Playing to Win

by Jeff Apter

  Clearly inspired, Farnham even co-wrote one track with Goble, ‘Jillie’s Song’, an ode to his wife of seven years, a woman who’d been by his side as his career bottomed out – a ‘pretty lady’, in Farnham’s simple words. When he played it to her, Jillian wasn’t sure how to react: she felt he’d been a tad generous with his praise. John had idealised her. ‘I’m not that great,’ she told him.

  Still, the emotions were heartfelt and John sang the hell out of it, proving that, when inspired, he had a fair grasp of the songwriter’s trade. John’s claw-fisted playing on ‘Help!’, which he thrashed out on a pianola at home, helped give that track, a feature of Uncovered, a distinctively Farnham flavour. These two contributions alone proved he wasn’t taking the same approach as in the past, when he’d rock up to the studio, sing what he was told to, and then race off to the next engagement.

  John appeared on The Don Lane Show once again, around the time of Uncovered’s release, crooning Goble’s piano-powered ballad ‘Please Don’t Ask Me’, a song that would be a staple of his live set for years to come. This was the more sophisticated, grown-up John Farnham on full display: his fair hair was shining, not a strand out of place, his jacket was a conservative ash-grey, and he wore a blue collared shirt underneath. Eyes closed most of the time, he sang as if it was the last song on earth – by the final note he seemed close to tears. Once again, John proved just how great an interpreter he was.

  Come July 1980, ‘Help!’, Uncovered’s first single, was scaling the charts. It would peak at number eight and chart for almost four months. Finally, a Top 10 hit. John hadn’t had that experience since 1973’s ‘Everything Is Out of Season’. The Top 40 in July was a curious mixture of rock stalwarts (Paul McCartney’s ‘Coming Up’, Billy Joel’s ‘It’s Still Rock and Roll to Me’) and new wave acts, including locals Flowers and The Dugites. But with such sonic melodramas as ‘You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling’ from Long John Baldry (featuring Kathi McDonald) and Bette Midler’s ‘The Rose’ both riding high in the Top 40, and with belters like Michael Bolton and Whitney Houston soon to pounce, John, for the first time in his career, was slightly ahead of the game. At its essence ‘Help!’ was a precursor to the power ballads that would dominate the 1980s.

  ‘This is, quite simply, the best thing Johnny [sic] Farnham has done,’ wrote Fairfax music critic Madeleine d’Haeye. ‘It sets a high standard in phrasing, timing and expression. This is no longer a pop hit – Farnham has turned it into a cry from the heart.’ High praise.

  Three other singles, ‘Please Don’t Ask Me’, ‘She Says to Me’ and ‘She’s Everywhere’, were lifted from Uncovered over the next 12 months; none were big sellers, but they proved the record had depth. Uncovered sold 55,000 copies, not a bad return for Farnham and Wheatley, a steady first step together. The album hung about the charts for three months.

  John, however, wished he’d been a bit more bullish in the studio, admitting that he let Goble ‘lead me by the nose. [Uncovered] was the first album I put any serious input into, but looking back, I didn’t do as much as I could have.’

  He was being a bit tough on himself; it would have been incredibly difficult for anyone, let alone a guy staging a return, to challenge the opinion of the man who wrote ‘Reminiscing’ and whose work with LRB had dominated the US charts the past few years.

  In the press, the words ‘comeback’ and ‘resurrection’ were mentioned in every article relating to Farnham and Uncovered. ‘John Farnham Veteran at 31’ announced The Sydney Morning Herald. This sometimes upset John.

  ‘If the public see this as a comeback,’ he said to Peter Dean of The Australian Women’s Weekly, ‘then that’s the way it is.’ He hastened to add that he felt it was nothing but ‘journalistic bull’. Rare strong words. John, to his mind, hadn’t been away; he’d just fallen out of favour.

  ‘Farnham and his advisers,’ noted Dean, ‘have set their sights [with Uncovered] on a wider market, particularly the 18-to-35-year-old album-buying public.’ Farnham hinted at an assault on America, although ‘the right overseas offer hasn’t come along yet’.

