When I was deciding on a title for this collection of stories, I had a number of ideas I tossed around in my head and shared with others. Again and again, though, I came back to the phrase ‘killing time’.
Partly, it was down to the fact that I’d recently provided the lyrics for a Don Walker song with that title on the last Cold Chisel album, Blood Moon – lyrics that I was particularly happy with and meant a lot to me. But mainly it was because it’s a phrase that has many meanings for me and conjures up particular periods and events in my life, many of which I’ve written about in these pages.
I spent most of my childhood killing time, waiting for something to happen. Something good. But it never seemed to come along. As I recounted in Working Class Boy, my first book, I was always hoping my mum and dad would get it together, but they never managed it and eventually our family fell apart. So I bided my time and escaped into my own world, as kids often do.
Then I started school and thought everything would be better: I’d get away from home and my life would change. Instead it just led me to another set of problems. Suddenly I had to fit in, which was hard for me to do, and that pressure made school just another scary place. To get through it, I kept my head down and tried to fly under the radar. Just killing time till school finished and I could escape elsewhere.
In the meantime I grew up physically, if not emotionally – I wouldn’t really grow up for another fifty years or so. As a teenager I started hanging out in gangs. In those days it wasn’t just time we wanted to kill but everything and anyone – especially anybody who got in our way – and at times even ourselves. Somehow I managed to survive and get older, though none the wiser, and it wasn’t long until I joined a band and went on the road.
God knows, since then I’ve had a lot of time to kill. Like I said in my second book, Working Class Man, I’ve been on that road for over fifty years. But I’ll let you in on a little secret here. Rock ’n’ roll is not glamorous. You spend most of your time travelling from town to town, hoping to make it to the next venue in time for your show. That isn’t always easy and you often start to think that the whole world has conspired to stop you getting there.
In the old days before we had money, we’d travel in cars that were real bombs, held together with gaffer tape and prayers. Blowing smoke and leaking oil across the country, we’d drive on dirt roads without a turn for hundreds of kilometres as we stared out the windows, bored, trying to kill time by thinking about where we’d rather be. We would run out of petrol in the middle of the night and get stuck in some one-horse town halfway across the Nullarbor Plain with no shop or petrol station and have to siphon petrol from a car parked in the shadows to get us to the next place. Then kill time again while waiting for the sun to come up and the servo to open so we could fill up and drive on for another two blisteringly hot days to reach our show.
As we got better at what we did, we could afford to fly occasionally. But the journeys could still seem impossible or interminable. Sometimes the wind would blow so hard or the rain would fall so heavily the runways would be closed. Then you could do one of two things. You could sit in the airport waiting for the storm to clear or you could fork out more money for a cheap hire car and drive, hoping the highway wasn’t flooded too. That was always the better option, as you knew in your heart you had to do something to try to get to the next show on time, to do what it was you were born to do, what you loved.
Even when things work out and you get to where you are going in plenty of time, as happens more often these days, touring is still all about waiting – waiting for the venue to open, waiting to get into the hotel, waiting for the soundcheck to start, waiting for the hall to fill up – until you can finally get out there and play music to people. All in all, I’ve spent many, many more hours killing time than making music.
Musicians kill time in different ways. Some write songs, watch television or catch up on sleep (always a good thing to do). Others keep fit by heading to a local gym or going jogging. Or take in the local tourist attractions. In my early days, all of that seemed a bit dorky, not rock ’n’ roll enough. And sleep was definitely overrated.
I preferred to go out drinking and looking for trouble. I was always the one asking ‘What’s happening? What’s going on? Where’s the action?’ Anything to use up my excess energy. Anything to satisfy my cravings. Anything to stop myself from really looking at my life and the train wreck that was always just about to happen.
I kept this up for many years. But even I began to tire of it. How much trouble can one man start? You get to a point where you either grow up or your liver asks for a transfer to Joe Cocker for a rest. To channel my energies in a different direction, at one point I trained in karate. This knocked out two birds with one stone: I got fit and learned how to kill more than just time. It kept me alive, but it didn’t keep me out of trouble. Plus, at heart I am a pacifist.
It took many more years for me to realise I was heading for disaster. I wasn’t just killing time, I was killing myself and the people around me. So, eventually, I left that life behind.
Now I spend a lot of my spare time on the road reading and writing books. Don’t tell me, I’ve finally grown up! After all those years I spent looking around, searching for excitement, it feels great to sit quietly, look inwards, reflect on the past and dream about the future. These days I have found a little peace. My world is still turning, but it doesn’t entirely revolve around me anymore. Well, not as much.
And I don’t have to be in the thick of the battle with my demons all the time. I can step back and let them fight among themselves. I’ve got better things to do with my time. Every now and then I have to go toe to toe with the ghosts of my past, but they don’t possess me or overwhelm me. I look at them, see what I can learn from them, and then let them go. They don’t own me anymore.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m aware those demons are still around. Addiction doesn’t just lie down and let you walk away. I know I need to keep my wits about me, but I am walking on my own two feet now. And after all those years on the road, all those years of drifting, with no sense of belonging anywhere, I finally feel that I have found my place in the world. I have a beautiful wife and family who all love me, and I love them with all my heart. I have friends I care about. I have stepped out of the shadows and I can feel the sun on my face and I like it. My head is held high and I am looking forward to what life has planned for me.
I still write songs about the bad old days, of course, trying to make sense of it all. Songs about how easy it is to lose faith and hope and fall into a downward spiral. Songs like ‘Killing Time’. I can write about such things because I’ve been there. It’s hard to look back too much, but I know it’s healthy. While keeping an eye on where you’re going, you need to remember where you’ve been.
Like many other things, writing is more of a pleasure these days. Putting together my memoirs was sometimes like pulling teeth. It was a harrowing exercise, and at times nearly killed me. But in these stories, although I was sometimes facing up to sad, frightening and occasionally embarrassing episodes, for the most part I have been able to take a lighter look back and, while reflecting on some dark times, relive some of the funniest and most absurd moments of my life, and recognise the joy, inspiration and kindness that others have brought me during my long journey. They include other musicians, roadies, producers, mentors, friends, sometimes total strangers. And, of course, my wonderful family – couldn’t have done it without them.
Thanks to all these people, I’m no longer just killing time. Not anymore. Now, every moment is precious.
Enjoy.
Jimmy