Working Class Man

by Jimmy Barnes

  We couldn’t wait for our new baby to arrive. As it happened, we didn’t have to wait that long. The baby arrived very early. At twenty-five weeks, Jane was showing signs of going into labour, so the doctors insisted that she be near a hospital that could cope with such an early birth. The baby would need intensive care if and when she arrived. Westmead Children’s Hospital was miles from our house so we moved into the new Travelodge hotel in Parramatta. We had a huge suite that was about ten minutes from the hospital. I had a songwriter coming out from America to write for the upcoming album, so I set about building a makeshift recording studio in the suite. We could write songs and I would still be able to reach the hospital quickly if an emergency arose. We never wrote anything worth using.

  Jane went into labour and moved into the hospital. Elly-May was born in May 1989, fourteen weeks premature. She weighed 750 grams. Like a little lump of butter. This was very early and was a dangerous time for our beautiful little baby. She was so tiny and fragile. We used to bathe her in a kidney dish. She spent most of her time in a humidicrib, attached to all sorts of machines that helped her breath and measured her vital signs. The machines would make loud noises to warn the nurses when something was wrong. They’d spring into action.

  ‘Out of the way,’ one of them would call as she ran across the room.

  ‘Can I help?’ Jane would ask.

  ‘Better if you just stand back, please.’

  The nurses were used to bad things happening, we could tell, and they wanted us to stand back and let them deal with things. But Jane stayed right by Elly-May’s side. She never left. We would wait with our hearts pounding in our chests, saying nothing to each other. Most of the time it was okay but we couldn’t be sure.

  I spent my time between the hospital and the hotel, supposedly writing songs with the American songwriter. This guy thought that writing songs with him should have been my first priority. He was so wrong, and in the end I sent him away. Songwriting was really the last thing on my mind. I had set the studio up for nothing. I couldn’t concentrate on songwriting at all. Although in saying that, there was one day that was different. I had been visiting Elly and was sitting in the waiting room when suddenly, out of the blue, I had an idea for a song. I grabbed a pen and paper from one of the nurses and began to write. I wrote a whole set of lyrics. This was good. Then suddenly I had another idea, and another. Songs were pouring out of me. I thought I was truly inspired.

  Nurses were running around, in and out of the ward. It was very busy, there was something going on, but I was too busy writing to take notice.

  Suddenly one of the nurses stopped and yelled, ‘Quick, grab a baby. We’re evacuating the ward.’

  I looked up, dazed. ‘Er, what do you want?’ I didn’t expect her to be talking to me.

  ‘Get up and help us move the babies. Now!’

  I threw down my pen and sprang into action.

  ‘Get them all out. There’s some kind of poisonous gas coming through the air conditioning.’

  We managed to get the babies out, humidicribs and all, and they were set up in the hallway outside of intensive care with drips and machines going beep. It was like an episode of M*A*S*H.

  We found out that someone had accidently painted the room where the ward’s air compressor was, and paint fumes had been filling the room. This was why I was so inspired. I was sniffing paint fumes. They moved the compressor and all the babies were brought back into the ward safely. The words I had written were lousy.

  EVERY DAY WAS AN emergency in this ward. Every day I would arrive to find another empty humidicrib and another little life changed. Sometimes the babies went home but sometimes they died. It was a hard place to work. The nurses would be in tears with grieving parents one minute and celebrating with gaunt but happy parents the next. How they did this job was beyond me. Every day I would stand next to Elly with my hand inside the crib, singing as softly as I could to her and reassuring her that I would always be there for her.

  One day, some parents stopped us in the hallway. ‘We thought you should know that there are some bad bugs going around the wards. Staph infections and even worse. If it’s possible you should get your baby out of here.’

  The nurses at Westmead had been incredible. They had saved our baby’s life. We didn’t know for sure that she was in danger, but we’d heard of a couple of poor little babies falling foul to infections, so we took drastic steps. I bought a humidicrib and all the machines we needed, hired three nurses to work around the clock, and moved Elly-May home to our house. We set up the study as the hospital ward. This was the only time that room was useful.

