"I feel so proper," says Adele, laughing, as she eyes herself in the mirror of a Los Angeles hotel room while trying on the shapely black satin dress that Barbara Tfank has made for her to wear to the Grammy Awards. "From ladette to lady!" Adele's hair has been frantically teased and back-combed and looks "a little messed up," says her hairdresser, Kevin Posey, "like she could have done it," and her gray-green eyes are elaborately framed à la Dusty Springfield. "You look gorgeous!" says her manager, Jonathan Dickins. "I'm all proud!" Her product manager, Doneen Lombardi, comes in to see the effect and promptly bursts into tears.
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"I feel like my nana!" Adele declares appreciatively. But with her voluptuous figure, peaches-and-cream complexion, and hair that she aptly describes as "ginger biscuit" color, there is something more period than merely old-fashioned about the way this soulful singer (who turns 21 in May) looks. She might be one of Charles II's court favorites, perhaps, or an actress painted by Reynolds or Romney, and her healthy bawdiness would certainly have been celebrated by Wycherley and Fielding.
It is this romantic quality that designer Tfank has played up. ("I'm gonna wear a big balcony bra and get me boobs up!" Adele announced when she first saw the portrait décolleté.) Tfank adapted the dress from a sleeveless model in her collection; Adele adroitly requested the just-above-mid-calf length, and sleeves to the elbow. "I don't like my arms—my upper arms," she explains. "It's the only feature I don't like about myself. I used to wear minidresses with jeans, but I get my legs out now."
Adele spins in her jive skirt. "I've got three bums, and this just sort of glides over them!" she says, laughing. She has few inhibitions about the way she looks. "Fans are encouraged that I'm not a size 0—that you don't have to look a certain way to do well.
"I like being comfy more than anything," she adds. Whether onstage or in her private life, Adele has a preference for trapeze shapes, or enveloping sweaters and cardigans in luxurious fabrics (she also likes "old vintage cardies with beads and pearls sewn into flowers"), worn with leggings and ballet pumps for a look that Posey characterizes as "Goldie Hawn on the Go-Go, or early-nineties hip-hop—but as though Chanel had done it. Really elegant but very urban and a little bit ghetto." Adele gleefully mixes high street—H&M, Miss Selfridge, Topshop—with British designer labels, including Vivienne Westwood and Aquascutum, and regrets that she no longer has time to rummage in street markets. She was delighted, during the American tour for her debut album, 19, to discover the "great vintage places in Portland, Oregon. Twenty on one block, all amazing. Better than Brick Lane."
"I'll go proper glam," Adele told Vogue when she first discussed her Grammy outfit. "Lots of diamonds!" The paste buckles on her vertiginous Manolo heels picked up the motif. She already owns a pair in blue, and another in silver—"They're the Carrie ones," explains the Sex and the City fanatic. "I buy a load of shoes, but I can't wear them!" Moments later she is bellowing, "Burns! Burns! Burns!" Johnny Cash-style as the strain of those heels begins to tell.
The following day, on the Grammy red carpet, Adele's prim look (given an edge with the "ghetto fabulous" black-on-white nails she had put on at a little place on Sunset Boulevard) sets her apart from the coruscating crowd. When she performs, standing shoeless on the darkened stage of the Staples Center, she looks oddly vulnerable and fragile—until her achingly powerful voice swirls and eddies through that vast space, revealing the force that roils within her.
Adele Laurie Blue Adkins has come a long way from the hardscrabble district of south London where she was born to an eighteen-year-old single mother. (They remain a tight-knit pair. "We've always been on our own," says Adele. "She's the most supportive mum ever. She's my best friend. Hopefully I'll sell 20 million records and she'll never have to work again.")
Last October, when the Grammys were a dream away, I visited her in London's genteel Notting Hill neighborhood, where she was installed in a rental apartment near XL, her record label (she has since bought herself a little flat nearby, which her mother is decorating for her as a present). She had recently got into a scuffle with paparazzi before realizing to her considerable amusement that their intended quarry was Elle Macpherson, who she hadn't known lived next door. "I love it around here," Adele says. "It's really civilized, really quiet at night. Where I lived in south London, if I had scaffolding in my window like I do here, there's no way it wouldn't be broken into by now." However, she ruefully admits that most of her tight-knit circle of friends, living in the farther reaches of the metropolis, "can't even afford to get here"—a challenge for someone whose "friends are my life, and being in love is my life."
Whatever her surroundings, Adele is, unregenerately, a south London girl, with the attitude, street smarts, and salty vocabulary to match. ("I'm a bit mouthy," she admits.) When she found out a boyfriend had cheated on her, she tracked him down in a local pub and punched the living daylights out of him. ("Chasing Pavements," her hit single, was written about the dissolution of that relationship.)
Adele loathed her music teacher in high school ("She wouldn't let me in the choir!") and ran with what might politely be described as a "fast crowd." "It's so weird because my friends from then all had kids at sixteen," she says. "Can you imagine if I had stayed, and I was still in that crowd and did what my friends did? It would be awful."
Luckily, when Adele was sixteen, her mother enrolled her in the Brit School, a tuition-free performing-arts school whose alums include Amy Winehouse and Leona Lewis. "I never got bored, so I was never getting in trouble. I'd always had a problem taking teachers seriously, whereas there, you wanted to listen to them because they'd all done it, practiced whatever subject they were teaching."
She went through the fashion rites of passage of a working-class London girl. "From twelve to thirteen I was a Grunger," she remembers. "Criminal Damage jeans. Dog collars. Hoodies. We used to go to Camden [the raw, style-centric North London street market] all the time because we were, like, 'so dark.' Then I really got into R&B and became a Rude Girl—in Adidas, with a spit curl! Tiny Nike backpacks. Mine was black, with a logo bigger than the bag."
