Working Class Man

by Jimmy Barnes

  As fate would have it, Eliza-Jane didn’t come that night after all, so I jumped on a plane in the morning. I was so relieved that I would be there. I got to the hospital and waited for her arrival, but still she didn’t come.

  We tried to encourage her to come out, singing into Jane’s stomach and pleading with her. ‘Come on, baby. I’m here waiting for you. Come now, because your dad’s got to go back to work and record the second show.’

  But it didn’t happen. She obviously wasn’t listening to me. Reluctantly I left the next day to continue filming. While I was on stage that night, Eliza-Jane came into our lives. And what a blessing she has been. Always a bit of a rebel, but sweet and soft and beautiful. She was named after my granny, the woman who delivered me into this world. They used to call my granny Liza, short for Elizabeth, but later in life she was known as Betty. Our little Eliza-Jane would be known as EJ. As she got older we noticed a wicked streak in her. When it comes out we call her Evil J. Just for fun. There’s really nothing evil about her, she is an angel.

  THE BAND WENT FROM strength to strength and it wasn’t long until we were playing to full houses. Everybody was happy. But Michael Gudinski had one wish – he wanted a big album in the States.

  ‘All I fucking want, Jimmy, is for you and me to get to number one in the States. That’s all I want. Well, that and St Kilda to win the premiership. Come to think of it, there’s a few other fucking things too, but that will do for starters.’ Michael always got animated when he talked about success. His hands would fly around the place, because that success would mean a lot of money. He set about working on an overseas deal for me.

  One day I got a call from Michael, who was in New York. ‘We are not fucking around. I just want you to know that I am working my arse off here for you.’ I could hear laughter and the tinkling of cutlery.

  ‘The A-team is onto it. My good mate Paul Schindler is the best lawyer in New York and he’s all over it. We’re looking good, son.’ I listened as Michael told me about the who’s and why’s of the American music industry. It seemed everybody was in my corner. Well, they were according to Michael anyway. ‘Geffen Records are very interested. There’s a guy called Gary Gersh who’s the A&R man there and he loves what you’ve done. I think you should come over and meet him.’

  I wasn’t keen on going back to America but I didn’t tell anyone. America was still the home of music. It was the biggest market in the world. If you could sell records in America, you had it made. So in autumn 1985 I headed off to meet the company that might handle my career in the States.

  I hardly slept on the plane, worried about what might or might not happen. This was compounded by a feeling of impending doom. Why did I have to be separated from Jane? The only time I felt secure was when Jane and I were together, probably because when we were apart I went into a crazed state, drinking and taking drugs, and this always led to me needing female company. Then of course, I felt guilty. I knew it was wrong.

  But here I was on the plane, drinking the bar dry. It was the beginning of the downward spiral. And I knew this spiral so well. I knew that drinking was the start, and here I was practically mindless on the plane, staring at the small pile of miniature vodkas I had drunk. Why did I do this?

  Los Angeles looked like it needed a coat of paint. It was grey and dirty. The sun was shining and the sky was blue but it was hard to see it through the pollution. I felt a cough coming on as I landed at LAX. This was one of those times when I was so glad I had my sunglasses with me. I put them on and left the plane. Bleary-eyed and still half-drunk from the trip, I walked out to find a limousine driver looking at me, holding up a card with a name on it. It said ‘JAMIE BARNES’ in big letters. I presumed it was for me.

  ‘Do you mean Jimmy Barnes?’ I asked sheepishly.

  ‘Hey, sorry about that. The company must have heard wrong. So how are you doing anyway? Let me carry that bag.’

  He seemed a little too keen. ‘It’s fine. I’ve got it. Who sent you? I never ordered a car.’

  He smiled at me in that insincere way that only someone working as a limo driver in LA can, and said, ‘Compliments of Geffen Records, sir. I’m at your service. Anything you need, just let me know. Come on, give me the bag. I’ve got to earn my money somehow.’ His speaking voice was high and annoying. He looked like Ronnie James Dio in a suit and tie that didn’t quite fit him properly.

