Now I Can Dance

by Tina Arena

  In my usual style I ended up celebrating in four places on different sides of the globe. Also in my usual style, I was working on the day of my actual birthday, in Australia doing a quick promo tour prior to the release of Songs of Love and Loss. But it gave me a chance to celebrate with Mum, Dad, Nancy, Walter and Sofia.

  Nancy also suggested that she and I catch up for a few quiet drinks on Sunday afternoon at the Grace Darling Hotel in Collingwood. When I arrived there were a bunch of old friends already there – Julie Field, Morena Miceli and Danielle Bernardo. I joined them and we had a lovely afternoon chatting and laughing. With Vince and Gab back in London, it was great to have dear family and friends around me.

  My other parties included a beautiful soiree at Clapham in London with Silvana and our London mates, involving vintage champagne and a box full of the most extraordinary cupcakes I’d ever seen, courtesy of my little sister.

  In Paris we had a shindig in Batignolles. We had let the apartment on the square go, so we went to Jacques and Val’s, who were like family. If it was anything like previous dinners at Jacques and Val’s, the celebration probably involved an aperitif followed by dinner, which was always an event, especially because there would be quite a wait in between. No doubt there was more champagne involved, as well as a good French red or two – those bon vivants would never serve up a bad wine.

  And finally, we had a few days with friends in Corsica. We hired four or five villas and chilled out, eating, drinking, talking, reading, doing nothing. I’d fallen in love with that place the first time I went there with Vince a few years earlier. It felt like one of my spiritual homes, not least because it’s a lot like Sicily. The landscape is rugged mountains one minute, Mediterranean island paradise the next. The ancient towns and villages are picture-postcard, with stone villas, cobbled streets and red-tiled roofs. And the island is populated with some extremely interesting characters – stubborn and passionate people (sound familiar?), who, despite the economic realities, are still determined to win their independence after almost 250 years under French rule.

  In fact, one of Corsica’s most famous musicians had featured on my new French album, which we recorded after my Chicago stint. With his brother Alain, Jean-François Bernardini fronts the Corsican folk music band I Muvrini. They sing in Corsican, melding traditional polyphonic vocals with traditional and contemporary instruments, and are astonishing live. They’ve recorded with many well-known artists, including Sting.

  Vince and I made the trip to Bastia in Corsica to ask Jean-François whether he’d recite some poetry over a track I’d originally written with Peter-John Vettese. Pete had come up with the fabulous 1960s-style music and I’d written a melody and my first-ever French lyric, which at that stage was just a chorus. Jean-François agreed, and wrote and recited some beautiful poetry, which for me captured everything I love about Corsica.

  That song, called ‘Dis-Moi’ (Tell Me), was left-of-field but Valérie liked it. Unfortunately, however, she and I didn’t always see eye to eye when it came to song choices for the new French album. In fact, we seemed to come up against one obstacle after another during the making of that album, which was recorded in both Paris and London. I found out later a lot was going on at Sony behind closed doors. With the music industry experiencing major changes, the big companies were suffering. Sony France wasn’t immune, and many people there feared for their jobs. Valérie, who was head of Columbia in France, was under major pressure at work, even though the label was actually doing very well. Everyone was running for cover and had less time or patience to collaborate on things. They seemed to just want to drive things through and move on.

  Still, there were some interesting songs on the album, which was chiefly produced by Duck and Paul. ‘Entends-Tu le Monde?’ (Can You Hear the World?) featured a sample by the Senegalese singer Thione Seck and was produced by DJ Molecule. I co-wrote several of the tracks, which was satisfying, and Vince wrote lyrics for quite a few.

  I called the album after the song ‘7 Vies’, which I co-wrote with Elodie Hesme, one of the writers on ‘Je M’Appelle Bagdad’. The song is about how women, whoever or wherever they are, need seven lives to survive (it’s a play on the seven lives of French cats – of course, in English, cats have nine lives). I loved the lyric and it resonated with me personally. I’d just turned forty and yet I felt like I’d lived at least seven lives, give or take. What’s more, I’d survived them all.

