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Not Dead Yet: The Memoir Hardcover – October 25, 2016

by Phil Collins (Author)

4.5 6,055 ratings

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Phil Collins pulls no punches—about himself, his life, or the ecstasy and heartbreak that’s inspired his music.

In his much-awaited memoir, Not Dead Yet, he tells the story of his epic career, with an auspicious debut at age 11 in a crowd shot from the Beatles’ legendary film A Hard Day’s Night. A drummer since almost before he could walk, Collins received on the job training in the seedy, thrilling bars and clubs of 1960s swinging London before finally landing the drum seat in Genesis.

Soon, he would step into the spotlight on vocals after the departure of Peter Gabriel and begin to stockpile the songs that would rocket him to international fame with the release of Face Value and “In the Air Tonight.” Whether he’s recalling jamming with Eric Clapton and Robert Plant, pulling together a big band fronted by Tony Bennett, or writing the music for Disney’s smash-hit animated Tarzan, Collins’s storytelling chops never waver. And of course he answers the pressing question on everyone’s mind: just what does “Sussudio” mean?

Not Dead Yet is Phil Collins’s candid, witty, unvarnished story of the songs and shows, the hits and pans, his marriages and divorces, the ascents to the top of the charts and into the tabloid headlines. As one of only three musicians to sell 100 million records both in a group and as a solo artist, Collins breathes rare air, but has never lost his touch at crafting songs from the heart that touch listeners around the globe. That same touch is on magnificent display here, especially as he unfolds his harrowing descent into darkness after his “official” retirement in 2007, and the profound, enduring love that helped save him.

This is Phil Collins as you’ve always known him, but also as you’ve never heard him before.

Print length

384 pages
Language

English
Publisher

Crown Archetype
Publication date

October 25, 2016
Dimensions

6.44 x 1.33 x 9.4 inches
ISBN-10

9781101907474
ISBN-13

978-1101907474
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About the Author

Born in the United Kingdom, Phil Collins rose to fame as the drummer and frontman of Genesis, before establishing himself as a solo artist, and selling hundreds of millions of records throughout his career.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

1

Not Drowning but Waving

Or: my beginnings, my childhood and how my relationship with my dad was a bit tidal

We think mums and dads know it all. But in fact they’re making it up as they go along. Every day, busking it, winging it, putting on a brave—sometimes false—face. It’s something I suspect throughout my childhood, yet it’s only confirmed in adulthood, and only with a little help from the Other Side.

One gray autumn evening in 1977, I go to see a medium. She lives in Victoria, central London, round the insalubrious back of Buckingham Palace, in a flat near the top of a tower block. It’s no gypsy caravan, but I suppose it does mean she’s nearer the heavens.

I don’t have a particular affinity for spirits—that will come much, much later, and be less an affinity than an addiction—but my wife, Andy, is somewhat that way inclined. My mum, too, is no stranger to the Ouija board. At our family home on London’s suburban western edges, my mum, nana and auntie, along with my so-called uncles Reg and Len, enjoyed many a happy late-fifties and early-sixties evening summoning the dearly departed from beyond the veil. Better that than the meager monochrome offerings flickering from the newfangled television set.

The reason for my and Andy’s visit to this high-rise Madame Arcati: a naughty dog. Ben, our beautiful boxer, has a habit of dragging from under our bed a pile of electric blankets. We’re holding on to these for our kids—Joely, five, and Simon, one—for when they stop wetting the bed and need a bit of extra warmth. It has not dawned on me that the folded electric blankets promise more than a toasty bed—bent filaments can break and catch fire. Maybe Ben knows this.

Andy comes to the conclusion that there’s a supernatural element to Ben’s nightly ritual. He’s probably not clairvoyant but there’s clearly something we humans don’t know.

At this time I’m manically busy, touring with Genesis—we’ve released our album Wind & Wuthering and I have only recently taken over singing duties from Peter Gabriel. I am, accordingly, often an absent husband and father, so I feel perennially on the back foot when it comes to matters domestic and familial. I duly offer no opposition to this unorthodox course of action.

