Now I Can Dance

by Tina Arena

  Songwriting sessions with Pam and Steve were always fun. Sometimes, though, I felt like I was in therapy: Pam would draw me out on what it was I was trying to express, how I felt. She insisted on the detail: who, what, when, how, why. There was no room to be bashful or secretive – I just had to put it out there and trust that my co-writers didn’t think I was crazy. It could get intense, but that was what made the process exciting. I wrote a whole bunch of songs with Pam and Steve: ‘Best for You’, which we wrote early on, ‘Wouldn’t Change a Thing’, ‘On the Line’ and ‘You Make Me Feel Good’. The three of us wrote ‘Burn’ while I was recording the album. It ended up being the first single.

  I had things I wanted to say, feelings I wanted to share in those songs. Nothing momentous – just personal feelings and observations about love, relationships, music. With Pam and Steve I wrote the deeply personal ‘If I Didn’t Love You’. The idea for the song had come to me when I was in Europe promoting ‘Chains’. In many ways it was about my confused feelings for the business I was in. I couldn’t imagine doing anything else – music was my life – but often it felt as though it put me through the wringer one time too many. And intricately tied up with that feeling was the growing realisation that the business was the glue holding my relationship with Ralph together, and, day by day, that glue was starting to come unstuck.

  Perhaps our shared capacity for hard work had become a rod for our own backs. Whatever the cause, we’d become distant, which was hard, because by nature I’m a communicator – I like to talk things through. My personal life was riven with uncertainty and the ground beneath my feet felt shaky.

  But I still had hope we could fix things and I wrote songs about that too. I was an old-fashioned girl who believed that when you get married you stick it out and work at it. Ralph and I had a lot of history and we would always share a love of music.

  While I threw myself into writing and recording, things kept ticking over. I bought back the rights to Strong as Steel from Mike Brady and Sony re-released the record that year. Five new tracks were added, with only five of the original tracks included.

  Country singer Wynonna Judd released a cover of ‘Heaven Help My Heart’ in the US, which reached number 14 on the Billboard country charts. This was a new experience for me. To have someone cover my song and have success as a songwriter was especially sweet.

  Then Ralph rang from Australia with some news. A building in Richmond, Melbourne, was up for sale. Not just any building, though. It was Television House, the big old Victorian place that had once been John Young’s YTT headquarters, and where my parents and I had met John and Neville Kent to discuss my joining Young Talent Time. Once I had joined, I’d spent countless hours in that place during the eight years I was on the show, rehearsing, singing, stuffing up my dance steps, doing homework, mucking around with Johnny Bowles and the others, dreaming. That place had been a huge part of my childhood.

  Some years before, John Young had sold the building to the designer Sally Browne. And now it was on the market again.

  It was the middle of the night and I was still half-asleep when Ralph called. ‘Make an offer,’ I said.

  ‘How?’ Ralph asked.

  I was starting to see some royalties from Don’t Ask, but whether it would be enough I didn’t know.

  ‘I don’t care. But I want that building!’

  When I got off the phone I was kicking myself. What had I done? But I would have hated to see Television House developed, or turned into apartments or something. It was a piece of my history.

  In the end, Ralph and I went halves in the building and Ralph set up his office in there.

  After months of songwriting, we were ready to begin recording. Dave would be available to produce half the album. For the other five or six songs we’d teed up Mick Jones, guitarist and founding member of Foreigner. I’d had the idea to ask Mick. I loved Foreigner and I was also a fan of Billy Joel’s album Storm Front, which Mick had co-produced.

  A quietly spoken Englishman, Mick had also co-produced all Foreigner’s records and wrote or co-wrote most of their songs, including ‘I Want to Know What Love Is’. But Mick is more than that – he’s rock ’n’ roll royalty. He’s played with Jimmy Page, George Harrison, Bill Wyman, Eric Clapton and French superstar Johnny Hallyday, to name a few. Mick has just about seen it all.

  When Mick and I met at a fancy LA restaurant, Mick was sweet, even shy, but we got on famously, and I think we inspired each other. We were a good mix of youth and experience – I might have been working at it for twenty years but Mick had been at it for almost forty!

