What I've Learnt...

Jon Bon Jovi on fame, family and life on the road...


Jon Bon Jovi, 48, was born in New Jersey. Since their 1984 debut album, 7800 Fahrenheit, his band, Bon Jovi, have sold 120 million albums and played live to 34 million people. He lives in New York with his wife of 21 years, Dorothea, and their four children.

If I wasn’t a rock star, I’d be the ringmaster in a circus.

I hope I look as good as something between Prince William and Keith Richards.

In the real world I get up at 7 o’clock in the morning. On the road, it’s vampire hours: I go to bed at four in the morning and get up at noon. I bitch and moan about it until I’m out the door, and when I get to that first hotel room I’m like, OK, here we go again.

I live out of a bag. I come home and my closet looks like a gift.

I get depressed by short-sighted, slight-minded, pseudo-intellectuals.

Our fans are very loyal, but it’s not like we’re the Grateful Dead. Generations of people come to our shows.

I don’t know what perfect happiness is, but I think my life, my wife and four healthy kids is pretty darn good.

The secret of a happy marriage is leaving home a lot.

People write what they think they know [about me] because they’re just too lazy to look into it. They may misconceive what I do. What are you going to do?

I don’t get tired of singing Livin’ on a Prayer. Not when I see the jet with my name on it.

I’ve made the usual sacrifices for my career: sell soul, give away too much to too many… repeat.

The best book I’ve ever read is The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari. It gets to the core of what we’re doing here. I’m not really driven by possessions, and the nomadic lifestyle has something to do with that. You realise you can live out of a bag and the rest of the stuff is fun to play with, but not necessary.

Are my children embarrassed by me? Not if they want their share.

London in June is magical. I thought it’d be a blast to spend time there, family and friends could come over. That’s the idea anyway. We’ll see who actually shows up.

When you’re healthy you play great, and when you play great, everything’s fine.

We did American Idol last night. That’s not really work, it’s three and a half minutes. I can do a whole bunch of things for three and a half minutes and be good.

Don’t stay at the party too long. I mean that metaphorically. I’ll never be out there slogging the Livin’ on a Prayer tour. Just get out. Know when you’re on top.

Preparing for a tour is very physical, but mentally it’s like spending the night bar-hopping with old friends.

I don’t care what people write about me when they say very nice things.

I’ll spend the day before the first London show seeking forgiveness for the prior night’s sins. I’m doing that right now as well. It’s not like I sit in bed and go to sleep early.

I want the Beatles’ In My Life played at my funeral. You don’t want something upbeat. I’ll be dead, for God’s sake, I don’t want anyone else to be happy. I’m going to make ’em all pay for the bonus at the end, which is my estate. They’re going to have to suffer for hours. I want Catholic guilt and misery.

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