by Tina Arena
Higher Ground
It was summer in Paris and, while we hadn’t yet managed to do anything to the house to ‘bring the outside in’ as per Vince’s grand plan, the weather was beautiful. We probably should have been out enjoying the day, but it being Sunday I was still in my dressing-gown and Gab in his pyjamas, even though it was lunchtime.
My phone bleeped. It was a message from Salvatore Anzalone, a Belgian concert promoter and old friend of Vince’s. Sal and I had been working together for quite a few years.
‘Cadel’s wearing the yellow jersey.’
‘What’s the yellow jersey?’ I texted back.
‘Quoi? Cadel Evans has won the Tour. He can’t lose now unless he falls, which he won’t. It’ll be the first time an Aussie has won.’
I rang Sal.
He faked outrage (or did he?). ‘What do you mean you don’t know what the yellow jersey is?’ he yelled down the line. ‘It’s the Tour de France and Cadel Evans has won! What’re you gonna do about it?’
‘What do you want me to do? It’s Sunday and I’m at home in my PJs cooking lunch.’
‘Call someone,’ he said. ‘You should be there. You should sing.’
He was right, of course. I should, and I would. I was by no means a cycling aficionado but I did know that winning the Tour de France was an incredible achievement. I was fairly sure there was no tougher sporting event on the planet. You had to be almost superhuman to finish it, let alone win it. Being Australian, I was also aware of just how much my nation hated sport – NOT! This Cadel Evans was clearly already a national hero and his victory deserved to be celebrated properly here in France.
‘I’ll call the Australian ambassador,’ I told Sal.
I’d met the ambassador, David Ritchie, on various occasions. He was a lovely gentleman. ‘Where are you, darling?’ he said when I rang. ‘You should come down. Cadel has won!’
‘What are you doing about the national anthem?’ I asked.
‘Someone’s gone back to the office to pick up a disk. We’ll just play that.’
‘We can do better than that,’ I said. ‘I could sing, if you like.’
‘Really? You’d do that?’ David was up for it, I could tell.
‘Yep. I’d love to.’
At that moment Vince walked in the door. I quickly told him what was going on. As I talked I could see his brain ticking over. He was cooking something up.
‘Let me call Barbara,’ he said.
Barbara was a friend of Vince’s sister Sophie. She also happened to work for the company that organised the Tour. In fact, she was one of the key contacts.
Vince called Barbara, who called someone else, who called France 2, the TV station broadcasting the event. France 2 knew me well – I’d appeared on their station countless times – and they knew how I worked and what I could do.
Barbara came back to say they loved the idea.
We had an hour to get there. I ran upstairs and rifled through my wardrobe for something appropriate to wear. I found an Australian flag top that the stylist Nicole Bonython-Hines had given me on a shoot years earlier. Vince got Gab out of his pyjamas. Then we jumped in the car and gunned it. For the first time in history we got every green light. We made it in twenty minutes.
At five o’clock on that balmy Sunday evening on the Champs-Élysées in Paris, Cadel Evans was declared the winner of the Tour de France. He was indeed the first Australian ever to win the race.
With tears in my eyes, I sang ‘Advance Australia Fair’ a cappella. It was a momentous occasion and I felt incredibly proud – proud of Cadel, proud to be Australian, and proud to be able to honour Australia and France in the best way I knew how. It had seemed the logical and natural thing to do.
Afterwards, I talked to Cadel. He was extremely emotional, which I could completely understand. When I came to know more about the man, I felt an affinity with him. He’d worked hard for years to win that race. He’d had ups and downs, but he’d never given in. And of course, he was Australian, like me. That really meant something.
The person who got the biggest shock was my manager, Bruce. He was in the UK and had no idea what had gone on. Suddenly every media outlet was on the line wanting to get the inside story.
The funny thing was, Michel Drucker, ‘France’s Michael Parkinson’, who had always been such a great supporter of mine, had spotted Cadel years earlier. Michel was a cycling fanatic. ‘Watch that Cadel Evans,’ he said to me once. ‘He’ll win the Tour one day.’
