Frankfurt Cowboys

In 1984, Jane and I went to Germany, where I planned to write songs to take to America to make my second solo album and first album for Geffen Records. This was a very important point in my career. The album would be called For the Working Class Man in Australia, but in America it would be released as Jimmy Barnes. It would be the first time I’d put out anything in the States since Cold Chisel’s East.

I know what you’re thinking here: ‘Funny place to go to write songs for America.’ But Geffen had some connection with a studio in Frankfurt called Hotline and they wanted me to write with a guy who part owned it. His name was Tony Carey and he was a keyboard player and singer who had left America to work the European market. At one time he’d played for Rainbow, the band started by Ritchie Blackmore, then he’d left the band and decided to pursue his own solo career. He was doing pretty well and he’d had a few hits in Germany.

But although he was talented and could write a good tune, Tony was going through a pretty dark spell and he spent most of his time drinking brandy and hiding in the studio. His problems were getting on top of him. I was much the same, so we were a match made in hell, and in the end I didn’t really get anything I could use for the record. But I did learn a few tricks from him that would come in handy later on when I started writing more myself, and I got to hang out with some great musicians and even sing on a few records that were cut at the studio.

I spent one night singing, drinking and laughing with Jack Bruce, the legendary bass player from Cream. Well, I was drinking and I’m pretty sure Tony was too. I can’t really remember if Jack was, but we did have a laugh. I think I even did some backing vocals on an album he was making there.

Jack and I hit it off straightaway. He was from Scotland too and we talked about the old country.

‘I live in the northernmost part of Scotland, Jimmy. It’s absolutely beautiful up there. Another world. I can see the northern lights from the front door of my house.’

It sounded magical. He invited me to come and stay and write some songs with him if I ever got up that way. It was a real shame it never happened. Jack was a great player and I was a big fan and I’d have loved to have had the chance to work with him again. Sadly, he died a while back. I have Tony to thank for introducing me to one of the greats.

Another night I sang with John Bonham’s sister, Deborah, a talented lady who was there to make a country-sounding record. John, of course, was the legendary drummer from Led Zeppelin, one of the hardest-hitting timekeepers the world has ever seen. He’d died a few years earlier and I could tell Deborah missed him terribly. I told her how much of a fan of her brother I was, then I sat and watched, quietly demolishing a bottle of vodka, as she worked with Tony.

Tony had the newest drum machine on the market and he was programming the drums for her album on it. I don’t know if he’d planned it, but he’d made the drum machine play something that was almost like John. Well, it was only a machine, but it had a similar sound: a massive kick drum and a machine-gun snare that took the top of your head off.

Soon Deborah had tears in her eyes.

Tony looked at her. ‘Are you all right, darling?’ He knew she was struggling and wanted to help. She wiped her eyes, looked at him and said with a wry smile, ‘That machine sounds like John in a box.’

The session came to an end soon after that.

I had a lot of time on my hands while I was in Frankfurt, so I started listening to country music, which Jane had always liked. It took me a while to get it, but once I did I came to the realisation that good country music was really white man’s soul music. It could tear your heart out if you let it, just like soul music did. I was particularly inspired by an album of duets that Ray Charles made, called Friendship. If you haven’t heard that record, give it a listen. I still love it to this day. Ray sings songs with Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson and a whole lot of other great singers. This led me to seek out other country artists I’d never really listened to before. People like George Jones, Waylon Jennings, Patsy Cline and, of course, Tammy Wynette.

We also started to look out for some live shows in the hope of seeing some real cowboys perform. To my surprise, I discovered that Germany had a big country music scene, maybe because the country is home to several large US Army bases filled with thousands of homesick GIs. Then I found out that Johnny Cash was playing in Frankfurt with his wife, June Carter, the very next week at a big German country festival, and opening for them was Freddy Fender, a Mexican American singer. I’d heard Freddy on the radio and his big hit ‘Before the Next Teardrop Falls’ was one of my favourite songs of all time. So I grabbed a couple of tickets and a few days later Jane and I headed out to the festival.

As we walked into the venue, I quickly realised that the Germans like a good dress-up. There were guys and girls done up to the nines everywhere. The guys were wearing boots and hats with feathers and braided bands, and belt buckles so big you could probably see them from space. I immediately felt underdressed – I wasn’t even wearing a cowboy hat.

The girls had so many layers of makeup caked on their faces they must have put it on with a trowel, and way too much mascara. In fact they could hardly lift their eyelids, so they all looked slightly drugged. Or maybe they were, I don’t know. Lots of them had really big hair to boot, teased up high and proud. I hadn’t seen hair that big since I’d accidentally walked into a Les Girls show in Sydney.