So off to a medium we go. Into bustling Victoria, up in the tower-block elevator, a ring on the doorbell, small talk with the husband, who’s watching Coronation Street. It couldn’t be any less spiritual. Finally he pulls himself away from the TV and gives me a nod: “She’ll see you now . . .”

She’s an ordinary-looking housewife, perched behind a small table. No sign of any other-worldly virtues. In fact she appears totally normal, in a matter-of-fact way. This completely throws and somewhat disappoints me, and my skepticism now comes with a topspin of confusion, and just a shade of grumpiness.

As Andy’s I Ching readings have informed her that it’s the spirits on my side of the family that are the dog-botherers, I draw the short straw and enter the chamber of the supernatural. Through gritted teeth I tell the medium about Ben’s nightly antics. She nods gravely, closes her eyes, waits for a meaningful length of time, then finally replies, “It’s your dad.”

“Pardon?”

“Yes, it’s your dad and he wants you to have a few things: his watch, his wallet, the family cricket bat. Do you want me to ask his spirit to speak through me? Then you could hear his voice. But sometimes the spirits don’t want to leave and that becomes a bit awkward.”

I splutter a no. Communication with my father wasn’t at its best when he was alive. Talking to him now, nearly five years after his death at Christmas 1972, via a middle-aged housewife in a disconcertingly drab domestic setting in a tower block in the heart of London, would just be weird.

“Well, he says to give your mum some flowers, and to tell her he’s sorry.”

Of course, being a fairly rational twenty-six-year-old who likes things to be down-to-earth and regimented—I am a drummer, after all—I should have discounted this as mumbo-jumbo con-artistry. But I agree that our dog habitually dragging electric blankets from beneath our bed is behavior possibly not of the mortal plain. On top of that, Madame Arcati has said some things about my dad that she couldn’t possibly have known, not least that stuff about the cricket bat. That cricket bat has been part of the Collins clan’s meager sports equipment for as long as I can remember. Outside the family, no one would know about it. I wouldn’t say I’m convinced, but I am intrigued. Andy and I depart the anteroom of the afterlife and re-enter the real world. Back on terra firma I tell her the news. She replies with a look understood on both sides of the veil: “I told you so.”

The next day I phone my mum and relate the previous evening’s events. She is blithely spirited, and unsurprised by both the message and the medium.

“I bet he wants to give me flowers,” she says, half laughing, half harrumphing.

This is when she tells me everything. My dad, Greville Philip Austin Collins, was not a faithful husband to my mum, June Winifred Collins (née Strange). Having been recruited at the age of nineteen, he was a lifelong employee, like his father before him, of the London Assurance Company in the City of London. “Grev” had used his quotidian, bowler-hatted, nine-to-five suburban commuter’s existence to maintain a secret life with an office girlfriend.

Dad was not a particularly obvious heart-throb or lady’s man. He was a little tubby round the middle, and his RAF mustache topped off his patchy head of hair. I got all my looks from my mum, clearly.

But it seems that behind that mild-mannered insurance-man exterior lurked something more Lothario-shaped. Mum tells me about a particular incident. Alma Cole was a lovely lady who worked with my mum in the toyshop she managed on behalf of a family friend. Alma was from the north of England and there was always a conspiratorial tone to whatever she said.

She and my mum were close, and one day a slightly miffed Alma sniffed, “I saw you with Grev in the car on Saturday and you didn’t wave back to me.”

“I wasn’t in the car with him on Saturday!” The passenger, patently, was Dad’s lady friend, being taken for a romantic spin in our black Austin A35.

Now, nearly five years after Dad’s passing, while I find it wonderful that my mum is confiding in me in this manner, hearing these revelations makes me simultaneously mad and sad. I now know that my parents’ marriage didn’t so much dissolve as fizzle out, partly due to my dad being, shall we say, distracted elsewhere. His infidelity was very much news to me.

But why wouldn’t it be? I was a very young boy back then and, to me, my parents seemed deliriously happy. Life at home had appeared normal and quite calm. Straightforward, simple. To my mind, Mum and Dad were happily in love for all their long married life.

But I am very much the baby of the family, almost seven years younger than my sister, Carole, and nine years younger than my brother, Clive. Certain, grown-up aspects of home life would have gone straight over my head. Now, when I consider the facts before me this evening in 1977, I think I can divine an undercurrent of unrest in the house, something to which I was completely oblivious at the time. That said, perhaps I felt it in my water: I was a chronic bed-wetter to an embarrassingly old age.

