by Tina Arena
Rick asked me whether I’d sing backing vocals with him on the night. Of course I said yes. The trouble was, it was just a week after the LA riots, which had blown up after police were acquitted of bashing Rodney King. Having spread like wildfire, the riots raged for six days. The entire city was in lockdown and there was an 11.30 pm curfew. It put a dampener on the event and the turnout was not as great as expected. C’est la vie – there were bigger issues than Oz music on the agenda that week. But the industry response was positive, and apparently quite a few people enquired about me following Rick’s show.
Before long, Ralph and I started working together. I think it had been Rick’s idea that Ralph should take me on. Ralph listened to some of my demos and I think his ears pricked up, which was encouraging. I may have had a top five hit in Australia, but after Geoffrey and I parted ways, managers hadn’t exactly been knocking my door down. Perhaps they saw the success of Strong as Steel as a fluke or a one-off. Obviously they didn’t know me – I wouldn’t be putting away my microphone just yet.
To his credit, Ralph saw I had more where Strong as Steel had come from. And being an ambitious man who wanted to be a manager, a record producer, publisher – you name it – he must have decided I had something.
There was no written agreement between us. Ralph just jumped in and got to work.
One of the first things Ralph did was to contact Sony Australia. My little pile of demos was growing and taking shape, and Ralph sent the latest batch to Peter Karpin there. It included a couple of songs I’d written with another expat, Mark Holden, who’d had a hit with ‘Never Gonna Fall in Love Again’. Mark had since written songs for a range of artists, including Belinda Carlisle, Donny Osmond and Fleetwood Mac. He had a great brain and was nifty with words and melody and we had a lot of fun writing together.
This time, Sony sounded interested, and after some toing and froing the bones of an agreement were in place. Sony offered me a four-album deal. My records would come out on the Columbia label in Australia. If the US decided to release them, they’d be on the Epic label there.
I couldn’t believe it when we heard. I’d been fantasising about this moment – a recording contract for an album of songs I’d co-written. And with a major label. The news gave me the inspiration to keep writing.
When I told Mum and Dad they were as excited as I was. But, as ever, Mum warned me to keep my head and be careful. ‘You know what I say, Pina,’ she said over the phone from Moonee Ponds. ‘Keep your eyes on the road and watch out for foxes.’ It was good advice that I would do my best to remember.
At the same time, Ralph and I began to talk about what this new record would be and where I wanted to go. The discussions I’d had with Geoffrey were still fresh in my mind and I knew I wanted to do things differently this time around. For one thing, I didn’t want to be ‘packaged’ the way I felt I had been for ‘I Need Your Body’. That song and video clip had made a statement and put Tiny Tina to bed for the last time, but the girl in that video already seemed like a stranger, and the clip’s New Romantic feel was now well and truly past. I’d never seen myself as an Aussie Madonna – I would never be comfortable with that kind of image. I needed to find my own look, one I could live with. The reality was, I needed to just be me. It sounds obvious, but in the entertainment business nothing is so simple.
Luckily, it was finally sinking in that being myself would have to be enough, not only for me, but for all those industry types and for the public as well. Writing songs was helping me get there. Songwriting had given me a way to formulate and express thoughts and feelings, which somehow helped me figure out who the bloody hell I was. At last I was finding my voice.
Shortly after the Wizards of Oz show, Ralph and I returned to Australia together. Not long after we arrived, Ralph came out to Keilor East to meet my parents. Mum cooked a big spread, much of it picked straight from Dad’s garden. They were both as gracious and polite as ever, but I could see Mum wasn’t entirely sure about Ralph. I guess mothers are often critical of their daughters’ choices, whether it’s hair colour, clothes or men.
Before we left, Mum spoke up. ‘If you’re genuinely here for my daughter and you both genuinely care for each other,’ she said to Ralph, ‘we will unconditionally support both of you. But if you’re here for some other reason, please be careful.’
I realise now that Mum was concerned not so much about my taste in men as about the fact that mixing business and pleasure can get very complicated. Being a canny woman, she was all too aware that it could be a recipe for disaster.
