While much has evolved in Jane McDonald’s career, from intimate working men’s clubs to bustling cruise ships and sold-out arenas, one characteristic endures: her magnetic appeal to women. On television, she stands out as the sole BAFTA-winning presenter known for spontaneously bursting into song, channeling her inner Cilla Black. “Always focus on the women,” she advises with a smile, noting the often-reluctant husbands in the audience. Yet, her burgeoning social media presence has also cemented her as an icon of northern camp, drawing a significant queer following and leading to her upcoming performance at London’s Mighty Hoopla festival.
I met McDonald at her exclusive Mayfair club on the release day of her 12th album, ‘Living the Dream.’ Now 62, she’s embraced country music, recording at Nashville’s prestigious Blackbird Studios, a venue frequented by stars like Coldplay and Taylor Swift. Her new sound features bold country elements, drawing parallels more with Shania Twain than Cilla Black.
She candidly states: “I can’t deny it. It’s always been a man’s world.”
McDonald was cautious about an unconditional interview, having managed her own career for over twenty years. She shields herself from “fake news” and the endless online chatter that follows her media appearances, avoiding social media entirely. She accepts only a tiny fraction of offers, applying her stringent “Hell yeah!” test. During our meeting, dressed in a striking crimson suit with her hair dramatically styled, a pink watch on her wrist marked the passage of our allotted time.
She recently consoled a friend grappling with a repeatedly unfaithful husband. McDonald, leaning in and speaking in her characteristic soft voice, empathized with “all those wasted years” and “everything she’s had to endure.” This experience inspired her blues track, “Ain’t Gonna Beg.” She also took a Channel 5 film crew to Nashville; her travel shows previously earned the channel its first BAFTA in 2018. A documentary about her Nashville journey is set to air next month.
Yet, this new chapter – the album, the Nashville venture – wasn’t originally in her plans. McDonald had intended to retire with her beloved fiancé, Eddie Rothe. They had a history, dating back to the 1980s club scene where Rothe played drums for bands like Liquid Gold and The Searchers, before reuniting in 2008. His passing from lung cancer in 2021, at 67, left a profound void. “Everyone expected a song about Ed,” she recalls, but no words came easily. For the first time, she turned to professional songwriters. When one inquired about Rothe, “my face just lit up,” she recounts, a warmth returning to her expression even now.
This collaboration led to “How Do I Move On,” a poignant track featuring torch song piano, gospel harmonies, and a sorrowful cello, all supporting McDonald’s dignified, personal vocal about cherishing Rothe’s jumper and listening to his old voicemails. Another song, “Beautiful Soul,” bears its title “because he was. And still is. I speak of him in the present tense because, for me, he’s ever-present in every aspect of my life.”
Earlier today, McDonald rose at 5 AM for a Radio 2 appearance, performing Olivia Dean’s music on Scott Mills’ show alongside Claire Foy, who revealed herself to be a dedicated McDonald fan. She was scheduled to sign CDs for fans on Oxford Street later and again tomorrow in her lifelong home of Wakefield, Yorkshire. Such fan interactions have become infrequent. Stage door signings grew to eclipse the show’s length, and a credible death threat further underscored the need for caution. “Initially, I dismissed it, ‘Oh, it’s just a death threat.’ But then you start to truly consider it,” she explains. I remarked on the unfortunate reality of such threats for female artists. McDonald countered, “Would a male artist typically stand there chatting with fans as I do, inquiring about their mothers?” She genuinely connects with her audience, delving into details about their families, divorces, and careers, stating, “I truly write for them.”
On Oxford Street, lines of fans extended from HMV into adjacent lanes. Rowenna, 56, praised McDonald as “courageous.” Sam, 26, grew up listening to McDonald through his mother, humorously remarking, “Jane’s almost a drag queen,” which he meant as a high compliment. Several fans planned to join the upcoming Jane McDonald fan cruise in October, a European voyage featuring her performances. Julie, 53, who has followed McDonald since the 1990s, believes this period marks “the pinnacle of her career,” questioning how she could possibly “peak any higher.”
Born in 1963 to a coal miner and a shop worker, McDonald describes her upbringing as “truly working class.” The youngest of three, she fondly recalls the scent of cigarette and coal smoke in her childhood home. Her earliest musical exposure was the radio, with “Downtown” (Petula Clark) being her first word. This was followed by television’s golden era of light entertainment. She remembers the communal excitement of “Saturday night” viewing, whether for Cilla Black or ‘Tonight at the London Palladium.’ “It was so uplifting,” she states, gesturing skyward, as if to embody rising above life’s burdens. “I wanted to evoke that same feeling in people that I experienced watching it.”
Yorkshire’s club scene was surprisingly ambitious. Her local, Wakefield Theatre Club, hosted modern jazz acts and touring American artists. It was there, at age 12, captivated by the Birmingham beat group The Fortunes and the distinctive aroma of “stale beer and fried food,” that she knew she wanted to become a singer.
This path, however, was unconventional. “In my generation, most women became secretaries or nurses,” she notes. She started as a “turn” in her teens, gaining a diverse education in clubland, from ballroom dancing to comedy. In her 2019 memoir, she touched upon the devastating impact of the 1984-85 miners’ strike, which saw her father and brother Tony join the picket lines. “It was incredibly tough,” she recalls, “terrible.” The strike’s fallout wasn’t limited to mining; “It affected every sector: the mills, the steelworks. The entire north simply crumbled.” She gestures a dramatic collapse. “Music was the only solace for many, but the situation was truly awful. I can’t deny it.”
