I found the article on this Japanese site.
homepage2.nifty.com/~oha/profile/hayley/Hayley Westenra's debut international album sold two million copies, but now she's 18, New Zealand's angel-voiced star is aiming ever higher with her new one, Odyssey.
BY DIANA WICHTEL/PHOTOS BY JANE USSHER
There was the strange business with the eggs. A couple of hours into the photo shoot, we trail back to the suite. Cleaning is in progress. Disaster. The poached eggs have gone awol.
What? It seems that, too polite to keep the press waiting, our national songbird had only a bite of her breakfast, then hid it away for later.
We'll order more, suggests the record company guy. But no. Hayley Westenra wants those poached eggs. Hearing that they are languishing among the debris on a trolley down the hall, she sweetly but insistently requests that they be fetched back and devours them while we chat.
It's almost a relief to see this poised and perfect creature acting... odd. But then the life she leads could well make one so young and remarkably unspoilt by the glamour of it all cling to the comforting certainty of poached eggs on Vogel's.
You have to wonder if she knew what she was signing up for. Hayley Westenra's phenomenal career arc has seen her, by the age of 18, sell two million copies of her first international album, Pure, and perform with the likes of Jose Carreras, Bryn Terfel, Russell Watson and her idol, Andrea Bocelli (she has, Bocelli told her, the voice of an angel).
It has also seen her having to share a bill with SpongeBob Squarepants while performing on a float with a huge cartoon dog (SpongeBob's estimation of her vocal ability remains unknown).
A glimpse of the global multimedia spectacle that is life on Planet Hayley these days can be found at hayleywestenrainternational.com. This unnervingly enthusiastic fan site "Following the rise of a star!" - doggedly records her every move. It's a Faustian pact indeed with the devils of fame and fortune that includes appearing with Donny Osmond on something called Christmas Mania.
You could call this the mixed cultural bag of the internationally successful crossover artist or a bit of a madhouse. A simple interview with Westenra these days involves a cast of thousands. Reporter, photographer, photographer's assistant, record company guy, makeup person and, wandering in after a while, Hayley's mum Jill: "I just got lonely."
Westenra, 18 last April, is the still, serene centre of this promotional whirlwind of an extended family. In trackies and tank-top, she greets us at the door of her room at Sky City's Grand Hotel with what may be the loveliest voice in the world. She has the clear eyes and perfect skin that a non-smoking, non-drinking, all-organic pesca-vegetarian deserves but few achieve.
She is the girl next door. But life hasn't been remotely normal since she was 13, when she went to Auckland to record her first album with Universal. "It's the past two years that it's just been crazy. I've spent probably a total of two months at home, if that, you know what I mean?"
Westenra's a trouper, professionally intercepting questions lobbed into the flurry of wardrobe activity and answering with a slight mockney inflection - know what I mean? - acquired in London, her base camp for her next assault on the charts.
Isn't she sick to death of all this, you wonder, as we begin yet another long day's photoshoot into night. "It's a completely different experience when you're at home," she says, dodging diplomatically. "It doesn't feel like work. The last week I was so excited I couldn't sleep. I'm going home, yay!"
But, as she remarks at one point, "There's no such thing as time off when you're surrounded by industry people." National Anthem at Lions v All Blacks. Promote new album. Back to London to finish recording new album. Concerts. Back to New Zealand for the release of new album. Photo shoot, photo shoot, photo shoot. This in a year that has already included a trip to Ghana as UNICEF's youngest goodwill ambassador. No wonder she has called the new album Odyssey.
It's exhausting even hearing about it, but Westenra is undaunted. This is her beautiful life. There's a major concert coming up. At Kenwood House. With the Royal Philliarmonic Orchestra. "I'm headlining the show," she adds, dripfeeding the impressive details so that it doesn't sound like skiting.
No chance. On the contrary, Westenra is in urgent need of a course in Diva for Beginners. Marched around the hotel halfdressed and required to crouch in high heels and a mini puffball skirt (in which she still manages to look wholesome), she responds with an infinitely obliging stream of "No worries" or "Whatever you need ..." "Don't be so nice," wails the photographer. The only time that Westenra stages a muted mutiny is when she's asked to look coy or saucy. "I don't know how."
Nice, wholesome. These are terrible words to invoke in the whacked-out, sensation-hungry world of show biz, but they are unavoidable. Westenra is incredibly nice. So is her mum, who chinwags merrily about family, recording deals, the horrors of entering a posh hotel gym sans make-up.
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"You're having a nice wee chat there, aren't you?" says Hayley fondly. Is this some sort of family code for "stop talking now", you wonder, as a "What? What did I say?" look flickers across Jill's face.
"Careful, Mum. People will be reading this," comes the voice of caution again, when Jill mentions the odd teacher they encountered along the way who was less than understanding about Hayley's brilliant career, especially when it collided with NCEA. Had she been a promising young rugby player, you suspect, things might have gone better. They don't want to pinpoint anyone in particular, though with an uncharacteristic flash of mischief, Hayley toys with the idea of outing old foes. "Why not?" In the end she just says, "It was just certain teachers. I wouldn't say the whole, entire Burnside High School was against me." Singing well - for the Queen - is the best revenge.
Working with Giles Martin, son of Beatles producer Sir George; performing for Tony Blair, George Bush and, yes, the Queen; famously not performing at Victoria Beckham's party (prior commitments) - it's been extraordinary, but not always smooth, sailing. A first version of Pure was canned. There was that spot of bother when Gray Bartlett, a force in Westenra's early career, claimed that she missed out to more politically correct choices at local music awards.