However übercool her teenage tribal aesthetic, Adele admits that she would hide in her room listening to Celine Dion and is still so in awe of the Spice Girls that she'd rather not meet any of them and break the spell. "It was always pop music," Adele says. "I listened to Jeff Buckley and Joan Armatrading because of me mum, but E17 were my boy band, and I loved Backstreet Boys, Aqua, Destiny's Child, Missy Elliott." (She still loves Beyoncé, Britney Spears, Scissor Sisters, Mika, and Katy Perry.)
But Adele's musical epiphany came at fourteen. "I remember being out at the record store HMV with all my friends. Downstairs is the jazz section. They had a two-for-one deal, two CDs for a fiver, and I bought Ella Fitzgerald and Etta James. I bought them because I loved their immaculate hairdos. And Etta James's eyes—the original Amy Winehouse eyes! I loved the vintage look of it." When she listened to Etta and Ella sing, "it changed my life," she says simply. "It was so heartfelt compared with the music I'd been listening to. Etta had a proper distraught life. She was a big heroin addict; her mum was a prostitute." In tribute, Adele often covers "Fool That I Am," one of James's standards.
Following this discovery, Adele's musical tastes were radically transformed. "I kind of got into the old legends—Roberta Flack, Johnny Cash, Diana Ross and the Supremes." However, she says, "it never really occurred to me that I could write my own songs and get away with it!" Then she saw a Lionel Richie interview with the BBC's Michael Parkinson. "When he met Marvin Gaye, he said, 'How can you write? You don't read music.' 'By humming,' he said. So I'd write vocal parts at home and hum to the guitarist."
In December 2006, her friend Jack Peñate (who had just released his debut single, "Second, Minute or Hour") asked her to open for him when he played at the Troubadour, an atmospheric venue in London's Earls Court, with space for little more than 100 people.
"I went on first and I was on my own, and the whole room was packed," she remembers. "It was hot. It was disgusting." Then she began to sing. "The whole room was silent, and I saw these random girls just, like, crying. That was the time I was like, 'Oh, my God, this is amazing, can't live without it.' There's nothing more freeing than playing live, nothing."
Adele still loves the intimacy of a small venue. "I like to hear people, their glasses tinkling and all that. I'd hate to play to people I can't even see and can't even hear. That'd be horrible." At a recent performance at Manhattan's China Club, her easy rapport with the small, industry-heavy audience was delightfully unprocessed. During the Q & A session she was asked, "What are you looking for in a boyfriend?" "I like a bit of drama!" she said. "Twenty-first-birthday plans?" "I'm going out to drink at every bar!" (Adele actually gave up alcohol after Christmas. "I'm quite enjoying it," she says. "I can remember everything that I do!" She does, however, smoke Marlboro Lights ceaselessly.)
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Powerful though her live performances were, Adele's talents reached a much broader audience after a friend created a MySpace site for her. Adele admits she didn't really know what this was—until Lily Allen reinvented the rules of the industry when she launched her career through her own site (to date, Allen's songs from her site have been listened to 36 million times) and "MySpace blew up."
Nick Huggett of XL Recordings contacted Adele through MySpace, assuming that she already had a record deal and a manager. When he found out that she had neither, he set her up with manager Jonathan Dickins, and suddenly she had an album deal. 19 (her age at the time) was the result.
"It didn't even occur to me that a million-plus people would hear my record," she says (the album has sold 500,000), "and that people were gonna love it and criticize it. And it kind of frightens me sometimes 'cause I think my record's really honest—there's things in it that I'd never admitted to myself, that I would never just say in conversation. But then the other side of it is that I always get people coming up to me after shows and telling me that it helped them through their relationship at the time, which is an amazing feeling."
In a stroke of serendipity last fall, Adele was booked for Saturday Night Live on the same night as Sarah Palin. Seventeen million viewers tuned in. "It had been kind of underground till then!" says Adele, laughing. "I've had a really smooth ride. KT Tunstall played empty pubs for ten years."
Back in London in early December, Adele was in bed—"Googling to see if Leona Lewis had been nominated for the Grammys"—when Perez Hilton E-mailed to break the news of her first nomination. When Adele realized that she had been nominated for four Grammy Awards, "I locked myself in the bathroom and cried for an hour!" she remembers. "Then my agent—who was crying, too—came over," she says, adding, with characteristically deadpan drollery, "He was really stingy and brought round a bottle of champagne that I'd bought him for his birthday."
In Los Angeles for the Grammy Awards, Adele is as independent as ever. She eschews the industry parties, and instead, she and her new beau (a soft-spoken London lad with the looks of Michael York in Cabaret) have gone to catch up on the movies—Doubt, The Wrestler, Milk.
Her mother is not here to see her, and Adele guiltily confesses that she hid her passport. "It would be great to have her here," she explains, "but I feel really awkward if she's around when I'm working." Instead, she rings her from the red carpet to announce that she has won her first Grammy (for Best Female Pop Vocal Performance). Her mother just screams (it would be difficult to hear anything else above the roar). By the time she performs, Adele has beaten out the Jonas Brothers and her friend Duffy for Best New Artist.
After the ceremony, she skips the Woodstock-themed official Grammy after-party and what promises to be the achingly cool after-after-party that Coldplay have told her about down in Santa Monica. Instead she repairs to an In-N-Out Burger on Venice Boulevard. Her publicist Benny Tarantini takes the order. "Maybe I should get two milkshakes," she says, laughing. "To match me Grammys!"