  The first single off the album ended up being ‘Entends-Tu le Monde?’ I wasn’t sure that song was the best choice for a single but Valérie was. Maybe she was right – it reached number 10 on the French charts, although sales were down, as they were across the board.

  I didn’t know the detail of the changes going on at Sony France, but I’d been around long enough to know the instability would affect my album. And I think it probably did. As well, despite Valérie’s achievements and great success with Columbia, she was ultimately retrenched, along with many others. Things would never be quite the same.

  Songs of Love and Loss, the album I’d dreamt up in the kitchen and which had been a labour of love, was released in Australia in early December 2007. My second French album, 7 Vies, was scheduled to come out a month or so later. Making two records back to back had been full on and I swore I’d never do it again. It was crazy, and now I’d be promoting them both!

  Vince and Gab travelled with me to Australia for a handful of concerts. I was excited. The album had gone platinum within a week, and ended up at number three on the charts. A year later it was nominated for an ARIA award for bestselling album. Having had no expectations for that record, it was particularly sweet. It was a good example of what can happen if you follow your heart and see something through with passion and dedication.

  So on that score I was thrilled. However, I was also extremely nervous – terrified, to be honest. It would be the first time I performed in Australia with an orchestra, and I had no idea how people would react. And while the material was wonderful and I wanted to treat it with the respect it deserved, it was also challenging, and I was fearful of doing a bad job. Every nuance, every breath, every note would count. I couldn’t muck this up.

  Lucky for me, I had my wonderful band by my side – Paul, Kere, Nick and Chris, and two fabulous backing vocalists, Kelly and Talei Wolfgramm. As well, a young composer and arranger called Nicholas Buc would be the conductor. Nick turned out to be more than just a genius, and he was certainly one of those. He had such spontaneity and energy you couldn’t help but enjoy yourself on stage with him. He was a wonderful addition to an already great team and I loved him to bits. Six years later, we are still working together.

  I also had a fantastic new assistant who made all the difference. Tori Wood, it turned out, knew more about me than I did myself, having been a fan since she was a little kid. She was versed in all kinds of other things, too, her special subject being fashion (and don’t get her started on lingerie!). Tori still helps out whenever I’m in Australia, and I’d be lost without her.

  After a typical Arena Christmas, I gave two performances with the Melbourne Symphony Orchestra at Hamer Hall in Melbourne. Hamer Hall is my home crowd but I was still terrified that the show would be a disaster. I needn’t have worried. Thanks to the band, the orchestra, Nick and a very supportive audience (some home crowds can be tough, but not my home crowd), everything went off without a hitch.

  A few days later I was in Sydney, rehearsing with the Sydney Lyric Orchestra for three concerts at the Sydney Opera House. There is something special about performing in that beautiful building. With the success of the Melbourne concerts to bolster me, I could relax a little and enjoy it.

  While we were in Sydney we made a video for ‘Entends-Tu le Monde?’. It had been Vince’s idea to shoot the clip in Australia and once again he had a cameo, playing a mysterious handsome man sitting up the back of a bus.

  Soon after, we headed back to Europe to do promotion for 7 Vies, which was coming out in February. But
when we arrived it was clear that not much had been put in place. The upheaval at Sony was taking its toll. Vince, Bruce and I all felt that the marketing plan was weak and poorly thought out. Everyone at Sony seemed distracted and it was hard to get answers out of them. It was frustrating.

  Nevertheless, the album did okay, reaching number 12 on the charts. But I was left feeling very unsure about my future with Columbia. I still had one more album owing to the label, according to my contract. It turned out they wanted it, very much, and I had several discussions with them about the next album.

  But when Vince and I sat down and talked about it, we decided that under the circumstances there was no point continuing. I didn’t want to go through that again, putting everything I had into a record only to see it fall through the cracks. At that point, my well was dry. With Valérie gone, I knew I wouldn’t be able to summon up the strength and belief to record and promote a new album with conviction. So in the end I asked my lawyer to write a letter informing Columbia I wanted out.

