I missed my father when I couldn’t see him, but loved and respected my mother for working so hard for us. Soon she was able to put a down payment on a house in Jolimont, far from University High School where I was now a student. Before that we lived near the Melbourne Zoo and the move meant I would miss my former ‘clocks’. Dawn was welcomed by the beautiful song of the exotic birds, while in the evening I would hear the roar of the lions.
Talk about natural background music.
My clever mum made the move and kept us financially sound. She even transformed the bottom half of the house into an apartment, which she rented out to help pay the mortgage and give us some additional funds. I never knew Mum was so good with maths. Thanks, Grandpa!
As for me, I wasn’t the studious type. Maybe it was because I missed my father, or the fact that I wasn’t that academic, but I wasn’t enjoying school. I felt as if everyone else was getting it and I wasn’t. I scored very high on intelligence tests, but had trouble concentrating on my lessons. Looking back, I think I was much more affected by the divorce than I realised. I just couldn’t retain what they were teaching me, which was stressful because I still wanted to make my family proud. It didn’t help that the headmistress of my school was extremely strict.
‘There will be no patent leather shoes,’ she insisted. ‘Boys will be able to see the reflection in those shoes and be able to look up your dresses!’
It’s funny to mull over what passed as important morals of the day. For instance, we could never wear red because it was just ‘too exciting’ for the males in the vicinity. If only they knew I would someday record a song called ‘Physical’!
Luckily for me, singing didn’t require a degree, although it did require a little good fortune and a big break. When I was fourteen, I thought I’d found that break when I met three girls (and still dear friends), Carmel, Freya and Denise, who would visit a cute boy who lived in a loft opposite my upstairs bedroom window. The girls would constantly see me sitting alone in my room doing homework and it wasn’t long before I left the book work and started talking to them through my window. Mum was at work and, as a latchkey kid, I was bored and welcomed any human contact.
They were sweet girls who lived to sing (like me), so we started a singing group that we called the Sol 4. Our wardrobes consisted of denim jeans, hessian jackets and black turtlenecks. At the time, we were all quite stylish and modern with our long, beatnik hair, imitating our favourite folk and jazz musical icons.
Soon, we were ‘working’ together as a group and booking ourselves into local jazz spots. It wasn’t the safest of jobs. After one show, the audience threw pennies at us. We didn’t know if it was a tip or a message to get off the stage! Another time, there was even a gang war between the ‘jazzers’ like us and the ‘rockers’. One of my girlfriends was thrown on the road by one of the rockers. There was no provocation. They just shouted: ‘You should like rock and roll!’
Believe me, I did!
Soon my mother felt like I was spending way too much time singing and not enough time studying, so she put an end to it – or so she thought. My sister Rona, now the mother of three young children, was married to a man named Brian Goldsmith, who owned a local coffee shop. Brian had a folk singer in his restaurant on the weekend, Hans Gorg, and I was allowed to go watch him perform with Rona keeping a close eye on me. I remember sitting at the edge of the stage and singing harmonies.
One day, Hans invited me on stage to actually sing with him and his guitar. Heaven. Pieces clicked into place. I had found my everything.
Well, not quite my everything, but that was about to happen! Rona had met a talented young singer/entertainer named Ian Turpie and wanted to introduce him to me even though I was only fifteen.
Ian watched me sing with Hans and this led to us singing together – and then dating. He was my first boyfriend and my first love.
Not long after, Rona introduced me to something else that would be wonderful and life-changing. There was a show on Saturday morning on Australian TV called Kevin Dennis Auditions, hosted by a famous local car dealer. Someone would sing, dance or do something strange (often with questionable talent) and a panel of judges would either give them a thumbs-down, or a gong, which was a thumbs-up. You prayed for the sound of that gong, a ringing endorsement that you were indeed worthy.
One day Rona asked me the magic question: did I want to go on the show?
I asked Ian if he could accompany me on guitar (he was a wonderful guitar player) for one of my favourite songs, ‘Summertime’. We turned up at eight in the morning and I faced a panel that looked like they would be tough. I stepped on their stage for the first time, mustered my confidence and sang.
