Now I Can Dance

by Tina Arena

  Les Enfoirés has since become an annual event. There’s a different theme every year and each concert is released as an album. It’s a brilliant concept.

  None of the artists or crew is paid a fee, but you wouldn’t know it judging by the magnitude of the production. The concert is now bigger than a Baz film, and it’s televised all round the country.

  For me, doing Les Enfoirés was second nature. It was like Young Talent Time on steroids, with elaborate sets, a cast and crew of hundreds, crazy costumes, dancing, music, the whole shebang. It’s enormous fun for everyone, including the cast, the crew and the audience, and it raises vital funds for the restaurants.

  That first time I participated, I sang ‘Highway to Hell’ with Hélène Ségara. It was a dream come true, believe it or not. I’d always wanted to cover that song since I heard it as a little girl and it was great to pay tribute to AC/DC, who are much adored in France. I let my inner rock chick out and hollered the house down. Since then I’ve been part of many Les Enfoirés concerts and have loved every minute.

  The same month, I went to Tunisia to film the video clip for ‘Je M’Appelle Bagdad’, which Valérie was hoping to release soon after as the second single off the album. By now you’ve probably gathered that motherhood wasn’t exactly slowing me down, but it was difficult. In fact, that was the toughest shoot I’ve ever been on. We’d decided it would be best if Gab stayed at home with his dad – I’d be working fifteen-hour days and Gab was too young to fly, anyway.

  But I was still breastfeeding, so there I was, in between takes, expressing milk. It was bloody awful and I spent most of my time off-camera sobbing. The makeup artist must have thought I was completely insane, plus he had to constantly touch me up – the tears were playing havoc with my mascara.

  Nevertheless, I squeezed into the gorgeous gold dress and got on with it. And the result was something special, thanks again to Thierry Vergnes.

  Between March and August I appeared at Night of the Proms concerts in France, Belgium, Morocco and Germany. Night of the Proms shows feature a mix of classical and pop artists. ‘Aimer’ was still in the top ten and radio everywhere continued to play it. In fact, the music programmers made it very clear to Columbia that they didn’t want a new single, not yet. In the end ‘Bagdad’ wasn’t released until June, a full seven months later. It also made the top ten.

  In July, ‘Aimer’ was declared ‘La Chanson de l’Année’ (Song of the Year) on the French TV show of the same name.

  So things were as busy as ever. What had changed was my view of the world and my focus. Now I had Gab to think of. He came first and he was the reason I got up in the morning. Suddenly I had a different perspective on things – on everything, in fact. In a funny way, now that my job was no longer my raison d’être, I loved it all the more and had a renewed respect for what I did. Juggling parenthood with a career was turning out to be incredibly challenging, but that’s what made it so rewarding.

  Vince and I kept it as simple as we could. There were no nannies. Either Gab came with me or he stayed with Vince. Sometimes we’d call on our friends to babysit. We did our best to be together as much as possible. Gab was growing up already, into a gorgeous bouncing baby who was interested in everything going on around him. He was a joy, and I was like a pig in mud.

  By midyear we were once more moving back and forth between London and Paris. When we were in Paris it was work, work, work. Everyone knew me over there so it could be full-on. In London, we could chill out, spend time together, just the three of us, or hang out with friends.

  Working on Un Autre Univers with Valérie and her crew had been fabulous fun and very successful, and I was looking forward to starting on the next French record. Now, though, I had the urge to sing in English. For one thing, it was easier – when I sang in English I didn’t have to think about my pronunciation. English was my first (well, my second) language, and I couldn’t walk away from it indefinitely.

  But it was a testing time for the business. Since 1999, revenue in the music industry had plummeted. By 2009, three years in the future, it would have halved. To write and record an album of new material without a record company behind me would be too risky. Plus, as ever, I was looking to do something new.

  One day I was cooking lunch in my kitchen in London, listening to an old Dusty Springfield record, when an idea came to me. I decided I wanted to do an album of covers, paying tribute to songwriters and artists who had inspired me during my career, singers like Dusty.