‘Who’ll win the what?’ I think I said. Well, now I know.
That year, 2011, I’d given concerts in France and Australia. Both countries were now dear to my heart. While I’d made France my home, there was no denying that Australia would always be ‘home’. And now Cadel’s win had brought the two countries together in a beautiful way. These days, I no longer felt conflict or doubt about who I was or where I belonged. The fact was, I’d been a citizen of the world for so many years, I could feel at home in Paris, London, Melbourne, Sydney, Sicily, LA, Corsica – wherever I laid my hat. I was at a place in my life where I could look back on my past without regret. I no longer cared if people continued to call me Tiny Tina forever. In fact, I looked back on that little girl with great fondness. She’d just followed her heart and done what she loved most. There had been something very genuine and innocent about Young Talent Time. It had shaped my past, present and probably future. It helped make me who I am.
So when, not long after Cadel’s victory in the Tour, I received a call from someone at Channel Ten, asking me whether I’d be involved in a new series of Young Talent Time, I said I’d give it serious consideration. After some thought I decided I could only participate if I was confident the show was done well, with thought, love and effort. I didn’t want to get involved with anything that was knocked together, or not in the spirit of the original YTT.
Then I heard that John Young himself would be involved, and I was sure the show would stay true to the original. And if John was involved I couldn’t possibly say no. I would be forever indebted to John Young for getting me started. When I was growing up on national television, he was always there for me, teaching, nurturing, mentoring. If it hadn’t been for John, I wouldn’t have had the career I’d had. In fact, I thought of him as my second dad. He had his own two daughters, Anna and Fleur, and then there was me, his surrogate daughter. So if John wanted me to do it, I couldn’t refuse.
It was exactly how I’d felt a year earlier when I was asked to induct him into the ARIA Hall of Fame.
‘Yes,’ I’d said immediately. ‘I’d be honoured.’ And I was. I felt it was well overdue, to tell the truth, but these things take time, and most things happen at the right time for the right reasons. Now was definitely the right time and John certainly deserved it. He’d not only been a pop sensation in the early 1960s, but had gone on to pen some of Australia’s best-known number-1 hits, songs like ‘The Real Thing’ for Russell Morris and ‘Smiley’ for Ronnie Burns. He had fifteen gold records on his wall and six Logies on his mantelpiece. John had been instrumental in the early days of Australian rock ’n’ roll and yet he’d never properly been recognised for all he’d achieved. In fact, I think he lost credibility in the industry when he started YTT, and yet that show had launched many careers and promoted the pants off thousands of songs, most of them selling as singles in shops like 100 Puckle Street in Moonee Ponds, where I’d bought my first record.
So on 27 October 2010 I inducted John Young into the Hall of Fame. As part of the ceremony, I sang one of his own compositions, ‘Here Comes the Star’, a poignant song about the loneliness of fame. John was humbled and deeply touched by all the love in the room that night. I guess for him, it felt like things had come full circle.
And now, with a new series of Young Talent Time on the cards, it felt like things were coming full circle for me, too. Of course, I no longer qualified to be a member of the team. I was a tad too old. Instead, I’d be a judge and mentor. There would be two of
us – the other judge and mentor would be the Emmy award-winning American dancer and choreographer Charles ‘Chucky’ Klapow. Chucky’s first high-profile performance was at the age of twelve. He began to choreograph by the time he was fifteen, and danced in Austin Powers and with Michael Jackson for the ‘This Is It’ tour, as well as choreographing three High School Musical movies. Chucky was also a gorgeous person, generous in spirit, articulate, interesting and interested.
Chucky was highly qualified to be a judge on a talent show, and I felt that I was too. Aside from my career experience, YTT would not be my first time as a judge and mentor. I’d been a guest judge on Australian Idol, working with Ian Dickson. We made a funny pair: he’d tell someone they were awful while I tried to give them positive and practical feedback. But Dicko always did it in such an endearing way you loved him nevertheless.
