The great Marianne Faithfull has passed away, exiting this mortal coil at the age of 78, her spokesperson has said.
Marianne Faithfull entered the public eye like a wisp of cigarette smoke curling under a dim-lit streetlamp—ethereal, alluring, already edged with ruin. Born in 1946 to a war-haunted world, Faithfull first stepped onto the stage as a wide-eyed ingénue, a girl plucked from the haze of a London party by Rolling Stones manager Andrew Loog Oldham, and handed a melody that would change her life.
As Tears Go By, the first song Jagger and Richards ever wrote, drifted from her lips like the sigh of a lover too young to understand loss. The song soared, her name lit up the charts, and for a moment, Marianne Faithfull was the golden girl of Swinging London—light, breathy, untouchable…for but a shining moment. At least, that’s how it seemed.
“I was never that crazy about As Tears Go By, Faithfull admitted in her 1994 autobiography. “[It] was a marketable portrait of me and as such is an extremely ingenious creation, a commercial fantasy that pushes all the right buttons.”
A tempestuous romance with Mick Jagger, a whirlwind of decadence, a slow, spiraling descent into addiction—Faithfull lived her own tragedies with a brutal honesty few could stomach. Addiction took its toll, pulling her from mansions to the cold pavement of Soho, where she lived unseen, unheard, a ghost of the girl the world once adored. Faithfull always owned up to her choices with astonishing frankness, calling herself a “garden variety drug addict.”
“[I was] dependent on every possible neurotic thing – heroin, coke, pills, alcohol, sex and money,” she wrote in Faithfull. “The first year I was in treatment I was dying to uncover a serious psychosis that I could pin it all on, but nothing like that ever showed up. My headlong descent had much more to do with a willful and heedless pursuit of hedonism.”
The industry wrote her off – indeed, for a time, she did so herself – but Marianne Faithfull did not stay buried. She clawed her way back, first with Dreamin’ My Dreams in 1976, a whisper of what was to come. When she resurfaced in 1979 with Broken English, her voice was no longer soft and delicate but scalded, scraped raw by time and experience. She no longer sang as the innocent; she sang as the survivor, roaring her pain into poetry, sorrow into something searing and unshakable. Broken English was nominated for a Grammy.
Through decades of reinvention, from Strange Weather to Before the Poison, she remained defiant, a poet of loss, a voice lined with the weight of ruin, romance, and resurrection. This shocking vocal transformation would indirectly inspire post-punk and No Wave artist poets such as Siouxsie Sioux and Lydia Lunch. Her “fallen aristocrat” aesthetic would later be adopted by artists like Marc Almond and Rozz Williams (Christian Death). Her theatrical, world-weary presence was echoed in Grace Jones and Diamanda Galás, who embodied Faithfull’s commanding, almost mythic aura.
In her later years, she stood among those who once revered her, now collaborators in their own right—PJ Harvey and Nick Cave, voices once shaped by hers, now entwined in shared reverence. She traded verses with Bowie, unraveled ballads with Lou Reed, lent her lilt to Jarvis Cocker and Damon Albarn. Even Metallica’s Lars Ulrich knelt in gratitude, saluting the raw fire she had breathed into their work. A chameleon in song and stage, she carried Shakespeare and Chekhov with the same knowing grace, drifting through roles such as 1967’s Girl on a Motorcycle Absolutely Fabulous and The Black Rider, that hallucinatory fever dream spun by Tom Waits and William S. Burroughs.
Marianne Faithfull, stubborn as the Capricorn she was, danced too many times at the brink but always returned—scarred, standing, unbroken. Bulimia gnawed, cancer carved, emphysema thickened her breath, yet nothing silenced her. In 2020, the virus pinned her down, 22 days in the grasp of doubt, but she pulled through. She spoke candidly about her life with Vogue in a 2021 interview:
“Being very young and silly, I was drawn to everything that was as decadent as possible. I am 74 and I’m paying for all that. I really wish I had never had a cigarette, particularly, or any drug or alcohol in my life. I didn’t know when I was in my 20s…what it would do to me. I always thought I would die young, I never expected to get to this age.”
Faithfull’s last offering was the 2021 spoken-word album She Walks in Beauty, a tribute to the great Romantic poets Byron, Keats and Shelley.
She married and parted three times—John Dunbar, Ben Brierly, Giorgio Della Terza. She is survived by her son, Nicholas Dunbar, and a massive outpouring of love from friends and creative descendants that refuses to dim.
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