Ralph and I just laughed it off – Italian parents can be so protective, especially of their daughters. And the truth was, I trusted Ralph. He was my knight in shining armour, someone who I believed would look after me and shield me from the worst of the music business. He was someone who believed in me. Our relationship neatly combined work and family. This could be perfect, I thought.
I was keen to keep up my songwriting while I was back in Australia, so Rick Price hooked me up with a writer he’d worked with and become very close to. Heather Field should go down in history as one of Australia’s best songwriters, but somehow we never really ‘got’ her and she’s since moved to Nashville. Blind and very spiritual, she has a gift when it comes to lyrics and melody.
I spent some time with Heather in her flat in Crows Nest, Sydney, and together with Robert Parde, another great Australian songwriter and musician, we wrote a song that will be forever dear to my heart. It was my farewell gesture to Fab, that gorgeous Venetian who had been such a big part of my life. ‘Wasn’t It Good’ is a parting-of-ways song with a difference, a song about remembering and honouring the good things about a relationship rather than focusing on the heartache. Of the many songs I’ve written, ‘Wasn’t It Good’ remains one of my favourites.
Back in Melbourne, I was running out of funds. The Sony deal was nearly nailed, but I knew there’d be no big fat advance to tide me over for a couple of years while I made the album. My options were fairly limited: live work or jingles. The pressure was on to rustle up something. Ralph had no regular income either, so I couldn’t lean on him.
We hadn’t been home long when someone from Andrew Lloyd Webber’s company, the Really Useful Group, called Ralph. Apparently Mr Lloyd Webber had requested I have a private audition for the role of the Narrator for the Australian production of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. They wanted me to fly to New York – straight away.
The musical, which had first been staged in the early 1970s, had been revived in 1991 in London, with Jason Donovan in the lead. A single from the recording, ‘Any Dream Will Do’, had reached number 1 on the UK charts that year, and the show had since been restaged in Canada. An Australian production was planned to premier in early 1993; a Broadway production was also on the cards.
I had three hours to get on a plane if I was to make the audition – at least they’d offered to fly us first class! I’d only ever done a handful of auditions, so it was scary territory for me, but I knew I couldn’t say no to Andrew Lloyd Webber.
A limo was at the other end to pick us up, and we were driven to the Four Seasons Hotel, where we were to stay. The audition, the following day, was at a theatre on Broadway. When we arrived we were shown into the auditorium. There was Mr Lloyd Webber himself, full of thanks that we’d come so far at such short notice. He was also very complimentary about my voice, which, coming from the world-renowned master of musical theatre, was nice, to say the least.
The first song he wanted me to sing was ‘Jacob and Sons’, an up-tempo tongue twister.
‘I haven’t had time to learn all the words,’ I admitted nervously. ‘I’ll have to read them from the script.’
Andrew’s brow furrowed for a moment – I don’t think he was hugely impressed. But he just nodded and let me get on with it.
I gave it my best shot. When the song was over, Mr Lloyd Webber seemed reasonably happy and asked me to sing two more.
Audition over, h
e thanked me and walked us out. I was still so naive – feeling excited and intimidated at the same time – but I was under the impression he liked what he’d heard. By the time we’d reached the door I was pretty sure I had the part. Andrew hadn’t actually offered it to me, but he’d made it fairly clear that, if I was available and we could come to some agreement, the role was mine.
Sure enough, the offer came through. I accepted.
It was a fantastic opportunity and had come at the perfect time for me. Just when I needed a salary, Joseph came along to pay the bills. It would also remind people I was still around – it had been two years since Strong as Steel had been released, and listeners no doubt had already moved on. Best of all, Joseph is a fun, exciting piece of musical theatre. The Narrator is a huge role, second only to Joseph himself. I’d be onstage for the entire show. It would be a huge challenge.