Gong!
Gong!
Gong!
It was the best score one could get! As a result, Evie Hayes, one of the judges and a famous American TV personality in those days, phoned my mum to ask if she could manage my career. What career? All I had was a dream, three gongs and a live studio audience that gave me a round of applause!
Mum was always fast when it came to protecting her young.
‘Oh, vell, I’m managing Olivia at ze moment, sank you very much,’ she said.
All of a sudden, just like that, I had a career and a manager, sank you very much.
You know all the answers.
You know what is right.
Mum would often tell me that, as a little girl, I sang perfectly in tune. ‘You sing like an angel,’ she said. I always made my mother and my sister cry when I sang, but in a good way (hopefully). By the time I was three, if you sang to me or played a song, I could sing it right back to you in perfect pitch. We had a big radio in the kitchen and I’d listen for hours, memorising the words of my favourite songs, and then insisting on putting on mini-concerts for my family. These were ‘professional’ concerts despite the venue, the zero cost of admission, and the wardrobe being whatever I could steal from Mum’s closet.
Although I loved singing, I was shy – I found it difficult to do so randomly in public and would only perform for my family. I would have to learn to conquer my stage fright. One of my first public performances was as Lady Mary, the lead in the school play, The Honorable Mr Crichton. I did it, but it was a bit painful although I loved it.
As for becoming a professional singer, though, it wasn’t in my early plans. I thought I’d do something with animals, like become a mounted police officer who would get paid to ride horses. The only problem was women weren’t allowed to be mounted police in those days. Years later, when I was on tour for The Main Event with John Farnham and Anthony Warlow, I was invited by the Adelaide Mounted Police to ride with them. I was finally able to live that dream! Another plan was to become a vet, but that didn’t work since I failed maths at school – which was hysterical considering my grandfather. Well, they say maths and music are related, so thank goodness one of them worked for me. If all else failed, I figured I’d muck out horse stables (something I do now with my little Harry and Winston, my miniature horses).
Amazingly, I also failed music in high school, earning an F for the sight-reading part of it. I’m embarrassed to say I’m still not that good at it. The main issue back then was that I was thinking about other things and couldn’t focus after my parents split. I could learn music by ear, but, with my mind wandering, my heart just wasn’t in it.
That was only a sign of things to come when it came to my relationship with high school. It’s hard to focus when you’re emotionally upset and our family being scattered left me feeling uncertain.
I always found my peace in music and writing poetry. It wasn’t long before my poems turned into songs. The first song I ever wrote was with my godmother Pearl’s daughter Cara. I was around twelve years old.
Why, oh, why did you go away from me?
It seems like years to me.
Why does it have to be?
My heart is a-breaking
’Cause you’ve been a-taking
The love you said was
meant for me.
And darlin’, love ain’t meant for three.
Looking back, those are pretty heavy lyrics for twelve!
At age fifteen, most young girls have a life that revolves around school, boys and the occasional argument with their mother. I didn’t have time for all that conventional teenage angst – apart from the arguments with Mum, of course. After my success on Kevin Dennis Auditions, I was hired as a temporary stand-in on a TV program called The Happy Show, where I played the part of Luv’ly Livvy – replacing Luv’ly Ann who was getting married over the Christmas holidays. I told stories, sang, danced and gave out prizes with my cohorts, Princess Panda, Happy Hammond and Cousin Roy. It was make-believe, joyous fun and I never wanted that gig to end.
Forget about any stage fright. The kids in the audiences were enthusiastic and adorable, plus it was exciting to film at a real TV studio. When the real Luv’ly Ann returned from her honeymoon to take her part back (darn it), I didn’t have time to be sad about hanging up my Livvy costume.
In a blink, I was offered a full-time job of my own on a show called Time for Terry, hosted by an Irishman named Terry O’Neill, where I was also able to sing with my new boyfriend, Ian.
