Jethro Cave

JETHRO CAVE

It has long been noted that it is not what you know but whom. For a growing set of adolescents coming of age in the spotlight this could be no more true, for their fame hinges on one crucial fact; their parents are famous. For most, anything they do will pale in comparison to the achievements of those who gave them life, whilst a very few will inexplicably manage to outshine their folks. Many are shameless in their quest for fame, trying anything they set their name and money to for their fifteen minutes, whilst others shun the lifestyle completely, seeking only anonymity and the opportunity of leading a normal life.

Jethro Lazenby can tick off some of the above boxes. Eighteen years old and possessed of a particularly slender frame he has become of late a hot commodity in the fashion world. Walking for the likes of Balenciaga and Costume National, he has also been shot by Heidi Slimane, which is not bad for a boy from Collingwood, Melbourne and a look best described as aesthetically interesting. It doesn't hurt Lazenby of course that he happens to be the son of one of Australia's favourite musical sons, Nick Cave. The singer had a brief affair with Jethro's mother, Beau - herself a model, with the result being a gangly, intensely blue eyed boy infused with the rebel rousing attitude of his father.

It is nearly forty minutes past our arranged time to meet when Jethro Lazenby folds himself through the doors of the Dalston bar where I'm waiting. He is all pointy bones and a seething tide of great, unwashed hair that frames a face still clinging on to boyhood, and judging by the odor emanating from the young model I'd say it's been at least a couple of days since he last saw a shower. Tucking himself into the barstool opposite me we settle down to chat, his sentences punctuated at first by nervous laughter, then with more frequency by the irreverent mirth of a teenager who has contempt for anything and anyone that might take life too seriously.

“I was walking through a train station,” recalls Lazenby of first being discovered, “and was getting the last train and some guy came up to me and said 'oh, I'm looking for models who don't really look like models.' I was the Guess Who? kid on a TV ad when I was about nine. You know the board game? So I was like 'who the fuck are you? I'm the Guess Who? kid' and started screaming at him. Then I got a call from him and he still wanted to use me. So he wasn't just a dirty old man after all.”

Just fourteen at the time, the young model started off with the odd job here and there before landing a spot in Melbourne Fashion Week where he caught the attention of the modeling agency Viviens. After going to see the agency they told Lazenby he was too young and to come back in a year or two. However, when they put two and two together and found out who he was (or more accurately who his dad was) they called him in and put him on their books.

“I went back in there and they told me how much they wanted me on their books but they asked me if I'd change my name to Cave. My theory is that if I sell out now I won't be accused of it later,” splutters the model amidst much laughter. “So people won't be like, 'oh he changed, he used to have soul and passion'. I could then say no I was always a sell out. But I wish I hadn't have done it now.”

Now back to Lazenby I ask him if his father had any opinion on the name change.

“Fuck I wouldn't have a clue,” he states quickly, though concedes a little more information after a moments thought. “I didn't really see him that much when I was growing up. But now that I've grown up a bit we can relate to each other and shit. I might see him every few weeks, not that much really.”

Lazenby is understandably reticent about answering questions on his father given that he was absent throughout his childhood and now is an obvious point of interest for anyone who knows of the link. He is though all too aware of the fact that much of his new found attention stems from his blood line and knows as well that he has a unique opportunity because of it.

“Yeah I know I have to make the most of things because otherwise things will go downhill pretty quickly for me. I'm going to go see the acting division at independent and I've been approached for a couple of things to do with music that I've turned down straight away.”

One of those things was a major record label wanting Lazenby to front a flavour of the month 80's synth pop band where all of the music was written for them and the band was then styled by the label. Although he admits this would be pretty funny, Lazenby admits that it would kill his credibility and he has his own musical projects on the go, which are probably about as far away from the slick stylings of a label fronted boy band as you can get.

“I write lyrics, I rap, I play piano and I'm really really shit at guitar,” confesses Lazenby. “I also sing a bit. I've been fucking around with stuff for years, it's always what I've been interested in. I had some piano lessons for a while but I'm mainly self-taught.”

He has worked with Australian horrorcore rap crew Suicidal Rap Orgy and on his own makes music under the Pubic Nit banner. In his own words his material is about “ripping off toenails and biting off clitorises, but it's all in good fun.” There is apparently a more serious side to his music as well, though with his modeling schedule being busier and busier since he moved to London he hasn't found the time recently to write anything.

That side of his career got a huge push soon after he arrived, landing a Balenciaga show in Paris last year. It was during the castings for Paris Fashion Week though that he scored his biggest job so far. On a go see to Heidi Slimane, the revered photographer loved Lazenby's look so much that he told him to hurry around the rest of his appointments for the day and get back to his studio. When he returned there he found that Slimane had called the equally influential stylist Nicola Formachetti and together they shot some by-now rather famous editorial which has acted as the young model's calling card ever since. The androgynous shots show a teen teetering on the verge between childhood and manhood, innocent yet mischievous. They also prove that Lazenby knows how to put on a professional face for the camera, a stark difference to the unguarded youth with chipped green nail polish and up-all-night wide eyed stare sitting across from me. It can be said that he borrows from his father a casual disregard for authority, which has seen him land in hot water on more than one occasion. Visually there is the green gumby earring he is sporting today, which has become somewhat of a fixture of his catwalk career. He wore it for the Costume National show he opened in Milan earlier in the year though it has popped up on numerous occasions.