Sealing the deal was the fact I’d be home in Australia for a bit. I’d been missing my family and friends and a couple of months hanging out in Melbourne would be just what I needed. I’d be able to spend some quality time with my sisters. By this time Nancy and her hubby, Walter, were living in Preston. Silvana was working as an assistant in Ralph’s office, so I knew I’d be seeing a bit of her.
We were still finalising things with Sony when I started rehearsals for Joseph. Ralph and I had become more involved than ever, personally and professionally. I guess we were both so focused on work, it just seemed to make sense. Ralph was renting a little bit of office space from John Young, who, having sold Television House in Lennox Street, Richmond, was now based around the corner in Swan Street.
Finally, the Sony contract was ready to sign, and Ralph and I made a trip up to Sydney to do the honours. I was exhilarated and hyped up, but also a little overwhelmed. When we arrived at the Sony offices in Hargrave Street, East Sydney, Mr Sony Australia, Denis Handlin, appeared, bowling towards me, his arms outstretched. Peter Karpin was not far behind. Bottles of expensive champagne were popped and everyone seemed genuinely excited, which was enormously heartening. Not since John Young offered me a spot on YTT had I felt such a sense of anticipation and optimism.
I couldn’t celebrate for long, though. Rehearsals for Joseph were still going, in preparation for the show’s premiere. I’d already made lots of friends in the cast and crew. David Dixon, who was playing Joseph, was great fun to work with, as was dear Michael Cormick.
We did get Christmas Day off, which Ralph and I celebrated with my family at Keilor East. As usual, it was a full-on family affair with a spread so copious that even the army of cousins, uncles and aunties who dropped by couldn’t put much of a dent in it. After a huge lunch, Ralph took my dad aside and asked for my hand in marriage. It was a very old-fashioned way of doing things, I know, but I wanted to do it properly. Dad is my favourite man in the world, and I wanted his blessing.
Whatever my family thought, they shared in the celebrations. Ralph and I would be tying the knot – if we could ever find the time!
Joseph premiered on New Year’s Eve, 1992. After the Narrator sings the prologue, Joseph the dreamer who can interpret dreams sings ‘Any Dream Will Do’. It’s the song everyone remembers from the show, and I think the message is ‘follow your dreams’.
Hearing the song just as the new year was upon us seemed somehow appropriate. Because, when it came to my dreams, 1993 was looking promising. With a record contract in my back pocket, a new manager and an engagement ring on my finger, I almost felt ready to take on the world.
CHAPTER 9
Chains
Joseph ran for almost nine months, touring to Brisbane, Sydney and Adelaide. The show was a full-time commitment, so the album remained on hold. But, as usual, I saved up my pennies, this time to fund the next songwriting adventure and cover expenses while I was recording the album.
A week after the show closed in September 1993, Ralph and I were on a plane bound for LA. I was so nervous I was in tears. This was it: for this trip I would not only be writing, but ultimately recording an album. It was exciting but gut-wrenchingly daunting – I felt like I’d been let loose in some strange and wonderful new land then told I had to find my way home alone. I just kept telling myself that I had a good bunch of songs that deserved to be heard. Hopefully they’d provide a strong foundation for the album.
The first songwriters I hooked up with were Pam Reswick and Steve Werfel. When I turned up on the doorstep of their home in Burbank, Pam gave me a hug. ‘Look who it is! Tina, honey! So good to see you!’
Steve was in the hallway behind her, grinning. It was good to see them too. By now they felt like old friends. They were such cool, blissed-out people and always so easy to work with.
Pam and Steve led me through the house to their studio, and after a cup of herbal tea we got started.
An idea for a song had been kicking around in my head for months, maybe years. I wanted to write something about how it felt to be boxed in, to be oppressed by people’s preconceptions of who I was and what I could do, and the frustration of being shackled to my past.
We started talking around that idea, then began to work on a melody. But it wasn’t until the next day that the song came together. The night in between, Pam had dreamt the chorus, more or less, and once we had that, it all fell into place. What I didn’t know was she and Steve were going through a lot of changes in their lives. So the song became a point of connection between us all, while meaning different things to each of us.
