he wanted a solo career. The lackluster performance of his first three solo albums didn’t help to keep Williams on the straight and narrow, but he persevered until his career finally had a breakthrough of epic proportions.
But as many rock stars have discovered, success doesn’t necessarily bring peace or happiness, and Williams, a bundle of contradictions, documents his inner turmoil very well in his music—and in the surprisingly candid 2004 biography, Feel: Robbie Williams.
Williams once told Q Magazine that he longs for a simple home life with a wife and children, but won’t make a commitment to stay in a relationship and not sleep around. And while he struggles with self-loathing, he’s also known for diva behavior that includes not getting up in the morning until his Starbucks is delivered. In the book Feel, he admits, “I’m a little child, I have to be entertained at all times.”
That love/hate relationship with celebrity—and himself—yields an element of spiritual longing in his music. That was apparent on 2002’s Escapology, where he sings (in “Feel”), “I sit and talk to God/And He just laughs at my plans.” And then, “I just want to feel real love/Feel the home that I live in/I just want to feel real love/and a life ever after.” He also expresses guilt in over his self-obsession (“Handsome Man”), shame in light of his Catholic upbringing (“Monsoon”), and belief in heaven (“Nan’s Song”). But contradictions abound; the album littered with profanity and sexual references.
Intensive Care (2005) offers more evidence of his spiritual journey and struggles with self. The cover art sums up his life, showing Williams with an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other. On “Tripping,” his egomaniacal tendencies are on full display, yet with an interesting juxtaposition of attitudes: “I’ve taken as much as I’m willing to take/Why do you think we should suffer in silence/When the heart is broken, there’s nothing to break.” But the backing vocals paint a different picture: “Want you to love me/Want you to be/The heavens above me/Eternally.”
“Make Me Pure,” one of the album’s best tracks with beautiful gospel backing vocals, perfectly demonstrates Williams’ desire for freedom from sin, and his inability to shake it: “Oh Lord, make me pure, but not yet”—a line apparently borrowed from St. Augustine. With “Please Don’t Die Again,” Williams longs for redemption in his personal relationships—”And if you die before I leave/What on earth becomes of me/Look around there’s no one here/To love me and hold me.” In stark contrast, “Spread Your Wings” shows his self-deprecating nature resurfacing on the relationship front: “‘Cause she feels I’m the scar from the wound/That time can’t heal.” Nothing like taking a little responsibility, right?
Other songs offer intriguing messages that indicate a deeper side. “Your Gay Friend” paints a picture of emptiness caused by an adulterous affair; whether it’s a homosexual one or not is unclear, but Williams vehemently denies rumors of being gay. In “Random Acts of Kindness,” he says the antidote to a self-centered society is, indeed, kindness. Then there’s “Sin Sin Sin,” sure to cause a stir. Essentially a rationalization for indulging in a one-night stand, Williams gives a glimpse of his temptation-cluttered worldview: “Hate the sin, not the sinner/I’m just after a glimmer of love and life deep inside.”
Williams recently moved from London to Los Angeles to escape the constant scrutiny of the tabloids and live “where he can be a little more normal.” In an article with Calcutta’s The Telegraph, he said he’s “learning about religion and faith” to give his life meaning after “a spiritual lull.” And so Williams continues to seek fulfillment beyond what fame has granted him so far, though one can only hope he’ll find the deeper life he longs for by embracing Christ—a relationship that’s closer than he realizes.
Unless specified clearly, we are not implying whether this artist is or is not a Christian. The views expressed are simply the author’s. For a more complete description of our Glimpses of God articles, click here