  Mick was then living in New York with his family, but he and his wife, Ann Dexter-Jones, moved to LA while we made the record. In the end they rented an apartment in the same building as the one I was renting in, so we often hung out together.

  Spending time with Mick was an education, and not only in music or production. Mick and Ann had a wide circle of friends, and you never knew who you’d meet at dinner: Ryan O’Neal, Michael Douglas, Rod Stewart …

  One night I was seated beside Keanu Reeves. I introduced myself. ‘Hi, I’m Tina.’ I’d never forgotten my YTT training, and in any case I was certain he had no idea who I was.

  Keanu just nodded.

  ‘What did you say your name was?’ I asked politely.

  Keanu turned to me and with Zen-like composure gave his name.

  Once or twice Ann’s son, Mark Ronson, spent time with us in the studio, just listening, watching. Already he was making a name for himself as a DJ in New York, but his stellar career as a producer, working with artists such as Christina Aguilera, Robbie Williams and Amy Winehouse, was still over the horizon.

  Mick brought in Jeff Jacobs, another member of Foreigner, to play piano and keyboards. And Chris Lord-Alge, who’d mixed Don’t Ask, did the honours again.

  Some brilliant US musicians played on that record, including drummer John Robinson, who is famed for working with Quincy Jones and Michael Jackson on Off the Wall. John’s also worked with Barbra Streisand, Chaka Khan, Lionel Richie – the list is long – and is one of the greatest session drummers of all time and the biggest groove master on the planet. It was great to work with Rick Price again, too. Rick once more chipped in, playing guitar and singing backing vocals.

  We decided to go for a more live sound to give the record a bit more of a rock edge. Drums and bass and some guitar were recorded together to get a feel going, with vocals and other instruments overdubbed later, as usual.

  About two thirds into recording the album I took Mick to lunch. I had an idea and I wanted to float it by him. After a wine or two I summoned some Dutch courage. ‘Let’s record “I Want to Know What Love Is”. You know I love that song.’

  Mick’s power ballad had always been a favourite of mine, but I knew it would be a challenge to sing. The dynamics alone are enough to throw a seasoned vocalist, and then there’s the range … It’s also a song you’ve got to feel to sing well.

  Mick wasn’t sure. ‘I’ve never given anyone my blessing to cover that song.’ He saw my look of disappointment. ‘But Shirley Bassey did a great version,’ he said encouragingly.

  That comment didn’t exactly help. Shirley Bassey was a goddess. But I decided not to give up and spent the rest of the lunch trying to convince him.

  Still Mick wasn’t sure.

  When we got back to the studio there was a fax waiting from Epic, my Sony label in the US. ‘How about covering “I Want to Know What Love Is” for the album?’ it read.

  ‘It’s a sign!’ I said to Mick. ‘See? We have to do it.’

  Mick just laughed, but he let me give it a try. After a couple of run-throughs he gave the all clear. I had his blessing.

  In the end, not only did the band’s then-keyboard player, Jeff Jacobs, play on the song, but Foreigner’s incredible original vocalist, Lou Gramm, also agreed to sing guest backing vocals. Wow. I felt truly honoured. Just weeks later, Lou had surgery to remove a brain tumour.

  T
he guys back at Sony Australia were getting excited about the album. Sony boss Denis Handlin flew over three times and stuck his head in. If he’d turned up again I’d have put him behind a mike. After all, Peter Asher had played percussion on Don’t Ask (although, admittedly, he was a musician!).

  In September 1996, Ralph and I returned to Australia to attend that year’s ARIA awards. I’d been nominated for four awards this time: Song of the Year and Single of the Year for ‘Wasn’t It Good’, Highest Selling Album for Don’t Ask and Best Female Artist.

  I won the last two, which was incredibly gratifying. To win Highest Selling Album, in particular, was surreal. That record had exceeded all my hopes and expectations. It had probably exceeded the hopes and expectations of everyone else, too.