As is often the case, it came out as a song about love, about a girl who needs to break free from a relationship that’s holding her back and sending her crazy. It was dark, bluesy and soulful, with a melodic change that took it somewhere else entirely, and the lyrics worked on a few levels.
When we sent the demo for ‘Chains’, as the song was named, to the guys at Sony the response was fantastic. They absolutely loved it. Sony’s reaction gave my confidence a boost. Perhaps I did have it in me to pull this off and make a record I could be proud of.
After we wrote ‘Chains’, it was suddenly full steam ahead. All we needed was a studio, a producer and some musicians. Ralph, the Sony guys and I had talked about who should produce. A recent favourite song of mine was Alannah Myles’ ‘Black Velvet’, which had been co-written and produced by Canadian Dave Tyson. The more I listened to Alannah’s first album, the more I liked the sound and the feel. Okay, it was my inner rock chick coming out again, but hey, what a song!
Dave was based in LA, so we approached him. After he’d heard my demos, he said yes. I still felt like the girl lost in wonderland, but at least I now had Dave by my side.
Dave was fun, talented and sensitive. He was incredibly meticulous when he was working, but always generous and considerate, professionally. His partner in crime was another Canadian, Christopher Ward, a broadcaster and songwriter who had been Dave’s co-writer on ‘Black Velvet’. They made a good team.
Often we ended up recording in Dave’s home studio. He had a beautiful house perched high in the hills in Laurel Canyon and his studio had big windows with views across the valley.
One morning we were mucking about at his place, trying to write something. Dave and Chris pulled out a tape and stuck it in the machine. ‘Listen to this. We want to see what you think.’
The music started – guitar, a bit of bass and drums, a Latin feel. I sat back, took in the view and listened. It was one of those crisp but sunny Californian days. The music just seemed to carry me away.
‘It needs a melody and some lyrics,’ Dave said. ‘Got anything?’
‘Maybe,’ I said. ‘Play it again and I’ll see if I can come up with something.’ I went to the mike, put on the headphones and started to sing. The melody just came to me. It almost seemed to write itself. The three of us wrote the words together the next day. ‘Sorrento Moon (I Remember)’ came together just like that. It was a song about our summer family holidays in Sorrento, on the Mornington Peninsula, and the joys of childhood freedom. It had such a good feel, and a hint
of bittersweet nostalgia.
Later, when Peter and Denis at Sony heard ‘Sorrento Moon’, I think they scratched their heads. Latin wasn’t part of the Australian musical landscape back then. But they reported that, after a couple of listens, their feet were tapping and they were singing along, and that was that.
We wrote ‘Heaven Help My Heart’ on Dave’s terrace overlooking the valley. Dave’s friend Dean McTaggart was there with his guitar, smoking Cuban cigars. The bottle of red we were drinking probably should have also got a writing credit.
‘Message’ had started out in a major key, but when Dave got his hands on it he switched it to a minor, making it a little darker. All the songs evolved in some way as we worked on them.
We recorded ‘Chains’ there in Dave’s studio. We started by putting down the vocals with just a guide track or two. The song remained quite bare, which gave the vocals plenty of space to shine. I added some backing vocals and later Marilyn Martin added her stunning voice. The finger snaps and handclaps were other minimalist touches that set the mood. Then we built it from there.
It took us five or six months to record and mix the album. Various session musos and backing vocalists came in to sprinkle their magic dust. Rick Price returned the favour and sang backing vocals, as did Robert Parde. Then there was bassist John Pierce, who has played with Donna Summer, Fleetwood Mac, Rod Stewart, Celine Dion and many more; guitarist Bob Mann, who has played with James Taylor, Barbra Streisand, Linda Ronstadt, Cher and Neil Diamond; Tim Pierce, also on guitar (he’s played with the likes of Madonna, Michael Jackson, Elton John and Joe Cocker). On drums there was Carlos Vega (Herb Alpert and George Benson, among others) and Pat Mastelotto (Patti LaBelle, the Pointer Sisters, Hall & Oates, King Crimson and Mr. Mister – the list goes on).