Working Class Man

by Jimmy Barnes

  The show ended in a big jam session and I was on stage with Joe Ely, who became a good mate of mine, Stevie Ray and Jimmie Vaughan and a twelve-year-old kid who played fantastic guitar called Charlie Sexton. Charlie also ended up being a good friend and still is to this day. He now plays with Bob Dylan and I try to catch up with him whenever he tours. So we had a good time in Texas. Austin was the only town in America that reminded me of Australia. The people were down to earth, easy-going and liked to rock. We tore the place down that night and the audience got us. This didn’t happen a lot in America. A couple of times.

  We did a few good shows with Joe Walsh, who went on to play much later with The Eagles. But even back then he was unbelievable. A great guy and a great guitar player. His crowd liked us but really couldn’t wait until we got off so they could see him play. One of the shows we did with him was at the famous Colorado venue called Red Rocks. This was a place that we’d read about in magazines like Rolling Stone. Word was it was one of the best places to play in the world. I think that we only managed to get onto the show because of an American agent called Chuck Morris. Chuck was partners in an agency called Feyline with a guy called Barry Fey. He was a bigtime agent and he wanted to manage Cold Chisel. I think he was good mates with Rod Willis for a while but we never took his offer any further. We didn’t want to have an American manager for Chisel and neither did Rod. He wanted to keep us close to him. But Chuck did run Red Rocks, along with a few other people. When I first heard about this guy I thought someone said that Chuck Norris wanted to manage us. Now that would have been entertainment.

  We got to the stage ten minutes before we were due to go on. I couldn’t help but notice the dark clouds gathering overhead. As we walked on the heavens opened up. Joe Walsh’s crew immediately started trying to get us off. We ignored them. We had travelled from Australia to play this venue and we weren’t going to stop because of a little rain.

  But it got heavier and heavier. By halfway through our set it was like a tornado. The wind was howling and the rain was coming in sideways. Joe’s crew were panicking, calling me to the side of the stage. ‘This rain is ridiculous. You guys better get off the fucking stage. One of you will get killed if you don’t.’

  I wiped the water from my eyes, smiled and said as casually as I could, ‘This isn’t rain. It’s just a sun shower. We’ll be fine. We play in weather like this all the time.’ And I ran back out into the deluge. We were on fire. The band played the best show of the whole tour that day. Maybe the best gig of our lives when I think about it. We knew we were playing well too.

  I was thinking, ‘No American band would walk on stage in rain like this. The crowd love us for being out here, taking our lives into our own hands, to deliver for them. We’ll be done and Joe will refuse to play and we’ll be heroes.’

  I could see it all. I could see the headlines in the local papers. ‘Aussie band slays audience in horrendous storm’. But it didn’t quite go that way. The crowd did love us and they were duly impressed by our tenacity. But as soon as we finished playing – in fact the minute we walked off the stage – the storm disappeared. It was gone as quickly as it had arrived. Apparently this sort of thing happened all the time in Colorado. Who knew?

  Joe walked out to a warm, clear, starry night and the lights came up. ‘Good evening, Red Rocks. What a beautiful night to play a concert for you. How lucky are we?’

  The crowd went crazy. We could hear them screaming as we drove off to our next gig.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  love your single

  NEW YORK CITY AND LOS ANGELES, 1981

  WE ENDED UP IN New York for about ten days, without any work. We were a sad, sad band. In the city that never sleeps, with nothing to do but sleep. Because the shows we were supposed to play had been cancelled – maybe they were never booked, we never knew – none of us had much money. As ever, I hated not having enough money to get by. It was the first time in a while that I had been in this situation and Jane was meeting me here too. This only made me angrier and harder to get along with. The band had no idea why it was such a big deal, and just laughed at me. They were happy just to be travelling around, playing music.

  We were staying in a hotel called the Gramercy Park Hotel. Now, readers who have been to New York may know that the Gramercy Park is a pretty flash hotel, nowadays. But back then it wasn’t. It was a nice building but a bit of a rundown fleapit – not quite to the Plaza’s standard back home, but a fleapit all the same, so the rest of the guys were quite comfortable there.

