Deep Purple overdosed on methedrine
FRATERNITY, 1975 OR THEREABOUTS
SOMEWHERE DURING THIS PERIOD, a harmonica player named John Ayres started turning up at our gigs. John, or Uncle as he was known, was a crazy guy with his hair shaved all the way from the crown of his head down to where his beard started under his chin. This included his eyebrows, so he looked like a cross between an alien and a garden gnome. Uncle played harp for Fraternity, one of the bands I used to look up to at the Pier Hotel. They started out as a sort of hippy band, with recorder solos and gnome beards. But they were great. They ended up changing their name to Fang, moving to the UK and becoming a hard rock band. By the time they got back to Australia they were jaded and on the verge of breaking up. But some new blood was injected into them via a few new members, and they were in the process of reinventing themselves when their singer, Bon Scott, left and joined another band.
Bon was tired from slogging it out with Fraternity in the UK. By the time they returned to Adelaide he was over it. In May 1974 he was riding a motorbike around town and drinking way too much. A bad combination. He had a serious accident and recovery took a long time. It was during this time Bon and I became friends. I had looked up to Bon for years. Even though Fraternity had limited success in the rest of Australia, in Adelaide they were huge. I had always watched local Adelaide bands and admired them even when they didn’t talk to me. These were guys from the same town I was living in. Hometown heroes, I guess. But a lot of the local bands were pop stars. They seemed to have more attitude than they should have had. Bon was different. He was a good guy. He drank down at the Pier with the locals and that’s where I started hanging out with him. At this time, I remember Bon’s drink of choice was a Harvey Wallbanger, a weird mix of vodka, Galliano and orange juice. Bon didn’t have a lot of orange juice with his. I drank these with him one night. I could never look at Galliano again. Ever.
Bon was a hard-rocking guy from his head to his toes. He had the swagger of a rock singer and the look of a rock singer, but unlike most of the other people around Adelaide who tried to be rock stars he had the goods to back it up. He could sing higher and drink more than most, and more than one time drank me into the ground. Even I was shocked by how much he could consume. But he was a funny, warm, down-to-earth bloke, and he stayed that way for as long as I knew him. No matter how famous he got, he never changed.
The band that Bon was to join were from Sydney. They already had a reputation as a band that was going places. They knew how to rock. Before Bon joined them, I had seen them at Chequers Nightclub in Sydney on our way back from Armidale, and was blown away by the power of the two guitar players. They were a great band who needed a great singer, and Bon was a great singer. The band he joined was called AC/DC. Bon and AC/DC were a match made in heaven. They went on to make a few of the best rock’n’roll records ever.
SO FRATERNITY FOUND THEMSELVES in the market for a new singer and my brother John was in the market for a new band, and he decided to join Fraternity. It was all going great when suddenly the drummer, a guy called JF, left the band. JF had had a big fight with Bruce Howe, the bass player and leader of the band. My brother, who always had a plan B, said, ‘No worries. I’ll play drums and we can find another singer.’ At that time, he was more comfortable behind the kit.
This was around the time Uncle started turning up at our shows. We got him up to play with us at the Pooraka Hotel and it was pretty wild. After the show he cornered us and said, ‘Maybe I could get up and do some more shows with you guys.’ He was a charmer.
‘Yeah, that sounds good.’ We all agreed.
‘Well, maybe you could pay me a little wage. You know, just for petrol and pot. My band is building a PA system so we need all the cash we can get.’
Whatever his band was building had fuck-all to do with us, but our crowd loved him being up there and so did we.
‘Yeah, all right, we could pay a little bit. We don’t make that much.’
We all had the feeling we were being conned, but in a nice way, so we hired him anyway. I was loving the energy that he had, and the volume he played at. He was deafening. I always liked people who grabbed my attention. It wasn’t long until my brother John was hanging around too. And Uncle and John came up with a scheme to get me to leave Cold Chisel and join Fraternity.
I talked before about how John had a way of getting me to do whatever he wanted. Uncle and John’s Fraternity proposition was a bit like that. Before I knew what was happening, they had me leaving Cold Chisel, a band that I loved, and joining a band that no one had heard. This was the plan.