  While we were in Australia we shot the video for ‘Burn’, which was to be the first single from the new album. I turned to Pierre Baroni, who had done such a great job with the Don’t Ask cover. The cover image for the new album was taken during the ‘Burn’ shoot at Richmond public pool. It was a shot of me, hair wet, submerged up to my shoulders in water the colour of fire. We filmed right through the night because we had to be out of there before the pool opened early in the morning for the locals to do their laps. Thankfully the water was warm, but I looked like a shrivelled prawn by the end.

  Naming the new record wasn’t so hard – I knew I wanted a two-word title again, and In Deep summed up my situation. I was well and truly up to my neck in a long love affair with music. Sometimes it was inspiring and incredible fun. At other times it was just plain scary. Most people didn’t realise it, but below the surface I was paddling like a maniac, just to keep my head above water. You have to if you’re going to survive in the music business. You can’t let bad reviews or interviews get to you. You’ve got to always sound like you know what you’re talking about, even when you don’t, and you have to trust that the people around you will help keep you from drowning, people like your family, your manager, your record company.

  If I didn’t love music so much it would have been simpler to just walk away, to settle down, have a family and sing in the shower. But that wasn’t going to be a walk in the park, either. For so long, Ralph and I had been so focused on work that our marriage had been subsumed by it. I just had to accept I was married to music. It could be worse, I figured on my good days.

  CHAPTER 13

  Master Blaster (Jammin’)

  It was a week until ‘Burn’, the first single off In Deep, was to be released in Australia. Ralph and I were back in our terrace in Melbourne, getting ready for the next round of interviews and appearances once the record was out, and finalising a tour planned for November.

  It was Saturday, and Ralph and I had a rare night out planned. On evenings like this we both made the effort to be a couple rather than business partners, but it was difficult. Still, I wasn’t going to let it bother me on this night of nights, because we’d been invited to Stevie Wonder’s last of several shows at the dinner-theatre in Melbourne’s Crown Casino. The casino had only recently opened but already Elton John, Billy Joel and Whitney Houston had given concerts there. And now one of my all-time musical heroes was booked to perform. What a treat!

  Once through the doors, we were ushered towards the stage. Even better, I thought – it looked like we might be given a front-row seat! John Farnham and Glenn Wheatley and their wives Jill and Gaynor were already sitting at a table centre front. We stopped to say hello before taking our seats at a table just to the side. Ralph ordered champagne and we settled back, ready to enjoy what I knew would be an incredible show. I’d only had two sips of my drink, however, when a man appeared from a door near the stage and beckoned us over.

  At first I thought it was a case of mistaken identity so I just smiled and nodded.

  He beckoned again. ‘Ms Arena! Over here!’ he called out.

  Ralph and I struggled out of our seats and walked over. I felt like I was at school and about to get into trouble. Ridiculous.

  But as soon as we reached the man he put out his hand. ‘Mr Wonder would like to meet you.’

  There had been some talk during the previous couple of weeks about me singing a duet with Stevie. Stevie’s management had gone so far as to ask which of his songs I would like to sing. I’d nominated ‘Heaven Help Us All’. I was terrified at the whole idea, but had consoled myself that it was unlikely to happen. Now it appeared I might have been wrong about that.

  ‘Are you sure? I spluttered.

  ‘Yep. Mr Wonder is very keen to meet you.’

  I pulled myself together. ‘Great! I’d love to meet him,’ I said confidently. I wasn’t kidding. I’d always wanted to meet this brilliant artist.

  We followed the man back through the door, down a passageway to Stevie’s dressing-room. And there he was, the genius himself. Tall, dark glasses, dreadlocks, a broad smile. It sounds crazy but he seemed to have a glow about him – or was that just the tears in my eyes? I got it together and introduced myself.

  ‘Hi. My name’s Tina.’

  ‘I know,’ Stevie said, putting out his hand. ‘I wanted to meet you.’

  I grasped his hand and shook it. ‘You did? Why?’

  ‘I’m a fan,’ he said. ‘Don’t Ask is a great record and “Chains” is a fantastic song.’

  Well, he said something like that. I was on the verge of collapse, so I can’t be absolutely sure.

  ‘Come and sing with me on stage tonight,’ he went on.