  SO JANE AND I were in New York together, with no money whatsoever. Times were very lean. We couldn’t see the city the way either of us expected to. We could hardly afford to buy meals, never mind see the sights. I was struggling. I wanted to show Jane everything. She didn’t want anything. She was happy to be with me.

  Jane and I made the most of it anyway. We found a little bar around the corner from the hotel that was cheap and served reasonable food. I can’t remember the name of the place but it was an Irish bar and was very pro IRA. There were photos of Bobby Sands all over the walls. Bobby Sands was a member of the Provisional Irish Republican Army who was locked up in the brutal Maze Prison and led and died from a hunger strike, along with nine other fighters. So this was a bar for real people. They served real food, not American food, and they made great drinks. Jane and I quickly became regulars, insulting the English, eating chips and drinking a drink called a Kamikaze. As the name suggests, it was extremely strong. So I really liked it. Jane and I worked out that for very little money we could sit and get completely smashed, without having to deal with the pushy, hustling, crazy New Yorkers who walked the streets around our hotel.

  But we went too far. And on the last night before the band was due to go back on tour we really tied one on. I can’t remember how many drinks we had but let’s just say, for argument’s sake, a lot. Jane had been slowly worn down by the lack of money and my aggression towards the other members of the band. Not to mention, she was sick of the drunks that lined the streets between the hotel and the bar. There was a lunatic on every corner. One guy in particular annoyed her. We saw him almost every night lying on the footpath, trying to start fights with passersby. On the last night he was lying with his trousers down around his ankles, playing with himself, and it really annoyed her. So we started arguing at the bar and it escalated from there and by the time we got back to the hotel we were out of control. Jane and I both had a bad habit of storming off when we fought, which isn’t good, but we had got away with it at home. Every time Jane went, I thought I had lost her forever. But now we were in New York, where storming off around the streets drunk was not a good thing for a young lady, or a young man really, to be doing.

  But that’s what happened. We both left the hotel to go home to Australia alone. Jane was walking off in one direction and I was heading in the other. My plan was to hitchhike to Australia without my passport. You can see I had really thought it through. Whenever we did this, I would normally get a hundred yards down the road and then come to my senses and start to worry about Jane. More than once I had run to find her just as she was tearing into some unsuspecting bloke who thought she might be an easy pickup target. And then he would have both of us swinging at him. But this night I couldn’t find her. I was in a state of panic. I wasn’t sure what direction she had gone. Mark Pope had heard the fight outside the hotel and came running out just in time to see me leaving. He followed me and not Jane. I think he was more scared of her than me. Anyway, I made Mark hunt the streets with me, looking for her.

  Jane in the meantime had walked past a park alone and a guy had jumped out of the bushes with a knife to rob her. He got more than he bargained for.

  ‘Give me your money, bitch. Now, or I’ll cut you up,’ he shouted in his most intimidating voice.

  ‘Ahhhhhhhhh!’ Jane screamed at him. ‘I don’t care what you do. Kill me, rape me, stab me. Do what you want, I don’t care anymore. Ahhhhhhhh!’

  This obvious
ly caught the young guy off guard. ‘Hey, wait a minute lady. What’s wrong with you?’

  ‘I don’t care what you do, just kill me and go!’ Jane was ready to kill him by this point.

  ‘Hey, come on now. It’s not that bad. What’s wrong with you? Can I help you?’ The thief had become the counsellor. ‘What’s happened to you, baby? Tell me.’

  ‘This place is fucked. This town is a hole. There is shit all over the streets and people are drunk everywhere. It’s fucked.’ Jane started telling him everything she had seen that night. ‘My husband is an arsehole and there’s a guy lying on the street with his pants around his ankles and he’s playing with himself. And you’re robbing me! It’s all fucked up!’

  ‘Hey, calm down girl. It’s not that bad. I know that guy who lays on the street. He just does that for attention. He’s not that bad. I’m only doing this because I got no money, that’s all. And where is this husband of yours? You want me to fix him up for you?’

  He looked at his knife and then at Jane. By this point the situation was coming into focus and she realised that this was not a good place to be.