  I followed him to a waiting stretch limo. ‘It’s only me, you know that, don’t you? Could you bring a bigger car next time?’ I laughed as he opened the door.

  ‘Well, you never know who you might have met in first class.’ He winked and closed the door. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I’d flown economy.

  I thought about closing the window between the driver’s seat and me but it was too late. He spoke. ‘So. You in the music business then, are you?’

  I struggled to hear him properly. It seemed like he was a hundred yards away.

  ‘Yeah. I am. I’m a rock’n’roll sing –’

  He cut me off. ‘Yeah. I’m in the entertainment business too. I’m only driving this car until I get a break. Here, have my CD and bio. I play guitar and I sing. I’m an actor too and I can work a bar if you’re having a party. I do it all.’

  I took the press kit and told him I’d listen later.

  ‘Thanks man, appreciate it, you know,’ he squeaked. I couldn’t get ‘Man on the Silver Mountain’ out of my head. I think I might have even called him Ronnie, I can’t be sure.

  I was staying at the Sunset Marquis Hotel. Everyone seemed too nice, I didn’t trust them. The porters, the front desk, the driver. They had to be up to something. No one was that nice all the time. I was drunk when I arrived, drunk the whole time I was there, and drunker when I left.

  I HAD A SHOWER and went to see Gary Gersh at Geffen Records on Sunset Boulevard. Gary was as much of a rock star as the people he signed. Before he joined Geffen he was vice president of A&R at EMI America and had been responsible for signing David Bowie, Stray Cats, J. Geils Band and George Thorogood to mention a few. He was a smooth-talking, fast-operating powerhouse of a record company guy.

  My first meeting with Gary went well, I think, although I was a bit worried when he said, ‘So we’ll have to redo most of this record. It’s a little underproduced, I think.’

  I knew it was underproduced. It was under everything. I was underfunded. I was underprepared. I was under pressure. I was probably living under a rock but I didn’t need him to tell me I was under anything.

  ‘I thought I was here because you liked the record and wanted to release it,’ I said. I have a feeling I might have glared at him a little. I was tired.

  ‘Hey, don’t get me wrong. I do like the record but for this market things have to be done a certain way. We like things a bit more polished, if you know what I mean.’

  I knew what he meant but he was beginning to offend me. Which could end up putting him in danger, if you know what I mean.

  ‘I’d like to get you together with some great songwriters and producers and see if we can make this record a little more suitable for the States. But hey, stay cool, we’re jumping ahead of ourselves here. Let’s go and get some lunch and talk over some of the plans I have for you.’

  I didn’t have much of an appetite but I thought at least I could get a drink. He took me to The Ivy, Beverly Hills. I wasn’t really dressed for it. Everyone was in white linen shirts with shorts and shoes without socks. They were unshaven and wore expensive-looking sunglasses. Nearly every single person in the place looked like they were in a TV show of some sort.

  ‘Is that someone famous over there? I’m sure I’ve seen him in a sitcom or something,’ I whispered across the table.

  Gary had a look. ‘You know, I think you’re right. I think he might have been in a sitcom. But he’s our waiter now.’

  Then the young, jaded-looking guy with the perfectly chiselled profile and too many muscles walked over to our table and offered us menus. ‘The crab cakes
are great here. You have to try them. Can I get you some water? Perrier, perhaps?’

  I could hardly stop myself from laughing. ‘I’ll have a vodka soda, thanks.’

  Gary looked at me and smiled. ‘Just a spring water for me, thanks. With a twist of lemon.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, I’ll have a twist too,’ I quickly added.

  Gary was a funny, decent bloke. He had a lot of good ideas, and he seemed to know what he was talking about. I liked him, I just had to get over the initial shock of someone telling me what to do. We finished lunch and then headed back to his office to meet the guys who would work on my record if I signed with Geffen.

