In the nearly two years since Lily Allen's last album, the singer has encountered change more often than Barack Obama's speechwriter. An interview with her used to consist of a pizza-and-beer encounter in her manager's office; it's now been replaced with a tête-à-tête over tea in her swanky new flat in a nice part of North London, one of the more obvious benefits of the worldwide stardom brought by her hit debut album, "Alright, Still." Meanwhile, that management firm -- Empire Artist Management -- is no longer in charge of Allen's affairs, replaced by Todd Interland of Twenty-First Artists.
Her label, too, has been ripped apart at the seams. She was one of the last acts broken by the old artist-friendly, financially profligate EMI and will be one of the first to test the brave new world of global artist priorities, synergized marketing campaigns -- and vastly reduced scented-candle budgets.
And if all that wasn't enough for the average 23-year-old British pop phenomenon to deal with, she's also had to cope with having every aspect of her life documented in lurid -- and occasionally invasive -- detail by a U.K. tabloid press seemingly incapable of distinguishing between nightclub high jinks and personal distress. Both have wound up serving as entertainment over the nation's cornflakes.
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