  The album artwork, an image of John’s face obscured by a woman’s hands, one of his eyes partly visible between her brightly polished talons, seemed to be a comment on his recent invisibility. He looked like a man slowly, hesitantly, emerging into the light. It was an apt metaphor for where he was at in his career in 1980.

  Albums reviews were mainly favourable. ‘John Farnham’s Uncovered,’ noted The Sydney Morning Herald, ‘firmly underscores the professionalism of this articulate singer.’ The heavy involvement of LRB alumni did not go unnoticed. ‘The albums bears the Little River Band stamp of quality.’

  In the wake of the positive response to the album, and the fact ‘Help!’ was a hit, John returned to the road, but this time with a rock-solid band, including guitar wizard Emmanuel, himself a big Farnham fan, who described his new boss as ‘the best pop singer in the world’. The once empty houses now started to fill, but with a new audience.

  ‘What I’m doing now is totally different,’ John told a reporter backstage at a gig at Sydney Uni. He admitted that at some gigs older fans had rolled up expecting to hear ‘Sadie’. That wasn’t going to happen. ‘I’m not doing a cabaret act now; I’m doing a more contemporary thing. It’s virtually starting again.’

  ‘The atmosphere [at the gig],’ noted one reviewer, ‘was closer to AC/DC than Burt Bacharach. Gone is the middle of the road cabaret singer. Superseding him is a keener, stronger and more ambitious rock and roll performer.’ John covered songs from Toto, Christopher Cross and Bob Seger.

  When the John Farnham Band packed Melbourne’s Billboard nightclub in late September 1980, one of the many people sardined into the room was the striking actress Gaynor Martin, who’d become hugely popular through her role on the hit Crawfords soapie Skyways. Glenn Wheatley met Martin for the first time that night. It seemed that John wasn’t alone; Wheatley’s future was also looking pretty damned bright.

  Oddly, after the successful ‘rebranding’ that was Uncovered, John’s next step was a sideways move. Uncovered may have been an original work (even the reworked ‘Help!’ felt new) and a clear creative step forward for John, but Farnham and Byrne, the show that debuted on ABC TV on 16 August 1980, was a flashback to John’s middle-of-the-road past, a safe commercial bet. That’s not to say it was a bad show; it was a smartly produced 50 minutes of family-friendly good times, directed by Grant Rule (one of the brains behind the trailblazing Countdown) and Ric Birch, later to find fame as executive producer of the 2000 Sydney Olympic Games ceremonies. Four choreographers assisted with the many musical set pieces, which featured 30 dancers and a sizeable crew. But Farnham and Byrne blazed no creative trails.

  As The Australian Women’s Weekly noted when the show premiered: ‘Farnham and Byrne centres on two artists doing what they do best – singing. There are no corny comedy sketches or fool-around scenes to create boredom. Just lots of music and dancing, which makes for good solid entertainment.’

  Guests included Kiwi cabaret king Ricky May, Doug Parkinson, Angela Ayers and Normie Rowe, as well as Farnham’s friend and former Queen of Pop Colleen Hewett – all dependable crowd-pleasers. Debbie Byrne was a recent Queen of Pop, winning the TV Week crown in 1974 and 1975.

  It wasn’t an easy gig. For three months straight John’s working day would begin at 6.30 a.m. with several hours of make-up and then he was straight onto the set. Taping continued until 5.30 p.m. Then the two stars would sit down to chew over likely music for future episodes. Each show comprised 12 songs, mostly covers of contemporary hits; they needed loads of music.

  ‘It was hard work, bloody hard work,’ said John.

  The stars fulsomely talked up each other’s talents.

  ‘[Debbie’s] singing and dancing up a storm,’ John said from the ABC set. ‘I’m knocked out by her talent. [And] everyone’s having a ball.’

  ‘This is the first time I’ve worked with John,’ added a beaming Byrne,
who brought her young daughter, Arja, into the studio every day, perhaps stirring up some paternal feelings in John. ‘I’ve just discovered I can dance better than I thought I could.’