“Yeah but they actually let me wear it then (for the Costume show) but some people don't even notice, unless they're sitting there and see me do it and just think 'right, I'm never fucking booking him again.' But I'll always try and wear it at shows, even if people ask me to take it out, I'll just keep it in my hand and put it back in just before I go on.”

This anarchistic streak also saw the model penning his own tribute to Michael Jackson on his arm before a recent show, writing R.I.P. Smooth Criminal on his arm before heading out on the runway. His self styled body art extends to tattoos of wire coat hangers on his forearm, a bizarre character on his chest and two “23” tattoos.

“I met this guy about five years ago,” explains Lazenby. “I think he was a psychopath. Every time he saw the number 23 he was like 'ohhh, 23 man, 23!' like it was some big thing. I thought he needed to be fucking committed but ever since then I think I caught it from him and it's become a really prominent number for me and I've covered myself in 23's.”

Lazenby confesses that some people don't quite know what to think when they first meet him. The supercharged ball of energy with a thirst for the bizarre either endears himself to people or makes them uncomfortable. He says that it is not uncommon for him to turn up for a job and the people who have hired him are expecting something completely different. There have been instances of misbehaving that have had his various agencies sit him down for a chat too.

“They don't nurture my destructive side,” he laughs, talking about the agencies. “I've had many a talking to. They love the heroin chic thing but they don't like the heroin,” he quips and dissolves into a ball of laughter. Then he thinks and adds: “I don't take heroin, just thought I should point that out. But I'm actually very professional when I'm working and when I'm working with straight-as-fuck people, then I'll go for a shoot and be talking or listening to weird fucked up music. So they'll think I'm weird and they'll complain that I wasn't on my best behaviour and shit but then the photos always come out fine.”

There was an episode though when he wasn't on his best behaviour, earlier in the year when he was back in Australia and was hired by the department store Myer for a show. Not seeing the point of rehearsals that stretched over several days he voiced his opinion to the organisers.

“I turned up for a rehearsal and I was walking down the runway with a cigarette. The CEO's were there and I didn't think I had to be all scrubbed up for a rehearsal for a Myer show. It was something ridiculous like a 26 hour rehearsal with all these synchronised stops and all these changes. I was just like, 'what? You're a fucking department store. Why?' They paid me to do this interview with the Herald Sun about me opening the shows but after this rehearsal they thought I was rude and didn't value their credibility so they canceled me from the show. My agency in Australia were really fucked off with me for that but I did not give a fuck.”

Lazenby tells me that after his father read about this incident on the internet he told him he was very proud of him. He also tells me that after this happened he thought harder about his career and decided to start things more seriously, realising that although he may not like every brand he works for they are paying him to be there. To that end he has recently done campaigns for Topshop and Barney's of New York, though most of his work has been editorial, which has left him with a lot of shots for his book but not so much money.

“Now my agent is saying that I shouldn't do any more shit for free. All my friends assume that I'm really rich because I've done all this work but most of it has been unpaid. When I get it I just like to spend it straight away, but with some of the money I get for modeling I know I should put it away and try and get a deposit down on a house. I need a campaign, just one big one. Actually I could do a new perfume. If I don't change my clothes enough I become Phero-man, just one big pheromone and excrete sexual potency from my armpits.”

The money may not be rolling in for Lazenby yet but he does seem to be aware of his earning ability. Beneath the serious-about-nothing attitude there does also seem to be lurking some sense of needing to develop a plan to make the most of his position. As our conversation turns back to music several times he often berates himself for not getting off his ass and writing more, seemingly aware that modeling may help him make some money and launch his name but that it is his passions he needs to be following. He also mentions he may go and live in Belgium for a while as his girlfriend is moving over to Europe from Australia and she is Belgian. When I inquire as to whether he speaks any French he hits me up with the following, which really is best left untranslated.

“Peut-tu vomir dans ma bouche pendant que je me masturbé?”

Then before his laughter has even dried up he's telling me his plans for the months ahead with modeling, saying he wants to do both London and New York fashion weeks and how inspiring it is to work with such talented people like Heidi Slimane. It is this contrast between an interest in grabbing on to his chance at something bigger and his playful, cheeky immaturity that will no doubt continue to keep his agent worried and make him best friends with the more colorful characters of the fashion world.

As we leave the bar to part ways we are walking back down Kingsland Road in the bright, stark sunshine, the unkempt Jethro Lazenby looking every bit the part of East London as he fixes me with a piercing blue stare and asks if I have a cigarette and any money for the bus. I empty a few pounds change from my pockets and watch him saunter off down towards Bethnal Green.