by Jeff Apter
It was an intriguing contrast between showman Farnham, always ready for a laugh, and the controlling Goble, a contrast that would grow more apparent during John’s time with the band.
John was in great form at the third of those Concert Hall gigs, on 9 February. Drenched in sweat, his hair falling in his eyes, he led the band through a roaring take on the late-era Easybeats’ belter, ‘St. Louis’, their final song of the night. By now the crowd was out of their seats, throwing themselves about the place. This was a very different LRB in action: high voltage, high energy, claiming an Oz rock great as their very own. Even Goble, in cut-off shirt like the rest of the guys, flashed a grin as they tore it up.
‘Come on,’ yelled John, gesturing towards the crowd, and, duly inspired, they went crazy. It was a big night; the band was at its best.
John and band soon returned to The Don Lane Show, for Lane’s opening program for the year. The Lanky Yank, just like LRB, had recently returned from America.
‘I was at Universal Studios,’ Lane told his audience on 14 February, ‘and I gotta tell you, all everyone talked about was Little River Band’s performance at the amphitheatre there. They packed it out.’
This time the band was plugging ‘The Other Guy’, their next single. Farnham, as usual, looked great, sporting a casual dark jacket, jeans and white shoes; Goble to his left, beamed, while Birtles moved in from Farnham’s right to join in the chorus. There was a genuine sense of musical communion in action; they were the holy trinity of harmonisers.
The over-the-top audience response made it clear than Farnham and the band were on safe home turf; this was their crowd. John in particular was treated like their adopted son, just back from the rock-and-roll frontline.
Lane asked the band whether they’d had any apprehension about their recent US tour, John’s American debut.
Goble said no, but Farnham felt otherwise. ‘Speak for yourself, mate,’ he laughed, glancing at Goble. ‘I get fairly toey, anyway, but that was an amazing experience, just great. Credit to the guys.’
Lane mentioned how he’d spotted John and his son, Robbie, in the Channel 9 canteen earlier in the day.
‘He looks exactly like him,’ Lane said of Robbie. ‘Even sings like him.’
At this point baby Robbie was brought in from the wings, a dummy lodged in his mouth, as the crowd oohed and aahed. Robbie clapped his hands and then shrieked into his father’s microphone. Farnham was genuinely chuffed, the proudest parent in Australia.
But he didn’t have much downtime to savour with his family; between joining LRB in 1982 and his eventual departure in early 1986, John would front the band for a staggering 385 live shows. He barely had time to draw breath.
There were complications early on for John and LRB. On stage, Farnham had always been a man of the people – physical, dynamic, very willing to get the audience in on the action. An entertainer. For Goble and Birtles, however, that was a little too flashy for LRB 1980s-style; they may have been rocking much harder, but they feared not being taken seriously. However, this didn’t stop John – until one night he pulled up abruptly on stage, like a lame horse. His microphone lead had been shortened, without John knowing. There’d be no Farnham antics tonight. And no joking with the crowd, either.
As Glenn Wheatley later revealed, John had been given orders. ‘The word was handed down from Beeb and Graeham [to John] not to be funny.’
In that slyly revealing Roy and HG interview, John admitted he’d heard the ‘same rumour’ about Goble and Birtles’ rules and regulations, eventually confessing that it was true.
‘Some nights, though, I’d have 60 feet of mic cable and I’d take off, but the next night I’d have six feet and I’d take off like I’d been roped.’ His microphone stand was sometimes secured to the stage with gaffer tape, which he angrily ripped off.
‘The gaffer tape wasn’t going to stop John Farnham,’ wrote Glenn Wheatley.
Every night, John would leave the stage soaked; he worked incredibly hard, regardless of the length of his microphone cable.
American audiences didn’t seem to mind the switch of frontmen – Farnham laughed about it, wondering if they even noticed – but the same couldn’t be said for Capitol, the group’s North American label. The Capitol suits preferred Shorrock. According to Wheatley, Capitol ‘liked the blend of harmonies created by Glenn, Beeb and Graeham. It had been a successful formula.’ John needed to work extra hard to keep the label onside; he knew that without their support, LRB would struggle to be heard.
