John Farnham has been on my mind a bit lately.
For a start, my partner and I have found so much joy in watching “react” videos to Farnham’s performances on YouTube, and there’s a big tribute concert being planned for 20 September this year, in Melbourne, that has been popping up in my news feed from time to time. At the same time, I’ve heard that he’s had a rough time of it through his cancer treatment and recovery.
I’ll put it plainly: John Farnham is responible for bass being my principal instrument. And has been a massive inspiration and influence in my musical journey.
As an “indie kid,” it’s probably uncool to say that. But I wanted to share a lil’ about that influence and how it shaped me—personally and musically—over the years.
It started with this performance
As I’m a child of the 80s—a Gen-Xer, born in 1975—I came to know Farnham’s work in his “second wave”. In 1986, he released the Whispering Jack album, which was a mainstay on the Australian music charts (nearly half a year in the #1 spot), and containing the breakout smash of You’re the Voice.
For those outside of Australia, it’s hard to express how much a part of the mainstream public landscape that Farnham inhabited. Some have called for You’re the Voice to be our national anthem… with a straight face.
His performances across Australia in this time period, including one in Brisbane at Expo ‘88 in support of the album Age of Reason, were highly celebrated and fondly remembered by many, including myself. This, and his performance at the Myer Music Bowl in Melbourne around the same time are often the source material for the “react” videos that have been more recently emerging.
But it was this performance 👇🏼, on the popular Hey Hey, it’s Saturday program, that I want to call your attention to:
This is a performance of the song Reasons, which is anchored by a clever, syncopated octave bass part that caught my imagination. I heard that sound, and saw Greg Macainsh playing the part… That was the moment where I heard the voice in my head and my heart say: “THAT’s what I want to do.”
By this point in my life, I’d already started gravitating towards the arts—performing in school and community musicals, and learning the keyboard. I think, if memory serves, I’d even started tinkering with electric guitar. But in that moment, watching that live to air, I just knew that bass guitar was what I wanted to learn.
I started playing bass lines on my Onyx S-style guitar clone, and shortly after traded that guitar for an Quest Atak 1B. Starting a life-long love of bass, and performing music.
I have since worked out that the bass part I saw Macainsh play was synth bass (no doubt arranged and recorded by the incredible David Hirschfelder, long-time Farnham collaborator and musical director). But, regardless, I was hooked.
I then went on to watch and enjoy many of Farnham’s live performances. Many were nationally-televised “simulcast” events, where the new FM stereo radio stations were playing the music in sync with the live telecast. I’d record them to tape to listen to again and again (literally wearing the tape out in once case, so much that it snapped mid-playback!).
As an aside: I’d call out the slap-bass playing on No One Comes Close at the Expo concert as another “bass standout” amongst Farnham’s catalogue.
In many of these performances, Joe Creighton held the bass chair. As a music student at Southern Cross University in the 90s, I had the pleasure and privilege of meeting Joe, who was humble, unassuming, insightful and knowledgeable. “A true gentleman” as they say.
Both players—Mcainsh and Creighton—and Hirschfelder’s arrangements and compositions, were therefore hugely influential as I was forming my ideas about what “bass” should be and do.
Political voice
For a lot of people, they would not even recognise the political undertones to many of Farnham’s songs. But I did. I was someone growing up with a love of bands like Midnight Oil and Spy vs. Spy, whose lyrics and stance were highly political. Such themes appear more as “undertones” of Farnham’s work, rather than being “in your face,” but they are there.
You’re the Voice is unabashedly an anthem for having your say and effecting change, even though a lot of people probably just think it’s a great catchy sing-along. Age of Reason (the song) is plainly a call for a more mindful existence:
So why can’t we be still why can’t we love each other
Is kindness an ancient skill buried by our blindness
And if we look behind us there’s a wind blowing in
To create the age of reason
And there are more—this is just one example…
I love both of these albums, Age of Reason in particular. They spoke to me deeply at an age when I was, experiencing family break up, becoming more aware of the world around me, of navigating romantic relationships. These songs were a solace.
My partner and I often wonder how Farnham would feel about the refrain from Two Strong Hearts being used as a political statement against the attacks on freedom of speech in Queensland (I’ll let you search for that one yourself, given it is technically illegal for people to use that phrase). I venture that, at a minimum, he wouldn’t be offended by that outcome; given how he sought to use his significant public presence to promote a more just and loving society, through his work.
And, of course, this is reflected in his refusal to endorse the tribute concert… until it became a fundraising event for Head and Neck Cancer Australia.