When I later relay this earth-shattering news to Clive, he gives it to me straight. All those sudden long walks I was taken on by my siblings? Those lazy, hazy strolls past the post-war prefab housing on Hounslow Heath with my brother and sister? Not the cheerfully nondescript norm of a simple late-fifties and early-sixties suburban English childhood. In fact I was being unwittingly complicit in the papering over of cracks.

My father acting a little fast and loose with his marriage vows is something I still have trouble coming to terms with. His disregard for my mum’s feelings is beyond me. And before anyone steps forward to state, “That’s a bit rich coming from you, Collins,” let the record show: I hear what you’re saying.

I am disappointed that I have been married three times. I’m even more disappointed that I have been divorced three times. I am considerably less bothered by the fact that these resulted in settlements with my ex-wives to the order of £42 million. Nor am I fussed that those sums were widely reported and are widely known. In this day and age, nothing is private anymore. The internet has seen to that. Additionally, while three divorces might seem to suggest a casual attitude toward the whole idea of marriage, this couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m a romantic who believes, hopes, that the union of marriage is something to cherish and last.

Yet certainly that trio of divorces demonstrates a failure to coexist happily and to understand my partners. It suggests a failure to become, and to stay, a family. It shows failure, full stop. Over the decades I’ve done my diligent best to make every aspect of my life, personal and professional, work like clockwork—although too often, I have to acknowledge that my “best” just hasn’t been good enough.

Still, I know what “normal” is—it’s in my DNA; I grew up with it, or at least the semblance thereof, in the London suburbs—and that’s what I strove for while trying to make a living playing music.

I have endeavored to be honest with all my children about my personal history. It involves them. It affects them. They live with the consequences of my actions, inactions and reactions every day of their lives. I try to be as straight and forthright as it’s possible to be. I will do the same throughout this story, even in the parts where I don’t exactly come out smelling of roses. As a drummer I’m used to giving it some stick. I’ve had to become used to taking some stick, too.

However, to return to my mum: her stoicism, strength and humor in the face of my dad’s straying (to use that very English word) says a lot about a wartime generation who would go through thick and thin to maintain their marriage commitments. It’s something we all could learn from, myself very much included.

All that said: when I consider my childhood from the vantage point of my advanced age, perhaps close-to-the-bone emotional upset and turmoil seeped into my young self, without my even knowing it.

I was born in Putney Maternity Hospital, southwest London, on January 30, 1951, a belated—and by all accounts surprise—third child to June and Grev Collins. Apparently Mum initially entered West Middlesex Hospital to have me, but they weren’t very nice to her, so she crossed her legs, left and headed to Putney.

I was the first “London” child, as both Carole and Clive had been born in Weston-super-Mare after the entire family had been relocated there by London Assurance prior to the Blitz. Carole was not best pleased by my birth. She’d wanted a girl. Clive, though, was over the moon—finally, a little brother to play football with, wrestle with and, when all that got a bit boring, to pin down and torture with his smelly socks.

With Mum and Dad aged thirty-seven and forty-five respectively, my arrival made them, for the times, old parents. This didn’t bother my mum in the slightest. She remained a generous and loving woman her entire life, without a bad word for anybody until the day she died on her birthday in 2011, aged ninety-eight. That said, she did once call a London policeman a “dickhead” when he chastised her for driving in a bus lane.

Dad, born in 1907, came from then-fashionable Isleworth, a riverside neighborhood on London’s western edges. His family home was big, dark, musty, quite imposing, not a little scary. Ditto his relatives. I have no recollection of my paternal grandfather, a time-served London Assurance man just like his son would become. But I do have vivid memories of Grandma. She was warm, embracing and very patient with me, but seemed stuck in the Victorian period, and as if to prove it was permanently clad in long black dresses. Maybe she was still mourning Prince Albert, too.

She and I were very close. I spent a lot of time in her constantly damp below-stairs rooms, watching her paint watercolors of boats and the river, an enthusiasm I’ve inherited.