  The show’s set pieces were slick, ’80s-style TV. For their take on Billy Joel’s ‘The Stranger’, the producers recreated a retro-looking diner, Farnham and Byrne surrounded by gyrating teddy boys and rockers, decked out in winklepicker shoes (deja vu for John, who sported a pair as a teenager) and stovepipe pants, their hair slick with product. So far, so Happy Days. John, his own hair sculpted into an eye-gouging pompadour, even briefly nursed a ciggie, à la Olivia Newton-John in Grease. As always, he dug deep for the song, which was a good fit for his voice.

  For a ‘Superstition’ production piece – reaffirming John’s love for Stevie Wonder – things got a little more risqué. John’s sensible pullover and slacks were in stark contrast to the dancers’ skin-tight lycra, drag-queen make-up and blatantly homoerotic overtones – four shirtless Village People types in leather pants was quite a bold statement for Auntie ABC in 1980, let alone for a show starring John Farnham. John spent much of the clip warily keeping his distance, quite literally, from the hairy-chested dancers, who came on like back-alley hustlers.

  John got in a plug for Uncovered, singing Goble’s ‘She Says to Me’ during one episode, with the utmost earnestness. There were no topless male dancers in sight this time. Afterwards, John explained that ‘She Says’ was inspired by Goble’s young daughter, Alicia.

  ‘Can I have one please, Graeham?’ Byrne asked.

  ‘What, a baby?’ Farnham joked.

  ‘No – a good song.’

  Despite the show’s obvious polish and broad appeal, Farnham and Byrne lasted only one season. Farnham’s partner was on the brink of a major heroin addiction, which would soon become big news: Byrne was busted in 1982 and fell off the radar for some time. And John? He was just a few steps away from some major changes of his own.

  9

  PLAYING TO WIN

  John had a dream start to 1981. He and his band opened for his idol, Stevie Wonder, when the African-American soul and pop superstar toured Oz, for the first time, in April. Wonder was riding high on the success of his latest hit album, Hotter Than July. John was thrilled to simply be in the same room as the man; yet here he was, sharing the bill. Better still, Wonder invited Farnham up on stage each night to help with the encore. It was a career high for John, a huge moment. He couldn’t believe his good fortune.

  Off stage, John and Jillian had been trying, and failing, to have children pretty much since the time they were wed. They’d grown close to Findlay and Hewett’s kids, and hoped for a brood of their own. Jillian had miscarried in 1979 and they’d tried artificial insemination, working with a doctor who’d had success with primates at the Melbourne Zoo, but so far they remained childless.

  ‘There was nothing wrong with either of us,’ John pointed out, ‘[but] it was something that just didn’t happen.’ They decided to adopt.

  Then in early 1981, very soon after the death of Jill’s father, Robert, the couple discovered with surprise that Jillian was pregnant. Their finances were a disaster – they’d finally offloaded their restaurant, Backstage, losing something like $500,000 on the investment – but becoming parents, well, that was priceless, way more important than anything else. They were thrilled.

  John had a theory about when and where their son was conceived. He was sure that it happened one night in the country, when he and Jill excused themselves from a party, went for a walk and ‘one thing led to another’. Before you could say ‘chain reaction’, John’s bum was protruding from the back of his car as he and Jill got down to business.

  Robbie Farnham was born on 27 September 1981.

  In early February 1982 John, just back from a vacation with Jill and baby Robbie, fielded a call from Glenn Wheatley.

  ‘John,’ his manager asked after a quick catch-up, ‘how would you feel about joining the Little River Band?’

  The line went quiet for a few seconds.

  ‘When can I start?’ John asked.

  LRB? He was in. The opportunity was too good to resist, for a number of reasons. First and foremost, he loved the band, having seen them in action in Vegas. John also saw it as a chance to perform to new, international audiences, Wheatley having tried and failed to garner an overseas deal for Uncovered. John was growing weary of the same Aussie clubs, the same faces. He knew some of the LRB guys – Goble, Birtles and Pellicci – from Uncovered, which would help his transition into an established band. And maybe he could offset some of his recent financial disasters by joining such a successful group. There were loads of positives.

  ‘Farnham Joins Million Dollar Band’ read the headline when John’s news went public. But the bottom line for his new venture proved a little less tantalising than John, or the press, could have realised at the time.