  Elly-May made it through, but due to a small brain bleed she’d had in hospital she would have cerebral palsy. Elly’s life would never be easy but she was special. She was a fighter and she has fought every day of her life. She spent a lot of her young life visiting the rehab centre at Westmead, where they helped her with her struggle with CP. We still have friends there and to this day support them however we can. I think, after seeing these kids and all that they go through, I always will.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  out of control like a bushfire

  THE VALLEY, LA, 1990

  I’D BEEN CAUGHT BETWEEN two fires for a long time. One was the inferno that I had built with my success and addictions, which by this time had just about consumed me and everyone I came in contact with. I was out of control like a bush fire and I continued to throw petrol on the flames every single night. I was a fire starter and now the flames were licking at my heels as I ran from the heat. The other was the fire that burned for my family. I would trade the inferno that was fame for love in a second. Love, peace and quiet was all I really wanted. But then how would I look after my family? I never wanted them to struggle like I had. Now they were struggling with me and what I was becoming. This was going to be the death of me if I didn’t sort it out.

  MICHAEL GUDINSKI HAD TAKEN over as my manager. Mark Pope worked with him for a while but not long. Michael now ran the booking agency, the record company and the management. He was firing. All the number one albums were good for business and for his confidence. It was like he couldn’t put a foot wrong, not as long as I didn’t, anyway. We were a good team.

  He set about securing a new American deal for me. He still wanted a number one album in the States, probably even more than me. I was over the place. Like I’ve said, I never felt good there. Whether that was my own fault or not, I’m not sure, but I would have been happy to concentrate on working at home.

  Michael and his New York contacts soon had me talking to the legendary Atlantic Records. Ahmet Ertegun was one of the greats of the music business. He had worked with Ben E. King, Solomon Burke, Otis Redding, Sam & Dave, Percy Sledge, Aretha Franklin and Wilson Pickett, to name a few. Every great singer in the world wanted to be around Ahmet. Every singer I looked up to. These were the people who inspired me and they had got their start because of Ahmet Ertegun. This was my chance to get together with him. I went to his office in New York.

  He said to me, ‘You know, Jimmy, I heard that song you did with INXS and I thought, great. How come I didn’t hear this singer with them before? When I found out you weren’t in the band I wasn’t happy. I was even more unhappy when I found out you were signed to another label. So I’m glad that they’re gone and you’re here talking to us. This is where you belong, right here on Atlantic.’

  I couldn’t have been happier. I signed to Atlantic Records. Maybe things would work out better this time around. But Ahmet, I found out after I signed, was only the figurehead of the company by then. Doug Morris ran the place. I hoped Doug liked me as much as Ahmet had and I hoped he knew the business half as well as Ahmet did. I would have to wait and see.

  It was time to find an American producer to work with me to find songs and make a great record. The name that was being thrown around was a guy called Don Gehman. Now Don had worked in the music business for a long time, starting out as a live sound guy and moving on t
o engineering and finally production. Most recently he had produced work for John Mellencamp. ‘Jack & Diane’ was a game changer and a massive record. I’d also heard Don’s work on REM’s Life’s Rich Pageant. On paper he seemed like a good choice. In saying that, let me just clear up something. I didn’t like John Mellencamp at all. He sang badly and the lyrics were a bit naff but he had resonated with the Midwest of America and that’s what the record companies seemed to target. So they were keen as mustard. Back in LA, a meeting was organised at a place called Jerry’s Diner, in the Valley somewhere. It appeared Don didn’t want to move too far from his house.

  We sat down and Don proceeded to order half the menu without looking at it. I sort of knew he ate at the same place every day.

  ‘So. Hi Jimmy. Glad you could find the place. The food is very good here if you’re hungry at all.’ Don spoke like a Mennonite farmer, slow and measured and with a strange hint of an accent. He could have been from anywhere, I guess. But there was something calming about his tone.

  ‘No thanks, Don, I ate before I came.’ I didn’t lie. I did eat before I went to America. Since arriving in LA though, I hadn’t eaten much at all. Coke was too easy to get in LA and I could never eat once I got into the same town as good coke.