No, insists Westenra. She has never felt slighted in her place of birth. "Not at all! I'm grateful to all the Kiwis who supported me." After all, she says, her particular mix of classical, "Pokarekare Ana" and that marketable genre she calls "Hayley pop" is hardly Eminem. "When I arrived at the airport this time, the security people said, 'Hey, great to have you back, Hayley.' I mean, do they listen to my music? They probably don't, but they're just so supportive."
Still, there have definitely been little stumbling blocks along the way. "That's where I've been glad to have Mum and Dad by my side helping me."
The parents. Jill and Gerald Westenra could be defined as parents of the stage variety. The family are unusually close, in a fractured kind of way. One parent will travel with Hayley while the other stays home with Sophie (15 and hoping for a career of her own) and Isaac, 12. Both siblings have performed with their famous big sister, leading one wag to snipe, "Thankfully, there are fewer Westenras than there were von Trapps."
Certainly Jill Westenra, a tiny but formidable force of nature, is willing to go several extra miles for all three of her singing brood. But it's impossible to spend any time with Hayley and see her as a victim of anyone else's ambition. "It really frustrates Mum more than anything," she says, of the inevitable assumptions. "Because they see three of us on the stage, they think, 'Oh gosh, someone must be cracking the whip.'" Well, the Jacksons do spring to mind. "I didn't want to mention them," groans Westenra. No whuppings, then. Her parents were, she says, just "hugely supportive" of anything she wanted to do, from ballet to violin to singing. "They gave me every opportunity I wanted."
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Indeed today Hayley seems like the most grown-up person in the room, taking care of everyone, keeping an eye on everything. Talking of stage mothers, I tell Jill Westenra that reality mums are becoming quite a television trend. Paris Hilton's has her own show. "I'd be into that," says Jill.
"You'd be into that, Mum," repeats Hayley nervously (a glance at Westenra's biography reveals that her mother has a way of making the most improbable things happen). "Just listen to what you're saying! You were too scared to walk into the room with no make-up on!"
So sensible. And as disciplined as an elite athlete. Good food, early nights. There are whole days that Westenra won't talk in order to preserve the voice. The Voice. "I had the three of them in the car last year going up to a music fair," recalls Jill. "I stopped for ice-cream. Hayley was just desperate for one and couldn't have it. I'll never forget that. I think you had one lick, didn't you?"
Aware that this could sound just a little tragic, Westenra volunteers, "I had icecream last night." It was a belated birthday treat with her record company. "It arrived with a candle," she recalls wistfully. "How could I not?"
The one-lick life. Still, the payoffs are excellent. Like the encounters with Andrea Bocelli. How was that? "A little surreal, actually. I still can't grasp it."
Also in the surreal category was singing for Blair, Bush and the Queen (or "BBQ", as they were referred to for security reasons). Whoa. A scary trio. "Yeah, exactly. I wouldn't say it was the fulfilling of a dream, but it was pretty amazing when you think about it." She was more impressed that the event was organised by Andrew Lloyd Webber, who offered to write her a song. "That definitely put it up a notch."
Two years on from Pure, there's not a sign of Westenra doing a Charlotte Church and turning into that nightmare, your average teen. It's impossible to picture her telling anyone to piss off. "It wasn't ideal" is as irritated as Westenra gets about the early comparisons to Church. "I just wanted to be my own person. I did have a different voice and a different style, so I find it frustrating when people try to pigeonhole things."
Westenra is intent on at least trying to do her own thing, despite corporate pressures. She fought to the point of tears to get "Wuthering Heights" (a canny choice that gives some hint of a fire and attitude still largely untapped in her poised and perfect performances) included on Pure. A song she co-wrote, "What You Never Know", features on Odyssey. She is sent some awful songs. "Hang on, I can write a better song than this," she thought. "I am the singer."
So, can someone who finds herself listed among "Hot Teen Classical Singers" and "World's Sexiest Vegetarians" imagine fitting marriage, children, normal life into her packed itinerary? "Definitely, yeah. If it gets to the stage where someone's not coming along like they should be and I have to make time, I will make time."
But not right now. "At the moment, I'm just keen to advance my career, focus on that and not get too hung up on the fact that my social life is fairly non-existent." You get the feeling that a lot of positive self-talking goes into keeping the Hayley show on the road. After all, she's at the mercy of The Voice. The only time she looks anything but fearless is when you innocently enquire what she might be doing if she wasn't doing this. ,
"I don't really like to think about it, you know what I mean? Singing is my passion. It's quite scary because it is what I love. Nothing else rates as highly. You go, 'Gosh, what if it all disappeared?'" The very thought has the lovely voice producing a small, primal growl - "Rrrrr!" - of naked fear. "No. No," she says, banishing the spectre. "I don't want to think about it."
Quick change of subject, then: how do you see yourself in 10 years' time? That's easy and can be summed up in three words: better, bigger, more. "I just want to be a better singer. Hopefully, I'll be writing more music. I want to perform in bigger stadiums. I just want everything to be a bigger scale of what it is now."
Might it ever all get to be too much? Silly question. "I want to go as far as I can," says Westenra, between bites of congealed poached egg in yet another anonymous hotel room. "You get people who sell millions of albums and they still want to make another one. I just want to keep going up. I imagine that will be my ambition for the rest of my life."
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