If this wasn’t enough for John to contend with, there was also the matter of songwriting and publishing royalties, the most lucrative aspect of life in the band. The power struggle between Goble, Shorrock and Birtles had been tough enough, with each competing to get their own songs recorded and earn more royalties. John wasn’t in their same league as a songwriter; it took two albums before he had a song cut by the band, the dynamic title track of 1985’s Playing to Win. (Admittedly, the songs for 1983’s The Net had already been written by the time he joined the band.)
Even though ‘Playing to Win’, a rocking anthem and a real statement of intent, was John’s, by the time it had been through the LRB production blender, every member of the band had a share. Goble broke down the lyrics, word by painful word, to determine who owned what and what percentage of royalties they deserved. John eventually received just 55.5% of the best song he’d ever written. It was ludicrous.
There was also the issue of the band’s deep debt to Capitol. Even though their records had been selling strongly, they’d racked up some serious studio costs – hiring George Martin, for instance, didn’t come cheap; ditto, recording in the Caribbean. Keeping them on the road was also hugely costly – pretty much everything they earned through the turnstiles went towards paying their bills. There was also the matter of ‘earning out’ the substantial advances paid when Wheatley renegotiated their recording contract, completed before John was in the band.
Joining LRB wasn’t proving to be lucrative for John – not unless they had a monster hit record. He continued to struggle financially – at one lowpoint, he and Jill couldn’t afford to take their son, Robbie, to McDonald’s to celebrate his birthday. It was that tough.
The Net, the first LRB album recorded with Farnham out front, was released in June 1983. It definitely offered up a different band to the one best known for ‘Help Is on Its Way’ and ‘It’s a Long Way There’, a group that had built its reputation as a vocal guitar-pop outfit. Surprises came from the get-go, via the juicy horns and slightly disco-tinged guitars of the opener, ‘You’re Driving Me out of My Mind’. ‘Mr Socialite’ and ‘Easy Money’, meanwhile, with their ever-so-jaded, end-of-night feel, hinted at late-career Eagles. ‘The Danger Sign’ and ‘Falling’ were also left turns for the band, favouring heavy guitars, dark undercurrents and hints of prog-rock.
To his credit, whatever John was handed by key songwriter Goble, who had a hand in seven of the album’s 11 tracks, he tackled with his usual commitment and depth of emotion, even when the song did not necessarily seem to fit him as a singer. His voice is barely recognisable on the plodding title track, with its weirdly prescient lyric about the Big Brother-ish dangers of ‘The Net’.
That’s not to say the band neglected the things it did well: such standouts as ‘We Two’ and ‘Down on the Border’, despite John’s shortcomings, capitalised on their trademark blend of voices and harmonies and platinum-plated guitar hooks. ‘The Border’ was swiftly added to a concurrent Greatest Hits release, while ‘We Two’ was the first North American single lifted from the album, reaching a so-so peak of 22 in the US charts. (It also became the name of a company formed to represent LRB a few years down the line; clearly it resonated with the band.) ‘You’re Driving Me out of My Mind’, The Net’s second single, struggled to 35 in America.
In Australia, ‘Down on the Border’ reached the Top 10, while the album made it to number 11. But ‘We Two’ barely scraped the Top 50. The figures didn’t
lie: LRB was on a slow decline, even with a shiny new singer in place.
The music press were never LRB’s biggest fans – most American scribes wrote them off – and they didn’t hold back when The Net dropped.
Their new sound ‘seems forced and somewhat strained’, noted AllMusic’s Mike DeGagne.
‘The blame can’t be put completely on Farnham,’ he added, instead pointing the finger at the changing musical moods of the time, as new wave and slick pop started to rule the charts. Michael Jackson, The Police and Culture Club all dominated year-end lists for 1983. The heyday of The Eagles and that distinctive West Coast sound, mined so brilliantly by LRB, were over.
Rolling Stone magazine, meanwhile, slammed The Net with a one-and-a-half star rating. ‘Little River Band,’ they wrote, ‘produce a sound that has tremendous commercial appeal but only minimal artistic value’, thereby condemning them to the uncool pile for eternity.