Dicko and I judged some Idol tryouts in London together with Darren Hayes from Savage Garden. One young woman fronted up and sang ‘Chains’. Dicko told her it was ‘rubbish’. I just said I was flattered, but she didn’t need to sing one of my songs. Funnily enough, ‘Chains’ has become a favourite among talent show contestants all over the world, so I’ve been told. I guess it gives a singer the opportunity to strut their stuff.
Anyway, after much discussion I signed on the dotted line for a new series of Young Talent Time. The show would air from January to May 2012. To do it, I would need to be in Australia for at least six months. It wasn’t the best timing: we’d finally had our renovation plans approved for the house in Paris and building was due to begin. Regardless, Vince, Gab and I packed up our belongings and headed down under.
In Melbourne we stayed with Mum and Dad until we found a house to rent – in Moonee Ponds, of course. We got Gab into a school around the corner. Gab slotted in like a local within days. In fact, he absolutely loved school in Australia. I think the Australian approach to education suited him. In France even the littlies feel pressure to succeed and do well, and it’s stressful for them. The Australian way seemed a bit more nurturing. They seemed to let little kids be little kids for a little bit longer.
Gab also got the chance to come to work with me, and he absolutely loved every minute. He’d sit in my judge’s chair and give feedback to imaginary contestants, telling them what they’d done well and what needed work. The crew would fall about laughing – Gab kept everyone entertained.
So Gab was as happy as Larry. Vince found himself on a plane a lot, travelling between France, LA and Melbourne. In LA he was looking in on Silvana and Matt. Silvana had fallen pregnant in the second half of 2011, but the baby, little Louis, had come three months early, at just twenty-six weeks. It was tough for them all. (A year later, Louis was tearing around Dad’s garden, getting into everything, just like Gab had a few years earlier.)
In the end, the new Young Talent Time was a beautiful experience. The host, Rob Mills, who’d been in the top five of the first season of Australian Idol in 2003, was terrific. The team of kids were gorgeous and incredibly talented. Everyone, from the smallest contestant to the executive producer, had a great time on that show. It was such a friendly set and you couldn’t have had a more interesting, hardworking and loving bunch of people.
The focus was on family entertainment. The tricky thing was finding the right timeslot. They’d started the show in January, when people were still in holiday mode. The original timeslot was early on a Sunday evening, but I suspect families were still at the beach when the show aired. In the end they moved the show twice, the second time to Friday evenings, which again seemed an odd choice.
I was a bit miffed when it wasn’t renewed for a second season, but that’s television. It’s a business. Still, I’d done it for John, and I think we did him proud. For me, it tied off a loose end. It was lovely to revisit Young Talent Time, this time from a different perspective, and to give something back to kids who had a dream just like I had.
What I hadn’t expected was the love and appreciation I received. I hadn’t realised just how many people saw me as some kind of role model or felt that I’d somehow contributed to their journey. It was humbling, and yet I felt ready to take on that role, to lead by example, to give back.
On the final night, the team did a wonderful job, singing and dancing their hearts out. The boys gave a fabulous rendition of a great song by the incredible Stevie Wonder. It’s a song about moving ahead, about striving to survive and to flourish. I’ve always loved the track and always loved the sentiment. ‘Higher Ground’ could be the theme song to my life.
CHAPTER 33
Reset All
It had been a long time between drinks. Not literally, of course (Vince and I were always partial to a good bottle of red, or a glass of champagne, or an aperitif or two!), but metaphorically, because I hadn’t released an album of new material in English for eleven years. In the interim, so many things had changed, starting with me. Since Just Me, I’d ‘reset all’, so to speak, with a second career in a new land, a new language, a new life, and new loves-of-my-life in Vince and Gab. Then there was the music business. It had changed too, beyond recognition, perhaps. Even the way people listened to music was different. Once, we bought albums and played them from beginning to end, over and over. Now people would download music a song at a time, adding each one to a playlist that in some ways was like wallpaper, a backdrop that added a bit of colour but didn’t really impinge on the important business of living. For me, though, music was living, it was life, it was my life.
