In 1984, Liz Rosenberg warned me: “Madonna‘s not very good in interviews.” This would be her first magazine profile in the U.S. (for Interview). That same month, a piece in The Face shredded her. That wasn’t why I was there. I had been following her since “Everybody,” and began obsessing when a Downtown friend called me from Martin Burgoyne‘s apartment, to sneak me a listen to “Lucky Star,” which he was choreographing as a music video. Madonna was recording an album, and I made sure my contact at Sire Records knew that I wanted the first interview. True to form, Madonna’s initial question was to me: “I don’t understand why Andy‘s [Warhol] not here…” During the next 90 minutes we flip-flopped from arm wrestling to flirtation. It was the end of a long day for her. Jellybean was in the studio with her; they were remixing “Borderline.” When we were done talking, we shared a Checker Cab from Sygma Sound (on Broadway and 54th) to the Upper West Side. She slid off a few of the rubber bracelets she was wearing, handed them to me and gave me a kiss on 72nd and Columbus. Lady Gaga never kissed me like that.
Jamie Lee Curtis
Keenen Ivory Wayans