Wasted days . . . Freddy Fender looking sharp, 1984 (Getty Images)

Soon Freddy came out, dressed all in white, and I was happy because he sang his hits. We didn’t have the best seats in the house because I’d bought the tickets so late, and we were quite a way from the front. He looked a bit like a mariachi from where we were – a small mariachi. But he still sounded good.

The crowd, as usual, were waiting expectantly for the main act. Opening acts always have a tough time – I knew, as I’d opened for many a show in my younger days. I couldn’t help thinking that Freddy hadn’t been as well received as he would have liked, and he didn’t seem very happy as he left the stage.

Then Johnny came on and the crowd went wild. He was obviously having a great time, singing all his hits with June, including ‘Jackson’. The German crowd knew every word and sang along. I’m not sure they knew what every word meant, but they certainly knew the songs. The show brought the house down.

Afterwards, the lights came up and the audience filed out of the place. Everyone was very polite and orderly, walking in single file down the aisles and out the gates. I had never really seen this much country music at one time before, and the first thing I thought as we stood up to leave was that I needed a drink. Maybe country wasn’t really my thing yet.

We headed across the park outside, following the rest of the crowd. I figured the Germans liked to drink and they’d know where to go. I was right, and we ended up in a hotel bar that was packed to the rafters. There were hats and hair as far as you could see, so I knew we were in the right place.

At one point, I pushed my way past a group of men who were all dancing. I wasn’t sure if they were dancing together or just happened to be dancing in the same area. They looked like a cross between German gunslingers and hillbillies, and I couldn’t really tell if they were square dancing or slap dancing. It might have been a bit of both. I felt like an extra in a Village People film clip. Now I really needed a drink.

As I moved on towards the bar, I noticed a guy staggering around and bumping into everyone who tried to pass him. He was dressed in a bright red cowboy suit that was covered in dazzling rhinestones. He looked like a fucking mirror ball on legs. His hat seemed to be bigger than anyone else’s in the bar too. It took up a lot of space.

I stood behind him for a while, waiting my turn. But the barman just ignored him and on either side of us people were pushing the red cowboy out of the way to get to the bar. So I stepped around him and went to order. As I did, he fell onto me and spilled his drink on my jeans. I looked at him as he stood up straight again. He was a mess. I offered a hand but he pushed me away.

I felt bad for him. I’d been in that state myself many times. And somewhere in my heart I had the feeling that I would get a lot worse before I got better.

I took another look at the guy and couldn’t help thinking he was very dark for a German. Not only that, but his big moustache made him look like a Mexican bandit. He was obviously a huge Freddy Fender fan, but he wasn’t happy. Neither was I really as I wiped his drink from my jeans.

‘Thanks, pal,’ I said to him. ‘Just be careful, would you.’ I was trying to be patient, as this guy was clearly having a bad night.

Then he leaned my way and fell again.

Now I was getting pissed off. I snapped. ‘Hey, stupid?’ I said, half shaping up to him. ‘Who the fuck do you think you are? Fucking Freddy Fender?’

He stopped but said nothing. Just stared at me with a look of confusion on his face.

That was when I realised that he was Freddy Fender.

Recovering quickly, I smiled and said, ‘Hey, Freddy, I loved the show. Let me buy you a drink. What will you have?’

Evidently I was the only Freddy Fender fan in the bar. No one else seemed to recognise him or, if they did, they didn’t pay him any attention.

Freddy was so drunk he couldn’t answer me. So I leaned towards the barman and ordered. ‘One large whisky for me, a vodka and soda for my wife, and a large of whatever my new friend Freddy here is drinking.’

The barman scowled at me. ‘He’s had enough. No more for him.’

I looked at Freddy. He didn’t even seem to know he was in a bar. I think he thought everyone was in his dressing room and he was wondering who we all were.

‘Well, just the other two then. Don’t worry about my new mate.’ I winked at the barman and he went and got my drinks.

Jane and I stood and watched with dismay for a while as Freddy spilled booze over half of the crowd. If he doesn’t get out of here soon, I thought, one of these huge German cowboys will kill him.

So I walked over to help him. ‘Freddy, I think it would probably be safer if you went back to your hotel. Can I get you a cab or something?’ I was trying to save his life.

He looked at me. I could see he was miserable – he had the same look on his face as he’d worn during his show. Then he stumbled, leaned close to me and grabbed my shirt. He breathed heavily on me just for a second – his breath could have killed an armadillo at fifty paces – clearly trying to get his eyes to focus. Then he said, ‘Fuck you, man.’

At that point I thought that the next teardrop that fell would probably be Freddy’s. But I would have to take a number if I wanted to belt him because it seemed that the rest of the bar were all waiting on their chance to bid him Auf Wiedersehen once and for all. I also got the feeling that because I was the only other foreigner in the bar, they all thought I was with him. I had to walk away. Freddy was on his own.

‘Adios amigo,’ I whispered as we left the bar.