  The label’s response was admirable and it’s something I love about the French. They will never make an artist honour a contract if the artist’s heart isn’t in it. It’s a sensible approach. Instead, Columbia decided they’d release a good old honest ‘best of’. And that was that.

  I visited the office and thanked all those who I’d worked with over the years. Most of them had already been retrenched or left. One who was still on deck was Virginie Couarc’h, who I’d worked with since the days of In Deep, and who had found our beautiful apartment in Batignolles. Virginie was very sad to see me go, and I was sad to say goodbye, but I was ready to move on.

  There was perhaps another reason why I made that decision. Now we had Gab, Vince and I had been keen to give him a brother or sister, and that had been part of our plans for 2008. In fact I’d been pregnant briefly in 2007 but had miscarried at home in Clapham. Vince was away sailing with a couple of his fathers’ friends to pick up a boat from Tunisia and bring it back to France when it happened. The next day I dropped Gab off at creche, caught a bus to the hospital, had myself checked out, picked Gab up and came home. (I got into trouble with Gab’s godmother, Linda Gregoriou, for doing that. Linda lived close by and was a good friend.) Anyway, I felt lost, and like a bit of a failure. But it wasn’t meant to be.

  And then, in 2008, I had another miscarriage. I guess I’d been crazy busy but I was particularly stressed that year over what was going on at Columbia and also more broadly in the industry. Songs of Love and Loss had sold well, but I was questioning my place in the world. Where did I fit in now?

  Vince and I were sad and disappointed to lose two pregnancies, but I have always been philosophical about things like that. Nature is a powerful force and there’s no point questioning it or fighting it. As the French say, La nature est bien faite – nature is well made. And it is. Miscarriage is common and women all over the world go through it every day. It was hardly something extraordinary. It was difficult, nevertheless, and it became more so once it actually sank in. But it is what it is. I guess I could have tried IVF, but I wasn’t sure it was right for me.

  I dealt with it all the way I deal with most things. I just kept going. EMI wanted a second album. Gab was more than enough to keep us busy and laughing every day. And who knew what else might be around the corner? Another one of those seven lives, perhaps. I still had a couple more to go, surely.

  CHAPTER 30

  Living a Lifetime Together

  Life had slowed down a little, at least enough to enjoy some family time. I was back in London working on the follow-up to Songs of Love and Loss. It had been the number one Australian album over Christmas, so EMI were all geared up to do another one. So geared up, in fact, they wanted a bit more say regarding the choice of songs. But John O’Donnell never overstepped the mark. ‘I trust you. Just do what feels right,’ he’d say.

  The songs ended up all being favourites of mine, anyway. First up was the Lulu track ‘Oh Me Oh My’. I’d always loved Lulu – such a soulful and honest singer, she was never too fancy but always kept it real. Then there was ‘Close to You’, a Bacharach–David song made famous by the Carpenters (and didn’t Karen Carpenter have the voice of an angel!). I’d always admired Deborah Harry – she was such a risk-taker, and ‘Call Me’ was nothing less than a smash hit. We pared back Alice Cooper’s ‘Only Women Bleed’ to its essence to bring out the emotion. ‘I Hope I Never’, by Tim Finn, a truly great songwriter, is one of my favourite Split Enz tracks. Then there was Joni Mitchell’s ‘Both Sides, Now’, Elton John’s ‘Your Song’ and an original, a song I wrote with Paul Manners and his offsiders, called ‘Living a Lifetime Together’.

  Duck, Paul Guardiani and Simon would be on board again, and we were all excited about the recording, because this time I planned to sing live in the studio with the London Studio Orchestra. The concept was to capture the excitement and buzz of a live performance.

  It sounded like a great idea, but the pressure was enormous. We recorded seven songs in one day at Air Studios. Simon Hale did the arrangements and conducted. He was superb, driving the session and keeping everyone on track. I got the feeling the musicians enjoyed having me in the room with them and they were very complimentary. There was a mood of spontaneity and exhilaration, just as we’d hoped. Having been put on the spot regularly during more than thirty years of performing, I kept it together, and we recorded everything in just one or two takes.