The Voice
There is one thing that is undeniable: John Farnham had an otherworldly, mind-blowingly, amazing voice during his years of performing. (In case it’s not clear: I really am at a loss for words to adequately describe his vocal prowess.) I found it heartbreaking to read about his recent mental anguish linked to his recognition of not being able to sing publicly, again. I can only imagine.
The name of his breakout hit has become his nickname: “The Voice”. He topped a News Ltd “industry poll” and popular vote. He has been highlighted by international stars like Celine Dion. And then there’s those “react” videos…
Here’s a thing my partner and I have been discussing as we’ve watched some of those “react” videos:
We grew up with Farnham (and peers like Tina Arena, Jimmy Barnes, Kate Ceberano, Jon Stevens, Vika & Linda Bull, Deborah Conway, Daryl Braithwaite, among others) who had amazing “pipes” on them. Incredibly talented singers with both the chops (technique and skill) and feel (soulfulness, delivery, articulation)—which, even today, is a rare combination
Couple this with how much artists these days are relying on technology like auto-tune, digital recording techniques, and other “aids” to capture a pristine performance, and it’s even more impressive. I think that’s part of why these reactions are so emphatic.
There are just so many recorded examples of where John Farnham delivers. Live. Under pressure. No auto-tune. No post-processing fixes. Just sends it, as folx would say nowadays 😏.
This was just “everyday entertainment” for us, at the time. It all got a bit “passe” and fell out of favour for a lot of people, as it was so mainstream, so “pop.”
And yet I have always viewed these performers, and the bands that supported them, with a reverence and awe.
Listen to the upper harmonies on songs like Listen to the Wind (co-written with Jon Stevens et. al)—those lines are sung full “chest” voice (not falsetto), in an age well before auto-tune was a thing. I mean, MY LORD…!!!!!!
Farnham’s band, too, was immensely talented. To use the vernacular, they were all “monsters” on their respective instruments. And he always highlighted them in his performances. Angus Burchall, Venetta Fields, Lindsay Field, Lisa Edwards, Creighton, Brett Garsed, Hirschfelder. Later, Stuart Fraser (ex. Noiseworks, bless his soul), Jack Jones and Phil Buckle (Southern Sons).
And songwriters like Ross Wilson (Mondo Rock, writer of Farnham hits Touch of Paradise and We’re No Angels) and Steve Prestwich (who penned When the War is Over, originally for Cold Chisel).
I can name these people, from memory, decades later, because he called them out every damn show. By name. Gave them praise. Always remembering his abilities and talents were lifted up by theirs.
Listen to Garsed’s work on Whispering Jack and Age of Reason—especially his slide guitar work. And witness his harmonics-laden intro to We’re No Angels in the video above. These are veritable shredder-level masterclasses of technique and phrasing, packed into an 8 or 16 bar pop-song bracket. I have a YouTube playlist entitled Perfect solos and Garsed’s work with Farnham on these albums is (arguably) over-represented. Just. So. Good.
And I repeat, this was just our “everyday entertainment”—appearances on the regular “daily watch” shows on tele, of the day.
But these talents… not just Farnham… They. Are. Extraordinary.
Spirit-led
I recently found the reproduction of the Expo ‘88 concert on YouTube, and watched it end-to-end. I confess—though not with any shame nor guilt—there is absolutely a nostalgia factor involved in such an experience.
But there are multiple moments where there is a close up of Farnham, undeniably, emotionally, in awe of what he was experiencing, of the talent around him. An undeniable joy in what the other musicians around him were pulling off in that moment, and the show they were collectively putting on.
John Farnham was a true entertainer. A showman. He engaged the crowd. He owned the stage. He shared the limelight. He loved his craft. You can see spirit working through him, and the people he assembled around him. But it can be easy to miss the deeper connection and inspiration beneath his performances.
This is so inspiring to me.
I don’t know (and dearly hope) he was not an asshole behind the scenes. I don’t recall hearing “horror stories” about being in his entourage. Some players performed with him for decades, a loyalty which seems speak positively to his character. The level and nature of contributors in the up-coming tribute show seem to testament to the same.
And this—the inspired basis to his work—above all else lifts me when I think about him, as an artist and fellow human being.
He brought passion and spirit to his performances, in service of the audience.
He held the people around him up, while the spotlight was on him.
He showed sheer joy and humility during experiences that would lead most to “fat headedness”.
He used his platform—in his own way—to spread ideas of love and creating a better world, to be better in the world.
He assembled exceptional musicians and songwriters and created incredible art.
Dear John,
For all these things,
Thank you. gx