  ‘No, I’ll be all right. He’s gone anyway.’

  The guy was looking up and down the street trying to spot me. Jane in her haste had grabbed my Walkman. For those of you who don’t know what that is, a Walkman was like an iPod for cavemen. It was a chunky-looking cassette player with headphones that you carried around. Jane was not good with technology and had put the batteries in back to front.

  ‘I don’t have any money but here, you can sell my Walkman and buy some food if you like.’ By this point Jane just wanted to get away from him.

  He tried to turn the Walkman on but had no success. ‘Shit. This thing don’t work anyway, baby. So why don’t you just go home before you get yourself hurt? This is a dangerous town for a little girl like you.’

  He handed it back to her. Jane turned and walked quickly back to the hotel with the guy still following behind her, saying, ‘What does your husband look like? Me and my knife can fix him right up for you.’

  ‘No, it’s fine. But thanks for offering.’ And she sped up and was soon back at the hotel.

  WE WERE BOTH BACK in the room. Anger turned to tears and then laughter as Jane told me about her adventure. By the morning Jane was in the bathroom throwing up continuously. I had to get a doctor for her. The hotel organised one who came to the room. The doctor took one look at her and asked what we had been doing. I told him about the Kamikazes and he quickly came to the conclusion that Jane was suffering from extreme alcohol poisoning. He gave her an injection to stop the nausea and told me to keep her in bed and give her plenty of fluids.

  But there was a problem. We were supposed to go back on tour that day. We had to fly to Dayton, Ohio, to start a tour with Ted Nugent.

  I couldn’t believe we were touring through the Midwest supporting this guy. I can just imagine the genius who came up with that idea. Some thick LA agent who didn’t even know the band he was booking. ‘Yeah, Ted Nugent will be good for these guys. They have a lot in common. Both bands have guitars and drums. Yeah, they both have hair. Yeah. It’s a perfect match.’

  But that was where the similarities ended. I didn’t want to go. Ten days with no money, not to mention copious amounts of alcohol, had worn me down and I wanted to leave the band, again. So I rang Mark. ‘I’ve had enough of this fucking band. I’m finished.’

  I was in no mood for any of them. I’d been poor before. I didn’t need to be in the biggest band in Australia and still be living like a pauper.

  ‘Come on, Jim. It’ll be better now we’re back on the road. Meet you downstairs.’ Mark was trying to be the voice of reason.

  ‘Fuck it. I’m done. I’m not going.’ I hung up on him. Jane was in no state to travel. Even with the shot, she was still throwing up every few minutes.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  It wasn’t long until I heard a knock at the door. I ignored it.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  Whoever it was would not go away.

  ‘Fuck off,’ I yelled from the bed. I was sitting holding Jane’s hand and didn’t want to let anyone in.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  ‘Are you there, Jim? Come on mate, let me in. We need to talk.’ It was Don. The last person I wanted to see. Don could talk sense to me and I wasn’t in the mood.

  ‘Fuck off!’

  He didn’t get the message. ‘Come on, Jim. We’re all in this together. Surely we can be civilised about this. Let me in and we’ll talk.’

  ‘Shit.’ I sighed as I got up from the bed and went to the door. The curtains were all closed tight and the room was dark. It must have smelled like a brewery when Don walked in. One lonely light was shining from the bathroom.

  Jane whispered to me, ‘I need some water.’

  Don responded before I could get up. ‘I’ll get it for you.’ And went into the bathroom. He came back out looking pale. Holding the rubbish bin. Staring down at it, he said, ‘What’s going on, guys? Do you need to talk to me about something?’

  There in the bin was the needle that the doctor had given Jane. Don looked at us like we were Sid and Nancy. His face was worried and scared. Suddenly Jane jumped out of bed, naked, and ran to the bathroom and vomited. This confirmed his worst fears.

  ‘Are you guys doing hard drugs? You can tell me. I’m here to help.’

  Jane slipped back into bed as I tried to get Don to leave us alone. ‘Look mate. We’re not doing hard drugs. The doctor gave Jane a needle.’