A moment of quiet descends as she speaks more softly. “I’ve always had conflicting emotions about that period. Witnessing your entire community collapse leaves a lasting impact. The clubs became empty. The working man, when he had earnings, would spend them,” funding the vibrant clubland. “We lost all that because everything ceased. Absolutely everything stopped.”
Even today, reflecting on that era brings her pain. “Many suggest celebrating the 80s, especially here,” she observes, glancing at the luxurious London surroundings. Following Margaret Thatcher’s death, McDonald, a ten-year panelist on ‘Loose Women,’ was scheduled to appear. “The London-based panelists were all devastated. And I stated, ‘My thoughts are with all the miners whom she…'” Her voice drops to an almost inaudible whisper. “‘…who actually died.’ Many found my remarks unbearable. They couldn’t provide for their families.”
That TV appearance garnered more mail than any other, with messages like, “‘Thank you for championing the North.'” This explains her focus on performing for women, having witnessed their resilience during the strike.
With Yorkshire’s club scene in irreversible decline, McDonald adapted, performing three shows nightly in Manchester. Her father, using his redundancy settlement, invested in her stage act and became her roadie. McDonald recalls confronting promoters who paid male performers significantly more. “It wasn’t a small difference; it was substantial. I was told, ‘They have wives and children to support.'” She threatened to quit and successfully secured equal pay. “I can’t deny it,” she reiterates, “it’s always been a man’s world.”
Her performances were a mix of disco, ballads, and stand-up comedy. Influenced by psychics, she had an early intuition of a future involving the sea and success, though it required immense effort. “It was fortunate that Whitney Houston was huge when I was performing in clubs,” she notes, then softly whispers the opening lines of “I Will Always Love You,” demonstrating her technique: to “belt it out” by not fully belting. This lesson, she explains, she learned in Skegness. Today, her unique, campy renditions of modern pop songs, like Rosé and Bruno Mars’s “APT” or DNCE’s “Cake by the Ocean,” have garnered her viral fame on social media.
In 1993, her father’s sudden death brought a revelation: his doctor disclosed he had been terminally ill for years, intentionally choosing to spend his remaining time working alongside his cherished daughter. “That’s when I escaped to the sea,” she sighs, “I couldn’t bear the clubs without him.”
This turn of events propelled her into becoming one of the UK’s earliest reality TV sensations. ‘The Cruise,’ a BBC One series (now available on iPlayer), premiered in 1998. Its inaugural episode featured McDonald preparing for a headlining cruise performance, showcasing the endearing warmth and enthusiasm that define her. The show captivated 13 million viewers, and as she puts it, “Suddenly, you acquire a fanbase.”
Her self-titled debut album in 1998 soared to the top of the charts, but “everyone wanted to change who I was,” she reflects. This included her first husband, Henrik Brixen, who managed her and aligned with an industry perspective suggesting she shed her “Wakefield woman” persona. “They cut my hair, which I detested. I was mocked, ostracized, and underestimated.” She felt the industry belittled her humble cruise and club roots. “But I was proud of my origins,” she asserts. “The public appreciated me for my authenticity.”
This period marked the beginning of her songwriting journey; she sought solace at the piano as her career unraveled in the early 2000s. “Henrik had left, I was dropped by the BBC, and my record company let me go,” she recounts. “I simply thought, ‘Well, continue on. But do it yourself. How challenging could it be?'” She devoured music industry guidebooks, mastering the roles of “lawyer, promoter, manager.” Even now, playing to sold-out arenas, she has only recently ceased personally managing every invoice. “I didn’t save money like most people,” she admits, instead reinvesting it into her next album or show, frequently using her home as security.
The onset of Covid found McDonald drained after three relentless years filming cruise documentaries for Channel 5, and having lost her mother, Jean, in 2018. During extensive lockdown walks with Rothe, exploring the Yorkshire countryside free from work pressures, he suggested she could live this tranquil life permanently. He himself had retired from music years prior. Subsequently, a persistent cough led to his lung cancer diagnosis. McDonald devoted herself to caring for him full-time until his passing. In her 2024 self-help book, ‘Let the Light In,’ she reveals her diagnosis of PTSD and her subsequent move from their shared Wakefield bungalow.
“If I could bring Ed back, I would surrender everything,” she states, acknowledging the impossibility. “My life has simply surged forward: boom! This is his legacy to me. So why would I not celebrate him? And choose not to be consumed by sadness. I don’t wish to be mournful about Ed. He was a wonderful, beautiful soul.” She feels profoundly grateful for their time together. “I sense his presence constantly. And now, through these songs, he will truly endure.”
Mirroring the resilience of the country divas she connects with on her new album, McDonald’s iconic status stems from her survivor spirit: confronting loss with unwavering Yorkshire determination and a steadfast commitment to living her aspirations. “I quite enjoy being the underdog,” she admits. “It doesn’t bother me.” When she faced underestimation or dismissal in her early club days, she always had a clear response: “I’d think to myself, ‘Just watch. I’m about to astound you.'”