He's on TV (Countdown) - he must be rich
Television created the image that it was some sort of Golden Palace, particularly in the 1960s and 1970s when I started seriously watching. The media profiles of the glamorous lives – and large salaries – of the stars, were part of this carefully crafted image.
It was the same for the music industry. Rinse and repeat for having a hit song on the radio.
It follows that if you:
- Appear on TV, say….Countdown or
- Have a Top Ten hit
- Or both
….it was assumed you’d made it. Rich. Set for life.
And the 13 year old me, of course, believed it.
The Brutal Truth
It was somewhat devastating to discover, years later, none of this was true. Worse still, at least two of the ‘stars’ I had followed were living quite the opposite lives.
If the singer of the song didn’t write it, their income from the hit may have been quite small. Worse still, they may have got an advance from the record company. They may not have read the contract’s fine print, something like advance against future royalties and assumed it was income, to spend on booze, parties and other fun things.
“Woo hoo, how good is this?” they probably thought.
Not very, it seems. They may have been earned a few hundreds or even thousand dollars of royalties, which may have covered the advance (viz. paid it back). If not, they would have actually owed the record company money.
And the person who appeared on Countdown…well, not even sure if they got paid at all, or perhaps a one-off appearance fee. I’m not talking about the Big Stars, some of whom were flown in from overseas.
Two sad examples, from the music world:
William Shakespeare
1974. I’m 12 or 13. Glam Rock is roaring and I’m just loving it. We are watching the Paul Hogan show and all of a sudden this comes on:
I actually remember saying, out loud around the family’s black and white TV, “wow, he’s just like Gary Glitter!” There is a terrible irony about those words.
Anyway ‘William’ had two #1 hits, both in 1974. But Vanda and Young wrote them, basically all he did was to sing them. His real name was John Cave.
But, Wikipedia then tells us : “In 1975 John Cave was convicted of carnal knowledge of a 15-year-old girl from his Melbourne fan club, and he received two years probation”
I distinctly remember him on the early morning music show Sounds (Unlimited?) talking to the host Donnie about the above. But Cave’s career was over and he spiralled downwards.
Wikipedia advises: “Mental illness and alcoholism took its toll on his personal life and by 2001, Shakespeare was homeless and lived in a ticket booth at an oval next to St George’s Leagues Club in Kogarah, where he was found and assisted by Lindy Morrison (ex-The Go-Betweens drummer) of Support Act Limited, a company concerned with assisting artists in hard times”
He was living in government housing in Sydney when he died suddenly on 5 October 2010.
Stevie Wright
So it’s about 1985. We are on a work Christmas break-up on a party boat on Port Phillip bay. It’s going ok, music downstairs in the main cabin and upstairs, people taking in the night views and talking in the open air.
I’m downstairs. All of a sudden a certain song comes on the PA. A roar of delight erupts. The sparsely occupied dance area suddenly become full, spilling out to fill the cabin, with heaving, happy, singing people, including myself and my then better half.
The song?
Friday on My Mind (1966) by my favourite Australian band The Easybeats. It’s already nearly 20 years old by 1985. The song was written by the band’s two guitarists Harry Vanda and George Young (older brother of Malcolm and Angus)
The lead singer was Stevie Wright.
Stevie’s sad, slow decline is well documented and I really don’t want to go over it again. He too was one of the performers who I just assumed was rolling in money, but it just wasn’t true. Not by a long shot. He died in late December 2015.