Dad’s sister, Auntie Joey, was a formidable woman, armed with a cigarette holder and a rough throaty voice, a little like the baddie in Disney’s The Rescuers: “Dahling, doooo come in . . .” Her husband, Uncle Johnny, was also a case. He had a monocle and always wore heavy tweed suits, another Collins from the land that the twentieth century forgot.

Family history has it that a couple of Dad’s cousins had been incarcerated by the Japanese in the notorious Changi Prison in Singapore. Great store was put by them—they were war heroes, men who survived the pitiless Far East campaign. Another cousin was apparently the chap who first brought launderettes to England. In Dad’s family’s eyes, they were all, each of them, “somebody.” Or, in other words, toffs. H. G. Wells was said to be a regular caller on the Collins household.

Clearly Dad’s family formed his attitudes, not to mention his working life—although after he died I discovered that he had tried to dodge conscription into London Assurance by running away to become a merchant seaman. But the ocean-going rebellion was short-lived and he was told to snap out of it, pull himself together and fall in line under the insurance-salesman yoke imposed by his own father. Conformity was the order of the day. With this in mind, it could be suggested that Dad was a little bit jealous of the freedom the sixties offered Clive, Carole and myself in our chosen fields: cartoonist, ice skater, musician. Call them proper jobs? Dad didn’t.

There’s little proof that Grev Collins ever got used to the twentieth century. When North Sea gas came on stream and all the boilers in the U.K. were converted, Dad tried to bribe the Gas Board to leave us out of the conversions, convinced that somewhere there was a gasholder that would provide fuel just for the Collins family.

Product details

ASIN ‏ : ‎ 1101907479
Publisher ‏ : ‎ Crown Archetype; American First edition (October 25, 2016)
Language ‏ : ‎ English
Hardcover ‏ : ‎ 384 pages
ISBN-10 ‏ : ‎ 9781101907474
ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-1101907474
Item Weight ‏ : ‎ 1.4 pounds
Dimensions ‏ : ‎ 6.44 x 1.33 x 9.4 inches

Best Sellers Rank: #281,663 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #130 in Pop Artist Biographies
- #829 in Rock Band Biographies
- #9,040 in Memoirs (Books)

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Phil Collins

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Born in the United Kingdom, Phil Collins rose to fame as the drummer and frontman of Genesis, before establishing himself as a solo artist, and selling hundreds of millions of records throughout his career.

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jalcruces

Very well written, informative, humorous, great read!

Reviewed in the United States on April 15, 2018

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First things first, I am a huge Phil Collins fan. I really don't know why there are so many haters. They seem to think that Phil was solely responsible for Peter G's exit from Genesis. And again, they seem to think that he is solely responsible for Genesis' diving into Pop. And this, as if Pop is some horrible monster come to take their children away and roast them. I just don't get it. Here we have one of the greatest drummers.... EVER... and all they can do is sulk about is Pop songs. But I digress...I've read several dozen music biographies/autobiographies, and this is one of the best.

I first became a fan of Genesis around 1975 or 1976 when I was 12 yrs old and first heard "The Carpet Crawlers" on an American Progressive Rock radio station. From there came "The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway", "A Trick of the Tail", "Squonk", "Ripples", and later, "Follow You, Follow Me", and "Misunderstanding", and "Turn it on Again". I loved them all. I couldn't really afford to buy new records, or cassettes. I bought a few... already a Yes fan and a lifelong Beatles fan, they got most of my saved up "lunch money". I was already familiar with and a fan of Peter Gabriel's solo work, but when I heard that the drummer (whose vocals sounded just like PG's... sort of) had come out with a solo album, I was all ears. I listened intently as the intro to "In the Air Tonight" built up and at the first listening was air drumming along with Phil's drum intro. I was floored. This guy drums just like I do.( Well of course, that makes him the best drummer ever, right? ;) )TBH, he is way better than me, but again, I digress. From there, I backtracked and got as many of the older Genesis recordings as I could, one at a time. I totally fell in love with the older, more Proggy Genesis, but... I still like a good Pop Rock tune. Genesis pushed aside Yes as my second favorite group. This was back in the early 80s. So I am even more of a Genesis fan, then Phil fan. (But Genesis can't drum, Phil can, and I am a drummer, so there's that). I loved Phil's first solo effort. The second one, somewhat less. The third I really really got into. But the first is still my favorite. A Progressive Rock fan at heart, but still enjoy really good energetic Pop tunes. After the third... eh... not that much interested in his solo work - not a fan of schmaltzy love songs. But still, a big, big, fan of his drumming. He's a natural. The best kind.