  Don had his foot against the door so I couldn’t shut it. ‘Jim, we have to leave to catch a plane in fifteen minutes or we’ll miss the show tonight. And if we fuck this up we’ll never work in this country again.’

  ‘Good. I don’t want to work in this fucking country again. You guys go. Ian can sing. I’m staying with Jane. Now get out of here and leave us alone.’ I slammed the door and went back to Jane’s bedside and once again Jane managed to talk me down.

  ‘You need to go, baby. The band need you. You go and leave me here and I’ll make my way home.’

  Now this was never going to happen.

  ‘I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying with you.’ I was probably getting hysterical by this point. ‘I don’t care about the band. I want to be with you, so I’m not going.’

  The idea of being separated from Jane again made me feel sick. I couldn’t lose her. If I let her go now I might never see her again. I always had the feeling that I would end up alone. I didn’t deserve her. I couldn’t let go.

  ‘Go on, Jimmy. I’ll be all right and I’ll call you as soon as I get home.’

  ‘No. I’m not going. I want to stay here with you. I don’t want to go without you.’ I was definitely hysterical now. I was crying.

  Jane sat quiet for a while and then said quietly, ‘I’ll get dressed and we’ll go together. The band needs you.’

  So Jane got out of bed and got dressed while I packed. We grabbed the bucket from the bottom of a humidifier, just in case Jane threw up, and headed down to the lobby.

  The band was waiting. We jumped into a minibus and headed to JFK Airport. We definitely didn’t look good as we almost carried Jane through one of the busiest airports in the world, stopping every twenty yards or so, so she could throw up.

  ‘Leave me here and I’ll get a plane home,’ she pleaded with me, but I wasn’t going anywhere without her.

  We got onto the plane and much to our horror we found out that US President Ronald Reagan had sacked all the air traffic controllers that morning and the military was in the process of taking over their jobs. We were stuck in the middle of the tarmac for three hours, with the smell of overcooked American airplane food wafting through the plane. Jane threw up continuously.

  EVENTUALLY WE GOT INTO the air and on our way to Dayton, Ohio. I remember arriving there, in no state to start a tour. We dropped Jane at the hotel to recover and the band and myself jumped into the Holiday Inn’s limousine to go to the first gig.
We arrived backstage and the sun was burning hot. Ted’s crew and a few of his band were sitting on road cases out the back of the venue, working on their tans, as the limo pulled up. We were all wanting to make a good impression on them. This was the start of the tour. If we impressed them enough they would respect us and help us do a good show. It wasn’t easy. I wasn’t far behind Jane as far as being sick went and the boys were all stressed from worrying about us. But we jumped out of the limo into the sunshine, acting like hardened rock veterans. I was leaning on the door of the car, looking around, when Mossy suddenly slammed the door shut. My hand was still inside the door. The car slowly moved off, with me still attached. I quickly opened the door of the moving vehicle, removed my crushed and bleeding hand and shoved it inside my leather jacket to stop the flow of blood. It was about ninety degrees in the shade so I must have looked ridiculous in a leather jacket anyway, never mind with my hand placed inside it, like some sort of Napoleon impersonator. We walked inside the venue, past the crew.

  ‘Afternoon, gentlemen. You guys must be Cold Chisel,’ one of the roadies said.

  ‘Yeah. That’s right,’ I snarled back at him. I must have had tears in my eyes by this point. ‘We are Cold Chisel.’

  I was trying to act tough until we got inside our dressing room. Then I let out a scream that must have been heard outside. The pain was incredible. Eventually we got a doctor to stitch me up and we managed to do the first gig.

  We got on stage and the crowd didn’t get us at all. The bandaged hand and the grimaces of pain didn’t help. I think we were a bit serious for them. I tell you how I knew this. Because we finished our set to silence, or almost. And then Ted opened his set by swinging across the stage dressed only in a loincloth. He received thunderous applause and the crowd was howling with laughter. That’s what we needed, a gimmick. I wondered if we could talk Don into wearing a loincloth? I’m only kidding here, of course. We couldn’t have found a band further away from what we were doing than Ted Nugent. Or so you’d think. But the agency found a few more.