In defence of Mick Hucknall

I’m going to say something that would see me cast out of every post-work media boozer in London. That would get me laughed at by people whose sole existence seems to consist of looking at Chuck Norris videos on YouTube and saying ‘amazing’ a lot.

I quite like Mick Hucknall.

In fact, the more I see of him, the more I like him. Granted, Simply Red’s earlier output is worthy of praise anyway (and yes, it is), but it’s what Hucknall stands for that endears him to me.

Specifically, it’s an appearance he made in a Piers Morgan programme about the lizard-like rich folk of Monte Carlo last year. With his reputation for good living and, let’s face it, boss shagging, you might expect Mick to spend his days in a Monte Carlo mansion, enjoying the benefits of tax-free living and wearing sunglasses in dimly lit restaurants. But you’d be wrong, because, as he proudly admitted on the show, he is a UK taxpayer. No dodgy offshore accounts, no snidey 70 days at home to escape the Revenue – just a very rich man putting 40 per cent of what he earns back into the pot.

It doesn’t sound much, but when mingebag celebrities take pride in fucking out of the gaff the moment they get upgraded to a ‘gold’ account at the Halifax, then it’s refreshing to find someone who’s willing to take a hit so your nan can have a hip replacement on the NHS. OK, he might come across as a bit of wanker, but if me or any of my mates were famous, the News of the World would have my neighbours torching my house over one of my post-fifth pint gags.

Hucknall is a real Labour man, a working class feller who’s done well in music, but hasn’t gone down the route of adopting one of those weird mid-Atlantic Lancastrian accents so beloved of the middle-aged northern rock star/DJ and moving to the Isle of Man. He didn’t disown Labour or Blair the moment the gastropub mafia got sick of the party, he stuck with them, because he knows that those with less will always do be better off under a Labour government. Even one that’s led by Gordon Brown.

The tiresome anti-northern, anti-ginger prejudice he faces is just another example of those with talent for fuck all, except smirking and pontificating about ’80s youth movements they were never cool enough to be a part of, having too much of a platform in the media. Not that Mick Hucknall cares, he’s waking up in a nice house somewhere with a gorgeous wife and a beautiful young daughter to bring up.

And without a Chuck Norris video in sight.


  1. I had a bottle at the weekend. I'm a bloke, but I still prefer Diet Coke to this. It tastes like a mix between Coke and Diet Coke, but because Coke is sweeter than DC, they have obviously had to put more artificial sweetener in. This left me with a chemilcal aftertaste. I'll stick with Diet for now...

  2. I took photos at a Mick gig once.
    Very impressive.
    How about a name and shame list of celebs, that bunk-off paying tax?

    Call it Bono-gate.

  3. It would be a long list, Adrian.

    (I worked with a tour manager who always called Bono 'Nobbo'. Le Mot Juste.)

    Perhaps limit it to the absentee patriots? Step forward Sean Connery, paying no Scottish tax and still full of it about all things Caledonian.


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