  ‘All right then. Please yourself. I hope you don’t mind if I eat.’

  I nodded. ‘Please, go for it.’

  By the time I’d said a word, Don was tearing into a whole chicken. Was he really going to eat everything? I thought he’d ordered for both of us. I was obviously wrong.

  ‘You know, Jimmy, I have listened to your demos and you’re a good singer. But here’s the thing. I think your songs suck.’

  I sat opposite Don and tried to plant my feet firmly on the ground. Just so I wouldn’t jump the table and belt him.

  ‘I think if you write some more songs and let me hear them, maybe we could do something together.’

  Slowly the veil of red over my eyes lifted and I calmed down. Everybody else I’d met in the States bullshitted their way through meetings like this, telling me how much they loved me and how they couldn’t wait to get started. Even if I didn’t like what Don was saying, he at least was being honest.

  So I said, ‘Well, what do you think I should do next then?’

  Don sat quiet for a minute, while he ate the other half of the chicken. Then he spoke. ‘Well, I don’t know.’ This guy was full of good ideas. ‘Maybe I could put you with a few writers and we can keep meeting until we are both happy.’

  That was the best offer I had had all day. I stood up and shook his hand, which was still somewhat greasy from the chicken, grabbed my car keys and walked out of Jerry’s.

  There were a number of meetings before we agreed to make a record, all of them in the Valley and all of them in Jerry’s Diner. At one of these meetings I noticed Don wasn’t as calm as usual. And he wasn’t eating.

  So I asked, ‘Are you okay? You’re not sick, are you?’

  He looked at me as if I was his best friend and said, ‘No Jimmy. I just had a colonic irrigation and I’m feeling a little weak.’

  I was almost stuck for words. ‘Get to fuck out of here. They’d have to kiss me before they tried that on me.’

  Don blinked his pale eyes and said calmly, ‘You should really try it. You wouldn’t believe what comes out of there.’

  I cancelled my order.

  Don was trying a lot of alternative treatments and diets and I never knew how he would be until we were face to face. Some days he was bright-eyed and upbeat and other days he was drained and tired looking.

  ‘Hey Don, how are you today?’

  ‘Oh, I’m okay. I’ve been living on potato juice for the last week and I’m feeling a little lightheaded.’

  I had never heard of such shit. ‘What? You fucking what?’ I wanted to joke but this wasn’t funny.

  EVENTUALLY DON THOUGHT THE songs were good enough and we booked into Chapel Studios, owned by Dave Stewart from the Eurythmics. The studio was, by the way, in the Valley and just walking distance to Jerry’s. Jane and the kids and I settled into the house at the studio for the next six weeks. We were making a record that would be called Two Fires, and besides Don’s ups and downs we had a good time making it. Don was an odd person but I liked him a lot. He was very clever and funny and he knew how to make a record. But living in LA was not good for me, especially with it being so easy to buy cocaine. You could get it delivered. It was quicker than pizza.

  Noel had stayed back in Australia, so I wasn’t training as much as I should have been. One afternoon, one of his karate mates came to the studio for a visit. He brought a famous American martial artist named Bill ‘Superfoot’ Wallace with him. I had heard of this guy. He was in movies and magazines, and well known in the karate community. He sat quietly and watched as we recorded and then, towards sunset, as we sat outside chatting, he said, ‘I hear you do a bit of training.’

  I acted casual, mainly because I hadn’t been training that hard. ‘Yeah, I’ve done a little but not lately.’

  He looked at me with his predator eyes. I’ve seen these eyes on a lot of martial artists. ‘Well, why don’t you come down to the gym and work out with us tomorrow. If you aren’t too scared.’

  I could feel his glove being slapped across my face. ‘No man, I’m recording here. I’m not sure I can get away.’ I was as polite as possible.

  ‘Typical fucking musician. They all pretend they train, but when it comes down to the hard work they bail out.’ He looked at his mate and sniggered.