A quick word about boyfriends: My father never wanted me to date, while my mother was a bit more lenient. She was still against me going out with someone, but I was at that age where limits were going to be tested.
A boyfriend wasn’t the only sign I was growing up. My boundaries were allowed to stretch when I hit the road and travelled to Sydney to take part in another talent show that I had auditioned for in Melbourne called Sing, Sing, Sing, hosted by none other than Johnny O’Keefe, who was known as the Elvis Presley of Australia. His hits included ‘Wild One’ and ‘Shout!’ Johnny had dramatic curly blond hair pushed back on his forehead and a wide, wild smile that made all the young Aussie girls swoon and scream.
I was nervous to meet Johnny, let alone sing for him. And back in those days, it wasn’t considered odd or dangerous to try out in places other than the TV studio. Ian came with me to Johnny’s hotel room where I would audition in front of the Aussie Elvis and his producer. Ian played guitar and I sang a well-rehearsed ‘Summertime’. When it was over, Johnny said, ‘Yes, you got it.’
The thing I remember most is that he ordered these turkey sandwiches for all of us slathered with sweet cranberry sauce. They were incredible and I’ve loved them ever since that first bite.
A few months later, it was arranged that I’d go to a recording studio to sing the song for the first show which would be filmed in Sydney.
I stepped into a recording studio where Johnny shook my hand and pointed to the spot in the centre of the room where they had a little sound booth set up with a microphone. A breath later and the room went silent. (No pressure!)
I sang an age-appropriate Liza Minnelli song from the musical Best Foot Forward, called ‘What Do You Think I Am?’ It was fitting because I stood at a mic in my starched school uniform and softly crooned a song about a young girl asking someone (defiantly) if they thought she was just a baby. Part of the lyrics even asked the audience to (wink, wink) see if I was all grown up because I was using Maybelline mascara now. The truth in real life: yes, yes, yes, I was just a baby!
My nerves jumped when Johnny put up a hand mid-song, which meant I was to stop singing. Didn’t he like my voice? Did I do something wrong? My heart sank all the way down to my polished black Mary Jane shoes.
‘Livvy, stop right there,’ Johnny commanded. ‘Not everyone in the world knows what Maybelline is. Why don’t you sing, “What do you think I’m using Vaseline for?”’
Sweet relief. All he wanted was a lyric change. I could do that!
I was so naive – I did it and all the guys fell down laughing as I sang about that good old Vaseline. In the end, Johnny was just pulling a good-natured prank and being a bit naughty. That big smile went wide and he doubled over cackling as I continued to sing my little heart out. I don’t even know if I finally got it! I was mortified and my skin turned bright pink.
Welcome to the music business.
I was thrilled when I made the final cut of Johnny’s talent contest singing my favourites by Dionne Warwick. Little did I know then that later in my life, I would actually sing with her on a TV special! On that day, I crooned the hit ‘Anyone Who Had a Heart’. To my amazement, I ended up winning the talent contest, and the grand prize was a trip to England by boat and some spending money.
This started the final struggle with Mum over my education. I had just finished The Happy Show over the summer holidays and Mum wanted me to return to school to finish my studies. I took my dilemma to one of my favourite teachers, Mr Hogan.
‘What should I do?’ I asked him.
In my heart, I wanted to jump straight into my future as a singer even though I still had one year left of high school.
‘Liv, if you’re going to be thinking of singing and trying to get through this last school year at the same time, it’s not going to happen. Follow your passion,’ he said.
Those were great words of wisdom – and he provided me with clarity. Thank you, sir!
Mum wasn’t thrilled, but she understood that I was forging a path and doing something that I truly loved. As my manager now, she was adamant that, if I wasn’t going to finish school, the next step was to go to London and take my career seriously while going to the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts (RADA). Underneath it all, I think she was really trying to get me away from Ian. She felt I was too young to have a serious boyfriend.