  I met the PR guy. Marco was full of beans and didn’t even have a seat in his office. His wraparound desk was chest high, and he walked between one of his many phones and the fax machine, yelling at his secretary to bring him another coffee.

  ‘Hey, let’s catch up tonight for a drink and a chat.’

  I had no better offers so I said, ‘Sure, I’m staying at the –’

  He interrupted me. ‘Yeah, I know where you’re staying. Fuck man, I booked it. That hotel has the best bar in town, man. Wait until you see the girls that get in there. Woo! See you tonight. Love your record, by the way.’

  We met the accountant who would pay all the bills. Gary told me, ‘That’s his secretary, Darlene. Be nice to Darlene because if she doesn’t like you we are all fucked.’

  I smiled nervously at her. We both laughed but I got the feeling he was serious.

  Gary pulled out a few tapes and played them for me. ‘I think I can get a few great guys to write with you. Do you know a guy called Chas Sandford?’

  I had no idea who he was talking about but I pretended I did.

  ‘Chas wrote “Missing You” for John Waite. You’ll love him. I’m going to hook you two guys up next time you’re in town.’

  Gary had told me he wanted to get Bob Clearmountain to remix everything. Bob was the best in the business at that time. Gary was talking a lot but I would reserve my judgement until something real happened. Talk was cheap.

  THE NEXT LEG OF my journey, on my way to New York, was a bit of a secret stop. Gudinski didn’t know about it. Steve Hill had organised a side trip to Virginia Beach – the home of the CIA I later found out – to talk with a lawyer friend of his.

  I got off the plane and was met by a middle-aged black limo driver who looked like he played in a blues band. He was dressed casually, no tie, and his jacket was over his arm.

  ‘You must be Jimmy.’ He walked straight up to me. The plane was full but he picked me from the crowd.

  ‘How did you know?’

  He laughed. ‘It’s my job to know, young man.’

  He led me to the car. It was another car that you could have fitted a short par three golf hole in the back of.

  ‘So, Jimmy. My name is George and I am here to make your trip easy. I will take you to your hotel and drop you but I will be back at eight-thirty a.m. sharp for you. Mr Colby likes to be on time. So be ready. Now in the meantime if you need anything – anything at all – let me know.’

  I looked at him in the rear-view mirror. He nodded at me. ‘I’m doing this as a favour for Mr Hill, I normally only drive VIPs. So I am connected, young man. I can get you anything you want. Do you want some weed or coke? Shit, I can get you heroin if you need it. I know a couple of fine young black girls who will wear you out, son. But you better be up and ready first thing in the morning. Mr Colby don’t like to wait.’

  I thought this might be some sort of test so I said to him, ‘I was thinking about getting an early night.’ I knew I smelled like a brewery.

  He smiled at me. ‘Whatever you want to do.’

  He dropped me at my hotel. I rang Steve to report in.

  ‘So tomorrow you’re going to be signing your deal with Geffen but I wanted you to go over the contract with our lawyers first. I don’t want those bastards thinking they have anything over you.’ Steve was in business mode and his Irish accent sounded thicker to me. ‘Sorry I couldn’t be there with you. But you’re in good hands. William Colby, your new lawyer, used to be the director of the CIA.

  ‘You’ll meet with these guys in the morning and then fly to New York in the afternoon to sign. George will look after you. Did you meet George by the way? He’s a good man.’

  I went to sleep worrying about the next day’s work. The hotel phone woke me at seven-thirty.

  ‘It’s George here. I thought I’d call just in case you found your own trouble last night. Best get up now and get yourself ready.’

  ‘I’m already up and I’ve been to the gym,’ I lied.

  The meeting was like nothing I’d ever been to before, or since really. I sat in a chair at the head of a table. William Colby walked around me while five or six different lawyers shot off questions at me about the deal.

  ‘I’m here to make you look like you know this deal back to front. I know you don’t, but we are going to tell you things to say and ask that will make them think you do. These guys don’t normally deal with anyone who really knows their shit, but they are going to think that you do, even if you don’t. So just listen to us and try to take in a few of these points, all right Mr Barnes? Do you understand?’

