![]() ![]() And you’re going to be invincible.”Īnd parts of that, he says, prove to be true. And you’re going to be performing all the time. Smith’s signature quiff languishing, his eyes bloodshot, the sleeves of an anorak pulled down schoolboy-style to the knuckle, he says: “You think you’re going to have loads of money. It’s in the penthouse that we meet the day after Madison Square Garden, to take in the view and the spectacle of his hangover, and to talk about Smith’s past 48 hours in New York, which seem to encapsulate all that is brilliant and ball-achey, all that is exciting and taxing in his sudden new life. Meanwhile, instead of compliments, a wealthy New Yorker gave the boy from Cambridgeshire the free use of a Manhattan penthouse whenever he passed through town. ![]() “Like butter,” Beyoncé has said of Smith’s splendid tenor and Blige put it no less prettily: his voice “covers you”. Pals made of Mary J Blige, Chaka Khan, Elton John – who recently invited Smith over for tea. More than 5m copies of a debut album sold, record-breaking first-week numbers clocked along the way and Smith the only musician of 2014, all told, to shift more than 1m units on both sides of the Atlantic. America broken (cracked over Smith’s navy-trousered knee). ![]() Awards from the off, including four Grammys. He is 22, unknown as recently as his 21st birthday, last night’s gig at America’s crown venue coming roughly three to five years ahead of even the most optimistic schedule, the cresting point of a steep, commercially atomic debut year. Did you think I was going to go to bed early?” When his dad stops by to deliver a mild paternal bollocking for the excesses of the night before, Smith says: “Dad! I’d just played Madison Square Garden. “I wouldn’t mind,” the PA keeps saying, calling around last night’s bars, “only it cost £3,000.” In her handbag she has quantities of hangover pills but Smith opts for a more immediate next-day remedy and picks out chicken McNuggets from a box of 50 that his managers are sharing. ![]() The pop star’s hotel room is “a state” (says Andrea, his PA) and the thick Burberry jacket that has been keeping him warm on this leg of his US tour is lost somewhere out in frozen New York. When they finally peel him out of bed it is almost three in the afternoon and Sam Smith, by his own reckoning, is still drunk. ![]()
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