‘It’ll be so good, Jim. You and me in the same band.’ I had heard this before when John joined Cold Chisel. It didn’t work out that time. ‘I’ll play drums and you’ll be out front singing. We’ll kick arse, I’m telling you.’ John could see it all in his head. ‘We will kill it. How could we go wrong, eh?’
Uncle watched on as John spun his story. Even he was impressed.
‘Listen Jim, these guys have been around for a long time. They’ve played overseas. They have a shitload of experience. With a bit of energy from us two we’ll blow the business wide open.’
I looked at John and could see in his eyes that he believed what he was saying. This meant a lot to him.
‘What do you think, Uncle?’ John asked, looking for support.
Uncle was almost as sucked in as I was. ‘Ah, yeah mate. This could be the start of something really good for all of us.’
Even though he had no eyebrows – maybe because he had no eyebrows – he always looked a little startled. Naive looking, like a deer in the headlights. But I felt I could trust him. Uncle was a bit crazy, but he had a good heart. I looked at the two of them and decided then and there to join Fraternity.
Fraternity mark two was a really good band, made up of these great players who had years of experience in the music business. Bruce Howe and Uncle had toured the world with Fraternity mark one. Mauri Berg, the guitar player, was from a band called Headband. They had been huge in Adelaide when I was a young fellow. We had John on drums and a young virtuoso named Peter Bersee on electric violin and second guitar. This guy was amazing but had never been in a rock band before, so he was a wild card. He kept getting tangled up in his guitar cord and falling over. It was great to watch, funny as hell.
We would rehearse in the cellar of the Fraternity house in Prospect. In that cellar Bruce would read the riot act to us all. ‘Listen, if you play drums like that on the night, the crowd will walk out the fucking door. And I don’t want to be fucking there if they do, okay?’
John didn’t take criticism well. It was a family trait. ‘What’s wrong with the way I’m playing?’
I could see John wanted to hit him. Bruce would be red in the face. He had told John a million times what he wanted. ‘Just keep it simple and in time. Try to play the kick drum with the fucking bass. That’s all. You don’t have to get all fancy with it. You’re not in a fucking cabaret band now, you know.’
Bruce yelled at everyone. Most of the time no one listened. But I did. I listened to everything he told me. ‘You don’t need fucking vibrato, Jim. Hit the fucking note and hit it clean. Don’t wobble it around. You’re in a rock band. Don’t slide up the notes, just hit them pure and clean. It’s fucking that simple.’
I filed everything away, never forgetting it.
The band built its own equipment, guitar amps and PA system. This was all new to me, as we didn’t really even know how to turn ours on. I was very impressed by it all. We rehearsed and went about announcing our first show at the Largs Pier Hotel.
The band were really something special; they sounded like a cross between Little Feat and J. Geils Band. Uncle and Bruce had written most of the songs and they sounded different to any songs I’d sung before. They were heavily influenced by Captain Beefheart. They were loud and aggressive, and the combination of their experience, and the out of control factor that John and I brought to them, was very exciting.
A couple of the guys’ wives decided to make me a stage outfit. There is a photo of me somewhere wearing a pair of patchwork satin pants. How they talked me into them I’ll never know. I looked ridiculous.
Well, the big day came and we put the final touches on the PA. It had never been fired up before the gig, so anything could have gone wrong, but surprisingly it all worked. The PA consisted of these massive bass bins that were made up of two open boxes, each containing four front-mounted fifteen-inch speakers that were bolted together, forming a monstrous wall of subsonic sound that could make a human being lose control of their bowels. On top of that, on each side, were two midrange speaker boxes, called 45/60s, this alone was as big as most PAs I’d seen in pubs in Australia. Then on top of that were these two large fifteen-cell multi-cellular horns. Uncle had stolen the horns from a drive-in movie theatre. The cops caught him but somehow he managed to keep the speakers. Then a ninety-degree JBL horn and tweeters. This setup was as big as what bands used when they were playing outdoors.
The stage gear was no smaller. Each guitar amp contained four fifteen-inch speakers, as did the harmonica box, and the bass player had eight fifteen-inch speakers, all with huge, hand-wired amplifiers. The reason I’m telling you all this is to paint a picture of what was about to happen when we turned on this wall of speakers for the first time, which was only minutes before we went on stage at the Pier.