  Performing those songs with an orchestra seemed like a natural step for me to take. I was harking back to my pop roots and all those songs I grew up listening to on the radio, as well as my Italian musical roots, which took in opera, and my roots in musical theatre. For me, both Songs of Love and Loss albums encapsulated my musical heritage and my musical identity.

  It also seemed a natural step to perform with the great Italian tenor Andrea Bocelli while he was in Australia. Andrea’s unbelievably beautiful voice is one of my favourites on the planet. Having heard Songs of Love and Loss, he requested I sing the duets he’d made famous: ‘The Prayer’, which he recorded with Celine Dion, ‘Canto della Terra’, which he recorded with Sarah Brightman, and the Elvis song ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’.

  Singing duets with Andrea was an absolute honour, but it was challenging. Even though Italian is my first language, I’d rarely sung in it. For me, it’s not just about getting the pronunciation right – which wasn’t a big ask for me in Italian, anyway – but communicating the emotion. Italian is an incredibly emotional language – I would have to be able to infuse those words with the passion they promised. It was a new test, but it was wonderful to return to my Italian roots and pay tribute to them in the best way I knew how.

  Andrea and I first sang together at a big concert in Lithuania, just days after I’d finished recording Love and Loss 2. Then, in August, we sang together in concerts in Australia and New Zealand. Before each performance Andrea would warm up in the bathroom of his dressing-room. To keep his vocal cords moist, he’d have the shower going full bore and the entire place would be filled with steam. Andrea was very funny – his imitation of an Australian accent was the best I’ve ever heard.

  Singing ‘The Prayer’ in Italian with Andrea gave me goosebumps every night. Che bella lingua!

  Back in London we were putting the finishing touches to Songs of Love and Loss 2. Gab was nearly three and had begun attending the nursery school around the corner. He was starting to pick up a Clapham accent to add to his Australian and French turns of phrase. Gab was even more multicultural than I was as a kid, back when I’d be speaking Italian to my parents one minute and broad Australian to my mates the next. Gab just seemed to slot in wherever he was.

  I made a quick trip to Australia for the release of Songs of Love and Loss 2. The album went gold virtually overnight and reached number 12. Then I was back in London for a break before an Australian concert tour the following March. I thought we could have a bit of quiet family time together. It was a good plan, but it didn’
t last. Not long after we returned, a man in a dark suit appeared on our doorstep in Clapham. He looked like something out of the secret service, but he was just there to deliver an envelope. It was addressed to me, so I sat down at the kitchen table and opened it. Inside was a letter from President Sarkozy of France, informing me that I had been awarded a Chevalier de l’Ordre National du Mérite for my services to France.

  My first reaction was, Someone’s taking the micky here – I wonder who? I called out to Vince to come and see. ‘Check this out,’ I said. ‘Is it a gag?’

  Vince read the letter. ‘No, of course it’s not a gag,’ he said. Then he gave me a big hug. ‘You’re being knighted, French-style!’

  I rang Bruce. He got on the phone to the French embassy in London. It turned out the honour was the second highest in the land, after the Legion of Honour. That blew me away. I’d be up there with Marcel Marceau, Jacques Chirac and Jacques Cousteau. I was speechless for at least ten seconds, which is still a record. I felt unworthy, honoured, grateful, moved. France had not only opened its arms to me but its heart too.

  When Gab heard I was to be made a chevalier he thought I’d have to start wearing armour and riding around on a horse. When I explained I’d still be wearing jeans and a T-shirt for most of the time and getting around the usual way, he was extremely disappointed.

  The French embassy in London suggested I receive my honour there. But after I gave it some thought, I decided I wanted to be decorated in France. It just made sense and it wouldn’t feel right to do it any other way. The French government agreed to my request and said they’d inform me when and where the ceremony would take place. In the end, it wasn’t until three years later that I was decorated at a wonderful ceremony at the Palais de la Culture by the Minister for Culture, Frédéric Mitterrand. We invited family and friends and afterwards Vince and I took everyone out to dinner across the road. It was an extraordinary evening.