I met Elvis first in Las Vegas. I think I was appearing with Tom Jones and he came backstage to say hello to Tom or we went to his dressing room to say hello.
You can't complain about your dressing room or you'll look like Celine Dion.
I'll do strength training in my dressing room between shoots, and I've been known to make business calls while out jogging. I try to mute myself on Bluetooth so they can't hear me huffing and puffing, but I usually end up getting caught.
The English have a special sense of humour. This I immediately experienced in the dressing room. As I walked with two plates while eating, suddenly a team-mate asked me, 'Basti, what time is it?' hoping I would automatically turn my hand to look at my watch. That's quite entertaining.
I don't like sitting around in my dressing room very much. It feels a lot like theater.
People send me CDs all the time because I love music. It's great. I listen to them in my dressing room or in my car.
I was backstage at the House of Blues in L.A where I was about to perform, and Stevie Wonder and Prince turned up at my dressing room together! Stevie started beat boxing and Prince started singing one of my songs, all of a sudden it was like I was in a cypher with these incredible artists.
You know how a fighter always comes into the dressing room way before a fight? That's me - I'm like a fighter.
I am not a person who tries on in the stores. It drives me crazy. So I buy and take back if I don't like something. I really don't enjoy being in the dressing room. I rather just try it on in my house.
I mean, even my dressing room at the studio has candles and cushions and cashmere rugs and things.
I'm still that rowdy dude who has after-parties in his dressing room with a concert-sized PA system blasting away.
I don't think when I'm doing music. Things just happen. I've even taken my clothes off while performing. But then I'm so shy that I can't even take my clothes off in the dressing room, even though it's just the other guys in the band in here with me. It's really weird.
You know, if you're lucky enough to have two smash hit shows, the traffic of the world goes through your dressing room.
My husband recently made me try on a bikini. A bikini is not so much a garment as a cloth-based reminder that your parts have been migrating all these years. My waist, I realized that day in the dressing room, has completely disappeared beneath my rib cage, which now rests directly on my hips. I'm exhibiting continental drift in reverse.