When I walked away from my French recording contract three or four years earlier, the well had been truly dry. I had nothing to give, and when that happens, you won’t hear from me. Now, though, I was busting to write and record another original album in my own language and in my own way.
Vince, Gab and I were back in Paris, living in our friends Laurent and Brigitte’s apartment around the corner while work proceeded on our house. From the other side of the world my new manager, Grant Gillies, began to hook me up with other songwriters, people in the UK and Scandinavia. Grant had come on board not long after the new Young Talent Time finished. He and I had met years ago, when he was label manager at Jive Records. My friend Morena worked with him and we’d met at an industry event. We’d reconnected at Channel Ten, where Grant was then working as marketing director. Not long after YTT folded, he left the network to set up an artists’ management company.
Around the same time, I’d decided I needed an Australian manager again, especially because I was keen to make another original album, although I didn’t have a recording contract. My Australian ties were as strong as ever – stronger even – and I’d been heading down under every year to give concerts and reconnect with fans and family. Whenever I did, I’d stay with Gab’s godmother Linda Gregoriou and her dog Rufus (Australia’s most flatulent dog).
The global financial crisis had rocked Europe, and it drove home to me just how lucky Australians are, and what a country of opportunity my homeland was. Then there was the sunshine and the beach … I began to imagine a life where we lived six months in Australia and six months in France. Gab might be French by birth but he loved Australia – not only school, but the mood, the air – something. Vince was another matter. He’s French through and through, and for the French their culture is like oxygen – it keeps them alive. He couldn’t imagine living so far away from home for too long.
On the Arena family front things were changing too. After a lifetime of hard work and commitment to others, my parents finally retired. They hung on to the house in Moonee Ponds, which I will always think of as our family home, but sold the business. It was great to think that they were at last going to have some time to smell the roses, relax (although that was impossible to picture) and do some of the things they’d wanted to do but never had the time. Nancy had always kept an eye on them, and continued to do so, in between work and ferrying Sofia to her various engagements. Sofia was growing up into quite a little lady, and some people said that with her long dark hair and perky
smile she reminded them of me in my YTT days. She certainly had brio.
Silvana and Matt were back in London, now with Louis, who had never looked back and was bigger and bouncier than ever. So, as always, the Arena clan were scattered around the world. But it’s true that home is where the heart is, and for all of us that would forever be Australia.
Paris, or to be specific, our run-down house in Paris, was keeping Vince and me busy. The building works seemed to be progressing at a snail’s pace, and we wondered if we’d ever move back in. The once beautiful garden was now a builder’s lot, and nothing appeared close to finished. As the winter of 2012 descended, things ground almost to a halt. It felt as if we were being held hostage, caught up in a situation over which we had no control, our destiny entirely in others’ hands. Meanwhile, the little apartment we had so generously been given grew chillier and chillier. Wrapped up in jumpers and scarves, I’d huddle over the heater, imaging I was sitting on Bondi Beach under an umbrella, taking in the surfers, the sparkling waves, the cloudless blue sky. A European winter is tough if you don’t have proper heating. A trip to Stockholm to write saw me in head-to-toe thermals. If you think Paris is cold in December, try Sweden!
Unlike the house, which was looking more and more like a bombsite, the album was coming together. In fact, by early 2013 I had enough material for two albums. A visit to Australia to do more concerts gave me a chance to catch up with friends, family and old acquaintances. One such acquaintance was John O’Donnell, the man who had given me carte blanche when we were recording Songs of Love and Loss. I’d always admired John. Personable and artistic, he had a passion for the arts and that’s what seemed to drive him.
We caught up for breakfast at a cafe overlooking Sydney’s Circular Quay one morning in late summer. Having left EMI a few years earlier, John had since returned to the fold, and he was interested in hearing the new material. I promised to send it to him.
At home in France we finally moved into the house. Sure, we had no kitchen and I spent my days with a sponge in my hand as tradies drilled and hammered, traipsing dirt through the place all day every day for weeks. But it was great to be home. Grant was on the case with the album, and eventually had some good news: John O’Donnell wanted to do a deal. In fact, he wanted to do a deal for four albums.