  ‘Yeah. All right then. What time do you start, smart-arse? I’ll come down.’ As soon as I spoke I could feel the hook in my mouth. I had taken the bait. He gave me a time and went home to rest for the next day. It was about eight o’clock at night at this time.

  As fate would have it Don wanted to work late. I was in the studio singing and drinking and snorting coke until four in the morning. I headed to the gym at eight-thirty. I was a bit dusty. I arrived at the Jet Centre, a famous landmark in the martial arts world. The gym was owned by Benny ‘The Jet’ Urquidez, probably the best fighter of his time.

  ‘Guess I got you all wrong, Jimmy. You ready to go for it?’ Bill smiled at me.

  ‘I was born ready,’ I lied.

  Bill ‘Superfoot’ Wallace took me through what felt like the kind of workout you might do if you were training for a world title fight. He was a world champion. But I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. Every now and then I would excuse myself to go to the bathroom and throw up, but I wouldn’t stop. By the end we stood looking at each other, drenched in sweat.

  ‘You know, Jimmy, I’m really sorry I misjudged you. You are the real deal. We’re here every day if you want to train with us. You’re always welcome.’

  I walked around the corner to my car and threw up again before I drove to the studio. I could hardly walk for a week, but I wasn’t going to let some smart-arsed American think he could push me around. Anyway, I wondered if he would have been that tough if I’d met him on the street in Elizabeth with a baseball bat. Maybe he would have been. We’ll never know. I went back to recording.

  TWO FIRES GAVE ME the chance to work with some great musicians, including Brian Setzer from the Stray Cats. I had been a fan of his for a long time. He joined me on two songs, ‘Little Darling’ and ‘Lay Down Your Guns.’ He played fantastic guitar and I think he was one of the highlights of that album.

  The Stray Cats were a great band. They gave me hope for American music. These guys could play hard and fast and with conviction. They were the real deal. Most of the bands I saw in America didn’t have any edge. No danger. There is something about growing up playing in Australian pubs that makes a band play a certain way that I like. It must be the thought of playing in front of a thousand Australians who will kill you if they don’t like you that sharpens up a band’s chops. Our bands sounded tougher than the rest.

  The Stray Cats would end up opening for me on the JB2F tour of Australia and New Zealand. Noel came a
long too, to keep an eye on things. We were all drinking in a club after the Auckland show when things got a little out of hand. Now, coke was a rare commodity in New Zealand, so instead the locals liked to get a head full of speed and go out for the night. Well, when in Rome. I was wired to the max, and of course when you take speed you can consume copious amounts of booze, so I was like a time bomb. Lee Rocker, the Stray Cats bass player, said the wrong thing at the wrong time and I had him by the throat ready to kill him. I think the people that Lee hung around with in America were a bit nicer than me and Noel. The tour was nearly cancelled on the spot.

  Noel grabbed my arm. ‘Hey, Jimmy, cool it or you’ll get us all arrested. Let’s put the bass player down and step away from him. That’s it.’

  I dropped Lee and backed away. ‘Sorry mate,’ I said to Noel.

  My blood was pumping and I was ready to rock. Noel marched me out of the building. After a short while things settled down and we went back into the bar and got on with drinking. I reluctantly apologised to Lee and both bands went back to having a good time. Lee was just a little wary of me from then on. I don’t blame him.

  The Stray Cats hired Noel to travel the world with them from that night on, just in case they ran into other people like me. I think they were in good hands. I wouldn’t fuck with him.

  NOEL HAD MADE ME fit and deadly. But all it did was keep me standing longer and make me harder to deal with. I became a machine. I knew I had to either stop martial arts or stop drinking and taking drugs. I couldn’t give up the latter so martial arts had to go. If I was going to be deadly then I had to be in control of my temper. This became obvious to me when Jane and I had an argument after a gig at the Sydney Cove Tavern. Jane stormed off on me. I was probably being a jerk, I can’t remember now. But anyway, as usual, I followed her at a distance just to make sure she was all right. As she walked past two guys leaning on a pole, one of them stuck out his foot to trip her up and she fell over.