  ‘Really? Are you sure?’

  ‘You bet.’ He smiled even more broadly.

  ‘Well, it’s not an offer I can refuse, right?’ The girl from Moonee Ponds had piped up just in time, and she was on the money – I couldn’t possibly decline.

  Stevie laughed out loud.

  ‘I’d love to,’ I said.

  And that was that.

  So there I was, up on stage jammin’ with Stevie. After we’d finished singing ‘Heaven Help Us All’, I bowed. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, Stevie Wonder!’ I applauded him along with the audience and then made to walk off.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ he asked.

  ‘To my seat, to watch you,’ I said.

  ‘No you’re not, you’re staying here.’

  Stevie must have known I wouldn’t need any help with the lyrics of just about any of his songs. I knew so many of them by heart. We sang four songs together in the end, following ‘Heaven Help Us All’ with ‘Signed, Sealed, Delivered I’m Yours’, ‘Master Blaster (Jammin’)’ and finally Carole King’s classic, made famous by Aretha, ‘(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman’. The audience ended up giving me a standing ovation that night, which was pretty damn special.

  After the show I was invited backstage again. Over drinks I met Stevie’s legendary conductor and arranger, Henry Panion III. A professor of music, Henry is up there in the stratosphere with Stevie, having worked with Aretha, Chaka Khan and countless more, as well as arranging, composing or conducting for many of the great orchestras of the world. Henry actually offered to arrange and orchestrate a song for me if the opportunity arose. We never did manage to collaborate, sadly. Meanwhile, Henry’s discography has gone from spectacular to awesome (in the original sense of the word).

  Singing with Stevie was a privilege and a reminder once again that the merry-go-round was sometimes a truly incredible ride.

  ‘Burn’ hit the airwaves and the shops. It debuted at number 2 and quickly went platinum. In Deep came out a month later and debuted at number 1, going gold overnight. I was overjoyed, but more than anything else I was relieved. Even though everyone at Sony had been confident and optimistic, I had kept my expectations low. Never count your chickens – or your hits.

  It turned out I was the first female Australian artist to have an album debut at number 1. This was another one of those strange statistics that left me wondering why. Not that I had a lot of time to give it too much thought. Things were busy again: interviews, signings and appearances. And, despite the madness,
I was loving it.

  After so long in LA, it was great to be home and reconnecting with Aussie fans. Sweet and dedicated, the fans who lined up for hours to get their album signed were such a mix: men, women, kids, grannies, teenagers. Some of these people had watched me since I was a little kid, and they’d grown with me and accepted me for who I’d become. Their ongoing belief in me lifted me up.

  Catching up with family and old mates was also wonderful after being out of the country for months. We spent as much time together as we could around Mum’s table at Moonee Ponds. There would always be something going on there – someone cooking up a feast, or eating a feast, or dropping by for a chat. The only person missing was Silvana – just when I was so glad to be home she was off on a trip to see the world.

  On the evening of my thirtieth birthday, Ralph made plans for just the two of us. He wouldn’t tell me where we were going, but promised it would be something special. I would need to put on my glad rags, he insisted.

  Dressing up had always been a bone of contention between us. Except when I was working, I was very much a jeans and T-shirt girl (still am), but Ralph always wanted me to look the part of the ‘star’ twenty-four hours a day. If I popped into the office in my tracky daks he’d freak out. He tried, he really did, but he could never change me.

  This time, however, I was touched that he’d made the effort to organise an evening out for just the two for us, so I did as he suggested – nice black satin skirt, my best Gucci stilettos. I even went to a bit of trouble with my hair and makeup, something I rarely do outside of work, as anyone who knows me will tell you.

  Ralph drove us to Prahran and parked the car before leading me down a laneway and through a small door into what looked like an abandoned factory. The scene inside was quite beautiful – candles flickered in little niches in the heavy stone walls.

  It appeared to be a secret restaurant. A rather handsome gentleman met us, sat us down and brought us a drink while a table was prepared in another room. I ordered champagne. Ralph looked a little jumpy, but he assured me it would be lovely once we got inside.