time and thinking how old I sounded,” he says in that familiar Aussie drawl. “I was only 24 but I guess people thought I never got older because I sounded old in the first place.”
Although that song went to No.1 it wasn’t all beer and skittles and the early 80’s were difficult for John, as he tried to build on that early success. “Yeah, Old Man Emu was the first song I ever wrote, and it did well, so I thought it was going to be easy, but it took another 16 years for me to make it after that.”
I ask him about those early fallow years. “Well I suppose I wouldn’t have made any more music if it wasn’t for the New South Wales club scene, especially around Sydney,” he says as he sips his beer. “A bad juggler or a bad comedian could have gotten a job, there were that many clubs putting on shows and they were a great breeding ground. But the most important thing for me was learning how to become a performer. In the clubs and little pubs, I did covers and gradually tried some of my own songs, developed my kick box, did my own lighting and sound and everything. Slowly and surely, I built up my act and started writing the Mallee Boy songs.”
John’s breakthrough album, and one of my personal favourites, Mallee Boy was released in 1986, peaked in the Top 10 and remained in the Top 50 for the next 18 months. It was also the inaugural winner of the Best Country Album at the 1987 ARIA Music Awards and Album of the Year in the Country Music Awards of Australia 1987. “I went out with one roadie on a trip through Central Australia, where I wrote the album Road Though the Heart. I also wrote Raining on the Rock on that trip which ended up on Mallee Boy. And I think it was then, in 1986 that I realised that I could write good songs.”
Since Raining on the Rock JW has written many other powerfully evocative songs of the Australian land, songs that can make the toughest farmer or drover cry into his beer. I ask him if it was a conscious effort to make his songs sound more Australian than others. “As Aussies,” he says, “we were always discouraged to write our own songs. I remember people saying I shouldn’t be doing my own stuff you know. But when I was doing the pub circuit I started doing my own songs and when I sang Cootamundra Wattle and saw people cry I realised it was worth it and stuck to my guns. But there were so many songs on Mallee Boy that basically made my career.”
True Blue, also from that album has become something of an unofficial anthem, as well as a calling card for JW, who often closes a show with it (as he did here 30 minutes ago). John Singleton had approached JW and asked him to write a song to go with his TV programme of the same name that encapsulated what it meant to be a “fair dinkum” Aussie and John was happy to oblige and admits that he was very lucky.
“The song,” he explains, “is all about what it means to be a good Australian, about looking after this great country. It’s not about what colour you are or where you come from, it’s about being a good person and looking after one another. I had no idea of the impact it would have when I wrote it for him but thank goodness for Singo. I’m lucky now that I often do a corporate thing where I get paid a fortune for singing two songs, True Blue and maybe Waltzing Matilda.”
JW was a bit peeved when he discovered that Singo had used the song and John’s image singing it, to promote white-goods for Harvey Norman. “I was in Mt Isa at the time and some mates rang me and asked if I knew that I was on an ad for Harvey Norman.” JW then spent $60,000 to put an ad in the national papers, telling the public it was not his idea. “I was one of the few people who stood up to Singo, but we’re good mates now,” he says.
When Mallee Boy went multi-platinum, JW realized that he could have a career, writing songs about Australia and singing with an Aussie accent. “I knew,” he says, “that I was on the right track and I could continue to write songs unashamedly about our country. Not many people these days write about rural things. And to me life out in the sticks is what makes us different to the rest of the world. Big cities are just big cities but it’s the bush that makes us uniquely Australian. The big problem then, of course, was to come up with an album as strong as Mallee Boy.”
Over the years JW has played at some very large and prestigious events such as the Gallipoli commemorations, Don Bradman Memorial, Bali Bombing Memorials, Steve Irwin Memorial, Wallabies matches and cricket events. He says the one that affected him the most was the Steve Irwin Memorial. “Well I knew Steve personally, so it was very emotional for me,” he says, “I hid myself away in a tent before going on, so I didn’t carried away with it all. I considered it wasn’t my luxury to get emotional anyway, because there were plenty of people who were closer to him than me. But seeing his best mates carrying his swag and putting it on a truck, that was pretty hard to watch. I surprised myself that I got through it actually.”
JW says that Steve Irwin was exactly the same in person in the flesh as he was on TV, “he was just a really enthusiastic person,” he recalls, “and strong. You knew all about it, if he gave you a hug!”
As well as being a singer, song-writer, TV presenter and painter, JW is also an outspoken Republican and environmentalist, and has upset a few people in the bush over the years with his views – and songs like Rip Rip Woodchip and A Flag of Our Own. “I think I’ve probably gained more fans than them over the years,” says John, “but surely we live in a free country and Australia is about saying what you feel and speaking your mind. I mean you could a get a bullet if you said something wrong about Putin. But I think people realise that what I say is from the heart as I truly love this county and anyone that’s destroying it should be held accountable.”
John Williamson hasn’t supported many other artists during his long career. But back in the ‘80s he supported Johnny Cash, a true legend of the music industry, for two shows in Tasmania. I ask him about his memories of The Man in Black. “Although I felt a bit insignificant performing before him,” he replies, “I think I went over pretty well though. I remember he wore high heels and he was taller than me anyway, so with his black coat he looked a lot like Darth Vader. And when he hit those lower notes you could almost hear the windows start to rattle.”
“Did you have much contact with him?” I inquire. “I didn’t talk to him much, but I spoke with the people around him and I almost got a song on his next album, but it didn’t quite get there.”
I then ask him what sort of music he listens to if he wants to relax. “I don’t really listen to much music anymore,” he replies. “It’s a bit like people who live on the beach and don’t do much swimming. But I’ve been influenced by the likes of Bob Dylan, Kris Kristofferson and Harry Belafonte. I was into Calypso music years ago and that kinda turned into Reggae and I love Bob Marley, especially if I’m drunk enough to dance,” he laughs. “But I also like Frank Sinatra. Just good vocalists I suppose.”
We talk for a bit about my favourite songs and how my son and I could both tear-up in the ute, listening to the likes of Cootamundra Wattle or Galleries of Pink Galahs. “Well, when I first write a song, I can well-up,” he says. “that’s when I know if I’ve got something or not. If I tear-up, then I think it’s going to work.”
“With all the lyrics you’ve written over the years, do you ever forget any of them?” I ask him. “Well, I can drift off on any song,” he says. “You’ve just got to concentrate. Which is why I always have an afternoon nap before a show because it’s your concentration that goes first, not so much your energy.”
“Were you always an environmentalist?” I venture, changing tack.
“Well I suppose when I realised the harm we were doing, was when we moved up to north-west