  I breathed deep. ‘I think I do, sir. I think I do.’

  ‘Good. Let’s get started. We’ve got a lot to cover.’

  I sat in the office with William Colby and his team for about three hours. Then I was taken to the airport by George and sent on my way.

  ‘Here’s my card, Jimmy. If you get back this way some time give me a call and I’ll send over those young ladies I was talking about. Good luck.’

  IN NEW YORK, I was taken straight to Geffen’s office. There, Paul Schindler, Michael Gudinski and David Geffen waited for me to sign the deal.

  I asked a few questions. ‘The changes Steven asked for have been made, haven’t they?’

  I quoted one of the points that my new friends in Virginia Beach had outlined. Everyone in the room was shocked. I shouldn’t have known about this, never mind asked about it. Worried looks were shot from one to another.

  ‘Yes, they’re all done as asked.’

  Michael coughed and we went on with the signing. I was now a Geffen recording artist. Things were looking up for the time being.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  it’ll sound better when I sing it properly

  AMERICA AGAIN, 1985

  SO I WAS SIGNED to a big American record company. I wasn’t sure I liked the idea. I wanted to break into new markets but I didn’t feel safe in America. It felt like the place was out of control and as I was always out of control too, it was hard to feel safe at all. But I had to make this work. Michael Gudinski had gone out on a limb for me. He had a lot of faith in me. I didn’t want to let him down. I had let a lot of people down already by this point, Jane especially, and I wanted to make it all better. The only way I could see to do that was to make things work in America, become so big I could give her anything she wanted. And in the meantime, I could buy myself enough time to get myself together once and for all.

  After a short time at home, the family and I went back to Los Angeles. I would see Gary Gersh and make my record good enough for the American market. This rubbed me the wrong way. I knew what Gary was talking about but it was a fine line between listening to advice and losing sight of myself, and I was already fighting to have some say in my own life. But this was a country that I knew nothing about, so I had to take some advice from Gary, even if it didn’t always ring true to me. I was in a state of panic. My gut told me to tell him to shove his opinions, but my head said, ‘For once in your fucking life, just listen.’ I would fight this battle the whole time I was away from home.

  GARY HAD SET UP all sorts of people for me to meet and work with. This was a new world for me and I would come home after writing all day with songwriters and just be frazzled. I couldn’t tell if I had written something good or not. Jane was my sounding board.

>   ‘What do you think of this, baby?’ I would ask, turning the music up too loud and waking the babies.

  ‘Shhhh. I can listen later. Why don’t you have a shower and we can go out and eat.’

  Jane was the only one who would give me an honest opinion. If something was good she could tell, even before me. She is still like that. But if something wasn’t quite right, she hated it.

  ‘It’s not finished yet. It’ll sound better when I sing it properly.’

  But she would already have left the room. ‘I don’t think it will.’

  So, I stopped playing things unless I was sure they were ready and good enough to be listened to.

  THE FIRST PERSON THAT Gary set me up with was Chas Sandford. Chas and I sat around a studio at his house for most of the first day, trying to get something started. I was uncomfortable. Chas was like a big kid, and for a minute I thought he might be on something. He seemed distracted, running in and out of the room. Eventually I had to say firmly, ‘Shall we try and finish this song now, Chas?’

  ‘Hang on a minute. Let me play you a song or two that I’ve been writing lately,’ he said, bouncing around the room. I think he’d had too much sugar. We spent the next hour listening to parts of songs he had written for other people. Big acts. Much bigger than me. And not whole songs, just bits of songs. It was driving me nuts.

  ‘Why don’t you just write one like that for me?’ I asked as he changed tapes for the tenth time.

  ‘It’s not that easy, Jimmy. I have to know your sound.’

  I sat and thought for a minute. ‘I’ll leave you a record and then you can listen to it and hear what I sound like.’ It made sense to me. At least I could get to fuck out of there for a while.