  I trawled through my collection and half an hour later I had a long list of songs. Then Vince and I sat around the table and whittled it down, arguing, throwing around ideas. I love collaborating creatively with Vince and once again he was the perfect foil. He’s very objective and on this occasion he questioned each one of my choices, playing the devil’s advocate and throwing up alternative suggestions.

  In the end we had a bunch of songs we both felt had broad appeal and yet were still personal favourites. High on the list was ‘The Look of Love’, a song by Burt Bacharach and Hal David. Dusty Springfield made it famous and it had to be one of the greatest love songs ever written. I’d wanted to do a Dusty tribute album for ages but had given up on the idea eventually, realising the parameters were too limiting. There was no reason I couldn’t include a handful of Dusty songs in this collection, however.

  Once we had a list I talked to my manager, Bruce, about what to do next. Bruce suggested we control as much of the process as possible and then license the recording to a record company. That was music to my ears.

  So we decided to get on with it. It was a risk, though. There was a good chance no record company would want to take it on. Nevertheless, I was determined to forge ahead. If necessary, I could always release the album through my website. I just knew in my waters that people would get it and love it. I never doubted for a moment.

  Now all I needed were some like-minded types to help me make it happen, people like Duck Blackwell, Paul Guardiani and Mr Strings himself, alias the bike courier, Simon Hale.

  It was incredibly exciting. It was also very scary to take on a big project like that without backing. But by my side I had Vince and now Gab. I was surrounded by love, and I felt strong enough to move mountains.

  CHAPTER 28

  I Only Want to Be With You

  Things were busy in the flat in Fulham. Silvana had moved in, so my in-house family had grown. Having one of my sisters on tap was fantastic – it was just how I liked it – and Gab had an aunty around to spoil him rotten.

  It was late 2006 and there were a few projects underway. The most important was Gab’s first haircut – his soft blond baby locks had grown and now they needed a little tidying up. I’d asked my stylist from the salon around the corner if he’d come over and do the honours. Matt was French like Vince and we’d become friendly.

  Scissors in hand, Matt was chasing Gab around the kitchen – having just learnt to walk, Gab now refused to stay in his chair and he was lurching around like a drunken sailor. It was hilarious, and we were all laughing our heads off when Silvana came home. She thought we’d lost our minds. In the end even Matt, a truly gifted hairstylist who was great with kids, gave up in defeat. Gab’s hair stayed wispy for a few months more.

  Two other projects were on the agenda. One was my second French album. We were planning to record it sometime the following year, so I’d put that temporarily on the backburner. Then there was my album of covers, which I’d named Songs of Love and Loss. I’d started with the title ‘Torch Songs’, but I didn’t feel it was quite evocative enough. The dictionary definition of a torch song is something like ‘a song about love or loss’. Now that was perfect.

  The song list was eclectic. I’d chosen what I considered real songs or real songwriting, songs that told stories, songs with beautiful and memorable melodies, songs that made you feel. It seemed to me that many of the songs on the radio at the time were disposable, lacking in emotion, intelligence, storytelling or art.

&nbs
p; In addition to ‘The Look of Love’, I picked two more songs made famous by Dusty. ‘I Only Want to Be With You’, by Mike Hawker and Ivor Raymonde, was her first single. ‘I Just Don’t Know What to Do with Myself’, like ‘The Look of Love’, was by the stellar songwriting team Burt Bacharach and Hal David. I had to pay tribute to Burt Bacharach – back around the time ‘Chains’ was released in the US, Burt had called me in LA one day and asked me to lunch. I thought it was a hoax at first, but we did get together. Burt was hilarious and yet such a gentleman. He was very complimentary, telling me I should never stop interpreting great songs because I had something people wanted to hear. I’d always remembered his words and now I could honour them by doing just that.

  Another songwriter I’d always admired was Carole King. Her song ‘So Far Away’ was particularly poignant for me, having spent so many years travelling and apart from my family.