Maybe that’s why, all of a sudden, Mum was all in to go, but she had a few rules. She didn’t want me to just go to London for a quick visit. If I wanted to become a singer, she knew that I – make that ‘we’ – needed to move there for a decent period of time and really try to get my career off the ground.
Hang on! Move away from everything I know, and my boyfriend? Not happening!
We fought; I cried; I begged. ‘I’m not going!’ I yelled, with all my teenage hormones fuelling my anger at being sent away for an extended period. It felt tragic! I couldn’t understand why I had to leave now when I had a local TV show, a boyfriend and a career. There’d even been a story about me in the local paper! Wasn’t that enough?
‘Go,’ Mum said. ‘If you want to sing, then take this chance. There might never be another.’
I wish I could say that I started packing, but I was stubborn. Then life, like it often does, actually intervened and decided for me.
My prize of that free boat ticket was expiring soon (thank goodness) and having that date in mind cemented my future. It wasn’t long before Mum and I were ready to set sail and Ian was crying on the dock. My heart was breaking as my boyfriend watched me sail away. I promised him I would be back in three months, but in adolescent years that was an eternity.
Teenage angst hit hard and I was miserable the whole way to England. The only thing I remember was being named Queen Neptune at the equator line, which was a little boat celebration where the newly named King Neptune doused everyone with water. As queen, I just had to stand there and watch.
I’m frowning in the picture.
Swinging London in the 1960s was in the middle of a youth-driven cultural revolution, with a flourishing art, music and fashion scene that influenced the entire world. Exports included The Beatles, and miniskirts worn by Twiggy and Jean Shrimpton. There was a new ‘mod’ way of living, and music was at the forefront of the scene thanks to The Who, The Kinks and The Rolling Stones, to name a few.
What a time to grow up, and what a place to do it.
If only I felt that way. I forgot to mention that my boyfriend had given me a three-month ultimatum: if I wasn’t back by then he’d start dating other people.
It was my first heartbreak – with many more to come!
Mum and I were plunked right in the middle of what should have been an exciting new adventure as we settled into our new flat in Hampstead, but I remained sullen. Our new home was a t
eeny-tiny, one-bedroom place where I slept on a fold-out couch in the living room. The cost was nine pounds a week, which we could afford since I had put some money away from my TV career at home. Thank goodness Bank Day had made quite an impression on me, so I remembered to save this time. (No more lollies for me!)
Mum and I still struggled with the issue of schooling. She wanted me to go to the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts; I didn’t want to push a pencil or crack a book ever again. She wanted me to study acting; I only wanted to sing. In retrospect, I should have listened to her.
Chaperone Rona was also living in England now. She wasn’t a bad influence since I wasn’t interested in the sixties sex, drugs and rock’n’roll lifestyle. I couldn’t even stomach another cigarette. Instead, I lived out any wild instincts vicariously through Rona.
I wasn’t exactly impressed with London – at least not at first.
‘Everything is so old and dirty,’ I said in dismay. Looking back now, I can’t believe I ever thought or said it! I love the beauty of those worn, lived-in buildings with such magical history. At sixteen, however, the lasting importance of architecture wasn’t exactly on my mind.
What was on my mind was Ian. Much to Mum’s dismay, I didn’t forget about him, even though I knew he had his own life back in Australia and wasn’t waiting for his long-distance girlfriend to return.
I must have been quite a handful, as my mum worked every day to make a living in London while I schemed and plotted a way to get back to Melbourne to be with Ian. I even secretly booked my passage several times, but Mum was one step ahead and always cancelled my reservations.
The clock was ticking on those three months. I needed to go home and Mum making sure I was ticket-less left me furious with her. I even went so far as to try to become a ward of the court, so my mother wouldn’t have jurisdiction over me. Denied!
All I wanted was to be with Ian, but my mother blocked it all from happening. What did I know at fifteen? Answer: absolutely nothing about real life or men. But try telling that to a teenager in love who was thousands of miles away from her boyfriend and crying her eyes out at night while reading the mushy letters we’d been writing each other almost every single day.
Don't Stop Believin' Page 3