The scene was set, the band members were nervous and pacing around backstage. We were ready. Or were we?
‘Where the fuck’s Swanee? I haven’t seen him for a while,’ shouted Bruce. Bruce was a bit of a worrier. ‘I fuckin’ knew something would fuck up. Now we won’t be able to go on and we’ll never get booked again. This is all fucked.’
‘Settle down, Bruce, he was here ten minutes ago. He must be having a drink with some of the boys in the front bar. He’ll turn up,’ I said, trying to cover for John. I hadn’t seen him for a while either.
‘Oh Jesus, I fuckin’ hope so. We have to talk through the endings of the songs, and he’s the one who fucks them up, not me. I know the fucking things. If he’d stayed sober for one day he’d know ’em too. I fucking tell you, it’s fucked. This is not a professional outfit.’ Bruce was pacing back and forth in the dressing room, whipping himself into a frenzy.
‘He’ll be so pissed that he won’t be able to play, mark my words. Fuck it, I’m getting a beer too. Might as well be pissed, none of you guys take this shit seriously. This band could be huge if you guys pulled your weight. Fuck.’
‘I’ll send someone to find him. You just have a beer and calm down,’ I said.
Well, they found John and sure enough, Bruce was right. He was so drunk he could hardly stand up. He was naked in a shower in one of the upstairs rooms with the publican’s daughter. One of the roadies quickly got her out of there before anyone spotted her and told her dad. He turned the cold water on full and held John under the shower until John could understand his voice, then he dragged him downstairs and into the backstage area just as we were due to go on.
‘This is just fuckin’ great. You better play well or this will be the end of this fuckin’ band, I tell you,’ yelled Bruce.
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah,’ John slurred at Bruce. He didn’t even have time to dress. He went on stage for the first gig the band ever did dressed only in his underwear. He swayed and staggered as he walked on. One of the roadies pushed him towards his kit and put a bucket next to him in case he threw up.
‘Good evening.’ We were off and running.
The set started with a roar. The audience was jammed up against the front of the stage with their arms in the air, eagerly waiting for our first song. Bang! We hit the first chord of the first song and all the windows of the pub cracked, from the front of the room to the back. Within seconds there was at least thirty yards between us and the front row, who by now had their hands over their ears, trying in vain to save what was left of their rapidly diminishing hearing. Bruce scowled at John for the first ten minutes, hitting him on the head with his bass every time he slowed down, but besides that we were rocking. We assaulted the poor audience that night, from the start of the set until the finish, and they seemed to love it.
The next day, in the daily paper, was the only review we ever had. It said that we sounded like ‘Deep Purple overdosed on methedrine’. We loved that and stuck it up on the fridge at the Fraternity house until we broke up not long after. We did a tour of Port Pirie, Port Augusta, Whyalla and Port Lincoln and that was about it really.
In the short time I was in Fraternity I learned more about singing than I had in years. Bruce was a brutal taskmaster and demanded that the singer give everything he had and then some. I can see why Bon was such a good singer; he had been in that band for many years. I believe that Bruce was instrumental in making me the singer that I am today, so if you don’t like it, go and see him.
ONE DAY, LATE IN 1975, John and I were at the Largs Pier when one of the barmen walked up to me. ‘There’s an old bloke in the front bar and he’s looking for you.’
‘Is he a cop?’ I immediately asked, half-serious. It was always better to be safe than sorry.
‘No mate, this guy’s not dressed like a cop. He’s a bit pissed too and he’s with some bird who’s swearing like a sailor at anyone who looks at her. You’d better come and see them before they find any trouble.’
The front bar at the Pier was a good place to find trouble. The locals didn’t take well to strangers. I’d seen many of them thrown out on their arses.
‘Why would I go see them? Am I supposed to know them?’ I was too busy recovering from a bad hangover to worry about some old bloke and a strange woman in the bar.
‘Well, he reckons he’s related to you.’ John looked at me. Suddenly he looked worried.
‘Could be one of the Barnes family,’ I thought. There were a few of them in the area.