  Then there was ‘The Man with the Child in His Eyes’, written by Kate Bush when she was thirteen or fourteen. I’d always found that song extraordinary. I’d never forgotten the time I’d met Kate Bush at the King of Pop Awards in 1978 when I was ten years old. She was tiny, only nineteen herself, wearing purple velvet jeans and clutching a pack of Marlboro. To my eyes she was the coolest and most beautiful looking girl I’d ever seen.

  I had to include a Lulu song, and it had to be ‘To Sir with Love’. I’d adored the movie and the sentiment of the song.

  The REM song ‘Everybody Hurts’ had always resonated with me. I figured it was a song that would resonate with everybody.

  Two originals were included: ‘Woman’, which was on Just Me and which I’d always loved, and ‘Until’, which I’d written with Duck Blackwell and Paul Guardiani.

  All the songs in the list were special to me for one reason or another. But they called for a vocal style quite different to that of my ‘Chains’ days. Starting with Just Me, I’d begun to move away from the big notes towards more subtle dynamics. Singing these songs was about nuance as well as power. The aim was to retell these great stories in a fresh way.

  Now we had finalised the tracks for Songs of Love and Loss, Duck and Paul came on board, and we started work on the arrangements. I was determined the strings be live – sampled or synthesised strings wouldn’t cut it – and I wanted Simon Hale to do the arrangements. But hiring a string orchestra would be expensive, so we needed a record company to step in if it was going to work.

  By then Bruce had talked about the project to various record companies. John O’Donnell at EMI jumped at the idea. He got it straight away and was happy to let us run the show our way. ‘I trust you, Teen,’ he said. ‘Just go away and do it. I know it will be good.’ John’s a one-off. He’s incredibly personable and what drives him is a passion for the arts. We couldn’t have had a better supporter. So that was that. We had a licensing deal with EMI. It was exciting but also a huge relief. We wouldn’t be living in the park after all.

  Simon got stuck into the string arrangements, booked the London Studio Orchestra and managed that side of the recording. We recorded the album over several days. Duck and Paul were at the wheel, and Duck, especially, played several of the instruments on the album. We had a fantastic time, and what made it even better was we did exactly as we wanted. I was executive producer, so I could call the shots. It was heaven!

  Vince, Gab and I made the trip to Australia for Christmas. Mum and Dad were over the moon to see Gab, who had well and truly found his feet by then. He kept them on their toes, toddling around Dad’s garden, trying to climb the fig tree, picking the tomatoes and fava beans before they were ready. He was given tools and a workbench for Christmas and he looked quite the part, banging ‘nails’ in with his little hammer. He’d started talking too, and could make himself understood in both English and French. When he was tired he’d mix both together. Mum soon had him speaking Italian as well. He had us all laughing every minute of every day.

  Going home to Australia for Christmas always felt like being let out into the sunshine after being trapped in a freezer. I could warm my bones and relax. Having Mediterranean blood, I need the heat. But soon we were back in the freezer of London in winter. There was still work to do on the album, and then I’d be starting rehearsals.

  Yep, I would be treading the boards again in London’s West End. I know – I hadn’t exactly slowed down since Gab’s birth. But I was so enjoying my work now, and when an opportunity arises, why not jump on it?

  In actual fact, this one had fallen in my lap. The Broadway musical Chicago had been running for almost ten years in London and showed no signs of closing any time soon. (It finally closed in 2012, after a season of fifteen years.)

  By John Kander and Fred Ebb, the same songwriting team who gave us Cabaret, Chicago is one of the great musicals, with an irresistible setting, powerful story, colourful characters, great music and loads of dancing. Like Cabaret, it’s dark, which I love, and the female characters are strong and meaty. It’s a cautionary tale about the hollowness and fleeting nature of celebrity – in this case, the celebrity of big-time criminals in Chicago during prohibition. I’d be playing the female lead of Roxie Hart, a chorus girl who becomes an overnight star when she murders her lover.

  It was a role that turned over frequently, in part, as I soon found out, because it was so demanding. Anyway, I met the producers and director and they gave me the job.

  Vince and I had a night out to see the show, and what a show it was! Afterwards, though, Vince seriously suggested I go into training. As I may have mentioned, Chicago is full of dancing, never my strong suit.