So I purchased this book a couple of years ago. I had several other reads on my list and it took a back seat. Finally, just yesterday in fact, I started reading it. Taking all of the Phil bashing into consideration (gee.... maybe they're right... he does, after all, have a row going with my favorite Rocker of all time since I could barely walk... the great and wonderful, giving and insanely musically talented Paul McCartney... maybe I should rethink all this.... :/ ), I was a bit "iffy" on how this book would read. But alas... it is openly stark and to the point. Apologetic at points where he knows he's been bashed and cowers in embarrassment. Thus far, I am only 1/4 of the way through. I will update this review when finished, but thus far, this is a great read! It is starkly informative, entertainingly humorous - both from him and from others jesting with him, and very very well written. And really, so far as I can see, it is really hard not to like the guy. Is he pretending to be so caring and fatherly to his children? Is he putting on the appearance that he really cares about each of his exes? Who knows. Who cares. I am neither his child nor his ex, I am a fan of.... his drumming - and now, his writing.

If there is one thing that I could say to Phil, or about Phil, that is negative, it is that he cares too much about what people think. From the start, I felt that this was the main reason for the book. He is possibly hated by the English more than anyone... "How DARE he take Genesis from us!" Chapter Four is a clear example of how he takes everything to heart. Anyone who claims he doesn't write about "how he felt" or "his emotions" can reread this chapter (and probably the entire book) till they "get" it. He obsesses over and over, apparently, from the time of the incidence of 1) His being dissed from the final cut of A Hard Day's Night and 2) His being dissed from the final pressing of All Things Must Pass. The chapter is boring as all H. I'm like, "Man, he NEEDS to get a life and get the H over it already!" But I was treated to one of the best stories I'd ever heard concerning my longtime favorite Beatle throughout most of my life, George Harrison. The entire chapter is dreadful and was really tough to get through, but quite rewarding in the end. Great story. But it is a clear example of how Phil seems to read all the tabloids, reviews, and takes it personally when someone disses him. This is just my observation. You can't give a sh about what ppl think. You have to live and do what you want and what you like. You can't make ppl like you. And truth is, most ppl are "A"s anyway. No matter how nice, how talented, how kind or giving you are, there will still be haters. Many actually enjoy hating on innocent ppl. If you take these ppl to heart, you will destroy yourself, lose confidence in yourself, and slither along. I've stood up for Phil amongst many of these haters. They've never been able to win an argument, because facts are facts, and they will admit in the end, that I am right. 1)Phil was not solely responsible for PGs departure. 2)Phil is not solely responsible for Genesis going Pop. 3)Phil is unarguably an excellent top rate drummer. That's it. Who cares whatever else they think?!
Julie.L.S. - Host of Progkast

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Friend Zone

A well-balanced, funny, informative memoir

Reviewed in the United States on January 22, 2023

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I bought this book back in 2018 and finally read it in 2023, after realizing that Phil Collins is Lilly Collins' dad (she played Pamela Anderson in the Pam + Tommy tv series). I'm not the biggest fan of Genesis or Phil Collins but I cannot deny the ear-worminess of the songs he's written! Reading about the process that brought those songs to life (In the Air Tonight, Abacab, Sussudio, etc.) is entertaining -- this is a well-balanced bio that gives the reader a lot of info on both the professional and personal life. Feelings, and things that happened (yes, he discusses the disastrous 'Led Zep reunion'). I liked this book but I am knocking a star off for the annoying use of the present-tense writing style throughout. To this reader, a retrospective feels more natural when in the past-tense.

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Angel

An Incredible Memoir About an Incredible Musician!

Reviewed in the United States on November 21, 2016

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"Music made me, but it also unmade me."

Santa Claus gives a three-year-old Phillip David Charles Collins (better known as the amazingly talented Phil Collins) a toy drum set. The rest is history!