As was their nature, the Little River Band kept touring around The Net’s release. They wrapped another Oz lap of honour in April 1983 with a televised Royal Gala Performance. John, who was fast getting used to singing for royalty, looked very sharp in a pink sports jacket and black leather duds, as he and the band rocked the song ‘D’ with gusto. They then toured Europe during May, before returning to the US in late June. The high-rating TV show Solid Gold, until recently hosted by expat Aussie Andy Gibb, was their first port of call. Then there were almost 50 more North American dates, which took them through to the end of August 1983, rounding out a very lively 12 months for John.
He barely had time to reflect, though, because the band flew to Japan and then back to America, where they toured heavily until late October. This time they topped their previous efforts, ending with four nights at the Universal Amphitheater – shows attended by such stars as Rick Springfield, Dionne Warwick and Olivia Newton-John.
Yet backstage at the Universal there was no love in the green room. None at all. By the night of the final show, John was fed up. He’d had enough of the bickering, the restrictions placed on him by Birtles and Goble, and the pressure to keep touring while still not earning any real money. He also missed his family, terribly. Another interminable band meeting began, but rather than quietly absorb the latest airing of grievances, as he’d normally do, John exploded. Farnham directed his anger at Birtles, but he was really addressing the entire group.
‘Get out of my way,’ he roared. ‘You are stopping me getting on with my job and doing what I want to be able to do.’
According to Glenn Wheatley, John then turned around, headed for the stage and put in ‘the performance of his life’.
John was still seething after the Universal show. Fortunately it was the last night of the tour.
‘I’m sick of this bullshit,’ he growled backstage. ‘I’m not going to get dragged into this thing. I’m going to get on and do something.’
‘It was a major turning point in John Farnham’s career,’ noted Wheatley, and he was absolutely correct. For perhaps the first time, John was taking control, tolerating no bullshit. It was this clarity that would soon help him reignite his solo career.
Within days of that backstage dust-up, John Farnham returned solo to The Don Lane Show. But this was no ordinary episode; this was the final show of the Lanky Yank’s record-breaking series. It wouldn’t be a swan song without one more Farnham appearance, something the tuxedo-ed Lane made very clear in his intro, even if he couldn’t quite let go of the ‘Johnny’ tag.
‘I have to say, honestly, I have been a fan of Johnny Farnham since the days when I had my show in Sydney. He had a hit record called ‘Sadie (The Cleaning Lady)’ and boy I tell you, he has come a long, long way since then. He’s been involved with us for a long, long time, too.
‘I’ve always loved him as a solo performer; I thought he was one of the greatest talents ever produced in this country. So did the Little River Band, who decided he was going to be their new lead singer. The truth of the matter is that Johnny returned home early, just three days ago, to be with us. He’s been on a very successful tour of the USA with LRB. Like I said, only the best voice produced in this country. Ladies and gentlemen – Johnny Farnham.’
Backed by David Hirschfelder on piano, Farnham belted out ‘Help!’. A single spotlight was focused on him throughout, as he kept his eyes closed, lost in the song, squeezing every last emotional drop out of Lennon and McCartney’s cry of pain. Sure, the mustard-coloured jacket was an eyeful, but his performance was, as ever, heartfelt, and note perfect. Little did the enthusiastic studio audience know that John related to the lyric even more strongly now – he needed help to get through his current crisis with LRB.
‘What about that? Johnny Farnham!’ yelled Lane, as the song ended. The two embraced.
‘I gotta tell you, as long as I’ve done this show, it always frightens the life out of me,’ Farnham confessed, in a post-song interview.
‘Why is that?’ Lane asked.
‘Live television. I’m shaking like a leaf. I haven’t worked on my own for three years. If something goes wrong, I can’t turn around [to a bandmate] and go, “Ha! You blew it.” I can’t do that.’
‘How was the tour?’ Lane asked, after a beat.
‘Fantastic,’ insisted Farnham. But his forced smile suggested something else entirely.
It was during this fallow time with the Little River Band that John recorded what is now known within Farnham circles as the ‘lost album’.