  ‘Nah,’ I said. ‘I’ll get fit during the rehearsals.’

  Well, I sure did get fit. It was hardcore for a woman on the cusp of forty. Those rehearsals were a crash-course in Fosse-style choreography, so called after Bob Fosse, who wrote the book for Chicago and was the director and choreographer of the original production. (Among many other things, Fosse also directed the film of Cabaret starring Liza Minnelli.) His jazz dance style has been borrowed ever since.

  Have I mentioned that in Chicago there’s a lot of dancing? That it’s full of dancing? And every high kick has to be spot-on. Looking back now, it was funny, but at the time, it was torture. I was dancing for hours at a time and cried every day for the first week. Dean the choreographer must have thought I was demented.

  When I finally hit the stage for my first public performance on 2 April 2007, every last cell of fat on my body had been burnt to a cinder – my legs were concrete toothpicks. Three days in and I was ready to curl up in a ball and sleep for a thousand years.

  But once I struggled through that, I loved every minute of it. It’s hot entertainment, in every sense. And the story, like the best stories, is as relevant now as it was in the 1920s, when it was set, or the 1970s, when the musical was first staged. It’s all about celebrity and media spin, something I’d experienced firsthand, having lived in the public eye for more than thirty years.

  In a funny way, though, unlike Roxie, I had avoided many of the pitfalls of celebrity, particularly since my divorce. That had been very public and I’d since taken steps to avoid that kind of attention. Maybe I was just too normal now – I wasn’t out doing crazy things or behaving badly in public. In France I was often recognised, no doubt about it, but in that country I could be myself, pretty much. I didn’t have to try to be someone I wasn’t. In Australia, people had known me for so long, I think they thought of me as a second cousin, the kind whose photo sits on the mantelpiece, just part of the furniture. Plus I’d always tried to treat others the way I’d like to be treated, so I was never really put on any kind of pedestal, which meant they couldn’t tear me down.

  The fact was, however, I’d been dealing with the media for almost my entire life, so I was well acquainted with the spin. It was just part of my work. But now that my personal life had become so important to me, I was determined to keep it relatively private. Vince understood the role the media played but he wasn’t seduced by notoriety at
all. And Gab was too young. Luckily, in London, even when I was starring in a big West End production, the media more or less left me alone. When it comes to celebrities, they do seem to love a train wreck over there, and I didn’t fit the bill, thank god.

  I played Roxie Hart for six weeks, which sounds short compared to my previous efforts, but it was more or less standard for that part. Ironically, while the show was a critique of celebrity, it depended on an ever-changing rollcall of ‘stars’ in the lead roles to put bums on seats.

  By the time I finished, I could have run a marathon or climbed Mount Everest. I didn’t – I went back to my other work. Songs of Love and Loss was nearly finished, but my next French album was barely started. There’d be the inevitable boxing rounds with Valérie over which songs to include (I’d enjoyed those in a perverse way, and we both gave as good as we got), and then some writing and recording.

  On the home front, we’d sold the apartment and bought a house in Clapham. Gab might have been just two feet tall but he seemed to take up an awful lot of space. Once we moved into the new place, things quickly began to take shape. Very soon it felt like home, a family home, and I had beside me the two people I wanted to be with more than anything in the world. Things were good.

  CHAPTER 29

  7 Vies

  Added to my list of things to do in 2007 was an event I couldn’t get out of even if I wanted to: my fortieth birthday. I wasn’t scared – in fact, I was looking forward to it. My life to this point had been an amazing ride. I’d been lucky enough to be born into a supportive and loving family, I had two of the best sisters in the world, I’d had a fantastic childhood doing what I loved, I’d worked hard, had success in my homeland and abroad, seen the world and had enough ups and downs to learn a helluva lot the hard way, which I’ve realised is the best way. And now, with Gab and Vince beside me, my journey had taken a new turn. Despite dramatic changes in the music industry, which was my world and my livelihood, I was feeling optimistic and excited about the future. I was sure the next decade would be an interesting one.