He’s known for his ballads and winning smile – but the singer has also had a ringside seat to history, from the civil rights battles in his native Alabama to the rise and fall of pop’s biggest superstar
L
ionel Richie walks into the hotel meeting room at 6.20pm and stretches his arms out wide. “Good morning, everybody,” he says in a southern drawl as smooth as whipped cream. He’s not joking. Richie, 76, is touring here in Budapest, and he’s on rock’n’roll (well, legendary soul balladeer) time. The singer-songwriter, who has sold more than 100m records over his six decades in the business, has just got up. “That bed was saying to me, ‘Stay here, Lionel, you’re looking goooood.’”
He introduces me to his girlfriend, Lisa Parigi, a Swiss entrepreneur. Parigi is in her mid-30s, gorgeous, friendly, and young enough to be his daughter – or granddaughter at a push. To be fair, though, Richie looks fabulous. As a young man, he was all chin and tache. Now he’s just regular handsome, surprisingly tall, with a bearing that verges on the military. Parigi leaves us to chat.
Richie is famous for his bonhomie. He doesn’t simply invite you to the party, he leaves you feeling that he’s hosted it for you, and you alone. Within seconds of learning I’m from Manchester, he’s telling me stories of his times there. “Everyone prepared three days earlier to come to the concert in Manchester. They went to the pub on the first day, then on the second day they went to the pub, and on the third day they said, ‘Now we’re going to the concert.’ At one point I thought, they don’t know it’s me on stage. I mean they’re having their party. They take over the show, then do the soccer chants, then in between the soccer chants they go back and sing Three Times a Lady again. And, wait a minute, I’m not singing Three Times a Lady now. Oh my God, I have great stories.”