In order to earn some extra cash while LRB was recording Playing to Win, John recorded 10 vocal tracks at a Hollywood studio without the band. American label Curb had intended to release some of this material on an album tentatively named Break the Ice, after the strongest track among the selection, but it never came to pass. Instead, most of the tracks gradually made their way onto film soundtracks, under John’s name, over the next few years – ‘With You’ became the love theme from the 1986 movie Rad, while ‘Justice for One’, which John co-wrote with American Sue Shifrin, turned up on the soundtrack to the movie Savage Streets, as did ‘Innocent Hearts’. ‘The Quiet Ones You Gotta Watch’, a track John and Wayne Nelson wrote for LRB but was rejected by the band, also made it to the Savage Streets soundtrack. A duet with the pop singer Rainey, ‘My World Is Empty Without You’, featured on the soundtrack to 1985’s Voyage of the Rock Aliens; ‘Running for Love’, meanwhile, made it to the Chevy Chase flick Fletch. The film The Slugger’s Wife featured ‘Love (It’s Just the Way It Goes’), which John sang with Sarah M. Taylor.
Most of these tracks were archetypal ’80s pop-rock in the style of such bands as Mr. Mister and Toto, more glossy than gritty, but with powerhouse vocals from John nonetheless. It’s interesting to think that if the Whispering Jack phenomenon hadn’t happened soon after these releases, John probably could have built a career in Hollywood, providing the type of lucrative voice-for-hire work from which such vocalists as Christopher Cross, Kenny Loggins and The Doobie Brothers’ Michael McDonald prospered greatly.
It was a very different LRB that resurfaced, three months after John’s Don Lane Show performance of ‘Help!’, for their next Australian odyssey, a solid five weeks of touring the east coast. Co-founder Birtles had quit, having lost his desire to keep touring, and underwhelmed by the harder sound the band was chasing. Drummer Pellicci was on his final lap, soon to be replaced by Cold Chisel drummer Steve Prestwich, who would supply John with ‘When the War Is Over’, a great, soulful showcase for his voice. Keyboard whiz David Hirschfelder was now a permanent fixture, having joined the band for their previous, tumultuous tour. He, too, would have a big impact on John’s musical future.
When the thoroughly made-over LRB stepped out again on Solid Gold on 26 March 1985 to plug ‘Playing to Win’, the changes were impossible to miss. Gone were the practical denim and collared shirts of yore, in their place a day-glo assortment of colours and styles (and sounds, too; this was the most tech-heavy, high-energy song they’d ever record). Goble’s change was the most
abrupt – with his oversized specs, skinny tie, boofed-out hair and square-shouldered outfit, he could have passed for one of the Buggles. Hirschfelder, in a silver suit (or was it tinfoil?), was sporting a thinking-man’s mullet and sculpted facial hair, and when he leapt to centre stage to rock a solo with his keyboard axe – a keyboard worn with a strap, just like a guitar – the effect was pure 1980s, for better or worse. Bassist Nelson looked at least part pimp in his sinister wraparound shades.
John’s hair was now a frizzy perm, the top he wore on the Solid Gold set somewhere between a bomber jacket and a parachute. While he didn’t appear entirely comfortable with the new LRB image, he still sang the song with both heart and soul. He did likewise with the more sombre ‘Blind Eyes’, which they also performed, along with ‘Don’t Blame Me’, all from the Playing to Win LP.
The Solid Gold spot was part of LRB’s latest American tour, their 13th, which, over two months, had taken them from coast to coast – and bled cash. It cost them more money than they earned, an unfortunate first for the group. It was a diabolical situation: in order to pay off debts they needed to keep touring. If they didn’t tour, the debts remained. Only the songwriters in the band made any real money – and in John’s case, when he did write something worthy of the band, such as ‘Playing to Win’, he’d lost out when Goble divvied up the publishing spoils.
LRB, 1985-style, were stuck: in a desperate attempt to shake things up and cast off the past, they’d now become interchangeable with a dozen other bands, both in look and sound. From Starship to The Hooters, there were more than enough bands plying the designer-pop route. ‘Playing to Win’ may have been an exceptional song, a frantic few minutes of dynamic pop, but it wasn’t a hit, struggling to number 60 on the Billboard Hot 100. Its companion album limped to number 75 in North America and number 38 in Australia, not coming close to gold status in either country, their key markets. Rolling Stone slammed it with a one-star review, calling it ‘drearily forgettable’.