  The Little River Band had already come a long way by the time John officially joined the group. Wheatley had first spotted them in a dingy London pub in 1974 operating under the name Mississippi. Their members at the time included singer-songwriters Birtles and Goble, as well as drummer Pellicci. Some of the guys, like Farnham, were from immigrant families – more ten-pound Poms – so there was some common ground.

  Glenn Shorrock, yet another offspring of ten-pound Poms, was also in London in 1974. Shorrock was a vastly different character to those in the band, especially Goble – he was a piss-taker, mouthy, always on the lookout for a party, whereas Goble was pedantic and detail-orientated, with a keen interest in numerology – but Shorrock sensed a kindred musical spirit and a fellow traveller and agreed to join the group as singer.

  As for handsome Dutch-born Birtles, whose real name was Gerard Bertelkamp, he’d been a member of Oz pop-rockers Zoot, who were once managed by Darryl Sambell and sometimes shared bills with Farnham. The Zoot were The Masters Apprentices’ key rivals, so he and Wheatley had some lively history.

  In 1974 Farnham’s old housemate Wheatley was only passing through London; he was about to slowly make his way back to Australia. (During his return journey he witnessed the train wreck that was Farnham and his band on the beach at Surfers.) But by the time Wheatley and the four musicians reconnected back in Melbourne, their master plan was in place: America or bust. Wheatley’s experiences with the Bay City Union and The Masters Apprentices would prove incredibly helpful in fulfilling his dream of managing the first Oz band to crack America while still based in Australia.

  Birtles, Goble, Pellicci and Shorrock bonded over poverty and ambition, especially ambition. Everyone, Wheatley included, had served their apprenticeship. And when their voices joined in harmony, well, it was pretty special. They also had a good stock of new songs ready to unveil. They had a sound that seemed tailor-made for the US market.

  ‘We were unified through the music we were writing and performing,’ said Birtles. ‘We were also friends in those early days because we started with nothing between us.’

  While still on the dole – seemingly another rite of passage for a struggling Aussie band with big dreams – they played their first gig as the Little River Band at Melbourne’s Martinis Hotel on 20 March 1975. By the end of April the Little River Band had already played 20 shows. They’d barely stop to take a breath for the next 10 years, playing more than 1300 concerts and recording 10 albums, a hefty load that would break the toughest of bands. Yet LRB, as they came to be known, seemed to revel in the work.

  Their debut single, ‘Curiosity Killed the Cat’, was a Top 20 Oz hit in September 1975, around the same time John Farnham’s career was starting to flounder. But America was their shared destiny, their common goal, as Birtles recalled.

  ‘We all felt that our style of music was more suited to the States.’

  Showing the type of relentless commitment that he would display when working with Farnham, Wheatley maxed out his American Express card in the States in 1975, as he wore a new path up and down the Sunset Strip, trying to sign LR
B directly to a US label. This would be a first for an Australian band. By early 1976 he had a deal in place with the LA-based Capitol Records, the label of the legendary Beach Boys and the US home of the Beatles. Helen Reddy, too.

  LRB soon also had the ear of influential Florida radio vet Bill Bartlett, a programmer for stations WPDQ-FM and WAIV. Bartlett was a big fan of Australian music – he’d also ardently promoted the work of AC/DC and Skyhooks – and repeatedly played the eight-minute version of ‘It’s a Long Way There’, a standout from the band’s debut album.

  LRB didn’t waste any time in getting to the States. They played their first American show on 15 October 1976 at the Madison University in Harrisonburg, Virginia, opening up for the Average White Band. Wheatley had exactly three dates locked in when they arrived that winter, but the band stayed for months, operating at a loss but gaining vital exposure.

  As ‘Long Way’ started to climb the US charts, breaking into the Top 30, the band was ecstatic. Wheatley travelled with a suitcase; inside was a copy of Billboard, a sales sheet and a map of America. Like a general marshalling his troops, he was forever plotting the band’s next move.

  That first US tour alone, which kept LRB on the road until the week before Christmas 1976, encompassed 50 shows. They returned in June 1977 for another 50 gigs, opening up for everyone from the Eagles to Fleetwood Mac, the Steve Miller Band to America and Supertramp. The biggest names of the 1970s.