This book offers a nice glimpse of Phil Collins' life from childhood through the present day. The legendary musician reveals plenty of details from both his personal and professional life. It is very well-written and makes you feel as though you've taken the journey with him. I was pleased to see the great assortment of photos, too. They enabled me to visualize the people Collins referred to throughout the book.

It is abundantly clear that Phil Collins is a brilliant musician who worked extremely hard to achieve success. He is passionate about music and it shows within his performances, both as a drummer and a singer.

This book comes across as an honest reflection of Collins' life--with both the ups and downs of his career and personal life objectively presented to readers. I have to admit, I'm not the biggest fan of memoirs, but this one was so very fascinating, I didn't want it to end. It's great to know how some of my favorite songs from the late eighties and nineties came into existence. And now I know what "Sussudio" is (and I'm not telling--go read the book)!

I'll also admit that I was a bit disheartened to learn that Collins was unfaithful to his second wife, who stood by him through thick and thin. I know he's only human and we all make mistakes, but he seemed like such a good, honest, loyal and trustworthy man prior to that. Don't get me wrong, I still think he's an extraordinary, decent man. It's just that learning how that extramarital affair began really shocked me. Even Collins, himself, admits that he was somewhat "stalker-ish" in pursuing his then soon-to-be third wife, Orianne, the young woman who was half his age.

Likewise, I was dismayed by Collins' alcoholism. He seemed to be such an intelligent, rational man. I'm surprised that he was unable to control his drinking and let it get to the point of jeopardizing his life. Though I'm not judging him in the least, mind you. I can't begin to understand the pressures and stresses he must have felt to lead him down such a treacherous path.

I give him great credit for being so forthcoming about his mistakes and imperfections. This isn't a book that boasts about his many achievements with little more than that afterglow of success. This book is sincere and heartfelt--the good and the bad--presented to the world in one engrossing, humorous, poignant, detailed package.

Faults and all, Phil Collins is an amazing man. Even at the height of his fame, he never lost his sense of modesty. "I’ve always hated stuffiness and snobbery..." he writes, and based upon his interactions with people, whether fellow musicians or those hired for services, I believe that he is a kind, caring, friendly man who treats everyone equitably. Moreover, he is a family man at heart, which I greatly respect and admire. I absolutely love the fact that he considers his first wife's daughter, Joely, to be his own daughter though they are not biologically related.
"I’m her dad, she’s my daughter, that’s it."
That's it and that's awesome.

I could go on and on with words of praise for one of my all-time favorite musicians, but I will just add that I thoroughly enjoyed this book. I truly savored it and was sad when it ended. There's just one thing I dislike about it: The title. "Not Dead Yet." It is far too depressing because it evokes thoughts of his mortality and the mere thought of a world without the legendary Phil Collins is simply too heartbreaking to bear. Really.

If you're a Genesis and/or Phil Collins fan, then you're sure to enjoy this incredible memoir.

On a personal note, I especially LOVE "In the Air Tonight," "Tonight, Tonight, Tonight," "Land of Confusion" and his songs from "Brother Bear," my favorite Disney movie.

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G. Cox

Bought as a gift.

Reviewed in Canada on December 16, 2023

Verified Purchase

Positive my friend will like this book. Huge music fan.

Malali

fascinating

Reviewed in France on July 20, 2023

Verified Purchase

good way of knowing about Phil Collins but about the music scene of many decades as well, highly recommend it

Yes Fan

Excelente

Reviewed in Brazil on January 30, 2023

Verified Purchase

Autobiografia de um dos maiores músicos populares de todos os tempos. Excelente leitura. Depoimentos notavelmente sinceros e muitas curiosidades sobre a vida dessa grande figura da nossa cultura.

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Cliente Amazon

Si eres fan, es de obligada lectura!

Reviewed in Spain on January 14, 2021

Verified Purchase

Es apasionante conocer cómo se ha forjado desde la infancia una estrella como Phil.

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Oscar M. Estrada Rodriguez

exactly what I expected

Reviewed in Mexico on April 3, 2018

Verified Purchase

being a Genesis fan for more than 40 years I can only say that this is a must read for anybody that has been listening and following Genesis and Phil's musical career

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