‘Well if he’s related to me, he knows where to find me,’ I said.
‘He reckons he’s your dad and he’s telling everyone in the bar he’s come back to see you.’ The barman didn’t have time to argue with me and left. John and I didn’t say a word.
Now, I knew that Reg Barnes didn’t drink much, if at all. And he certainly wouldn’t be drunk at the front bar of the Pier. So it wasn’t him. I stood scratching my head. Maybe it was my real dad? Jim Swan. Couldn’t be. I hadn’t seen him since he left years earlier. What was he doing back, and at the Pier as well? I followed John to find out.
In the bar we spotted him. He still looked like my dad. He always had a kind face unless he was fighting someone. He looked calm and gentle. We could hear his voice across the room; it was soft and a bit raspy, like smooth sandpaper. But I knew the tone and so did John. It was reassuring and warm and he was as charming as I remembered him. I knew it was definitely Dad. He looked a lot worse than when I had seen him last. I remember thinking he looked pretty bad then, so that was saying something.
Was he all right? I was worried about him, just like I had been all those years before, when he should have been worrying about me. But he still had that look in his eyes. The one that made people trust him immediately. I could tell people were already warming to him in the bar.
I’d heard stories that Dad had left with another woman from Elizabeth but I never knew it for a fact until then. I remembered her face. Her voice was like a knife. It could be heard across the whole bar. ‘Whose buy is it? Come on, someone get they fuckin’ drinks in. I’m dyin’ of thirst.’
I tried to ignore her and walked over to Dad. John was already in his arms. I stood still and said, ‘Hi Dad. How are you?’ I think my lip was quivering.
Dad looked me in the eye, and in that same voice that used to tell me everything was going to be all right, said, ‘Hello ma son. Oh, I’ve missed ye so much. I really have. Gie us a kiss.’
He put his arms around me. I could smell cigarettes and booze on him, but it didn’t matter. It smelled like him. He had me ready to forgive everything from the first word he spoke. I just wanted to never let him go again.
Dad went on to tell us how he and Margaret had been living somewhere between Streaky Bay and Whyalla.
‘Sometimes we lived right oot o’ the boot o’ the car. It was terrific, boys. Whit freedom we had. Naebody in the world tae tell us what tae dae. As far away from yer ma as I could get.’ Dad could even make living in your car sound like an adventure. He had a way with words. He was probably homeless, but that didn’t matter.
‘But I’m back now and here wi’ you two. Maybe I’ll take yous away wi’ me next time. You’ll love it. No a care in the world.’
I had a lot I wanted to say. I wanted to tell him he should have been around to keep an eye on us, but then I remembered; even when he was around he couldn’t keep his eye on us. I needed a drink suddenly.
Dad told us stories of his adventures. ‘You should see the fish you catch in Streaky Bay, boys. Big and juicy and they practically throw themsels at ye. You don’t need a boat. You hardly need a line. I tell ye, you’d have to be an eejit not to catch them.’
It was like I was six years old again, hitchhiking to work with my dad. John and I sat waiting on every word.
‘Ye just cook them right there on the beach. And sleep under the stars. It’s a great life, I tell ye.’
I sat on the edge of the chair on one side of him and John sat on the other side. We were both trying to ignore Margaret.
‘Why don’t ye get in a few drinks and I’ll tell ye more.’
I jumped up without thinking. But I had a bad feeling in my stomach as I walked to the bar.
‘There you go, Dad.’
‘Right, son.’ Dad lowered his voice. He didn’t want anyone but me to hear this, I could tell. ‘D’ye think you boys can spot me a few dollars? Just until I get settled.’
I felt sick. Dad hadn’t come back to see us. He was passing through and needed money.
‘I was reading the paper and I saw ye were doin’ okay and I just thought ye might be able to lend me a wee bit, just until I get on ma feet.’
Luckily for us, John and I didn’t have any money or we would have given him the lot. He told us lots of sob stories about how he always meant to be in contact but couldn’t find us. Even though we knew why he was there, we were still happy to see him.
Dad stuck around for a short time then headed through to Melbourne. I wouldn’t see much of him until we started touring there a lot more. John stayed in contact. Dad and I had a lot to work out. But it would have to wait.