HE’S THE VOICE!

What is it about this bloke?

He is loved. He is adored. He is revered. He has just had the most public “retirement” since Dame Nellie Melba and I suspect he may make as many returns as she did. And they will forgive him.

I am talking of course about Whispering Jack. John (formerly Johnny) Farnham.

We saluted and farewelled him at the Rod Laver Arena last weekend. We were told, as he was cocooned in streamers, that this was The Last Time.

The Wheatley Machine even leaked the word that Farnham might be so traumatised after the show that there wouldn’t even be a closing party. Boy, they sure are quick. We had “ John Farnham The Last Time PARTY” plastic badges given to us as we walked in.

No matter. Last Sunday night we saw something awesome. Australia’s most loved – and I believe most talented-- entertainer just did it. Just did it.

He made it look so easy. He sang about 25 songs that were all chartbusters. The man has had hit records from the gormless Sadie, The Cleaning Lady through the aching Please Don’t Ask Me and a version of Help! that would have made the Beatles feel inadequate.

Then we had the strutting bagpipe players in You’re the Voice and realised he WAS/IS the voice. The greatest voice this country has heard in my lifetime.

Sure he’s stacked on the weight and, in the vernacular Farnham himself would use, he looks like a brick shithouse. But the voice just soars and generations soar with it.

At the tennis centre last Sunday they kept the house lights up and I saw people from eight to eighty paying homage. There was a continuing stream of people (mainly women) handing up roses, posies, cards and even g-strings. But it never seemed grubby.

And that’s because that’s him. That’s John Farnham. A good bloke who can sing. And an entertainer who genuinely acknowledges and respects his audiences.

I remember seeing Michael Bolton on stage one night with a couple of fans. Not the idolising variety. A couple of electric fans blowing the thinning blonde locks back as part of the on stage persona. I haven’t played a Bolton CD since.

Farnham is different. He gives his audience everything he has got. Everything. And I should confess a personal connection.

He was a surprise guest at my 45th birthday party at the now defunct Sebel Town House in Sydney. He turned up unannounced and sat alone at the piano to play – and sing – Help! That was the Beatles song that Tina Turner tried to steal from him. My favourite Farnham hit.

Farnham is an enigma who shouldn’t be. We all know he can sing. But he is so publicly such a blokey bloke. Goes fishing. Rides horses. No shit!

At the risk of getting personal and schmaltzy let me tell you a story about my stepson, Dylan Walters, and Mr Farnham. Thirty years ago John and his beloved Jilly were about as fertile as the Sahara Desert. They used to kidnap Jacki Weaver’s child as a surrogate son for days at a time.

Dylan made no superstar connection. One day, aged about five, he spotted Farnham on television and said to his mother: “ You know my mate John? He can sing!”

My relationship with this man is, to be honest, a bit strange. When he learned that his cherished friend Jacki Weaver was going out with the dreaded Hinch he was genuinely appalled. Called me a four-letter word.

And yet, years later, he flew to Sydney for my birthday to sing personally just for me. And another 14 years later I went to the Rod Laver Arena to watch this awesome talent strut his stuff.

And it is awesome stuff. Please Don’t Ask Me should make anybody cry. Or Burn For You. Or the most honest, self-examining, Farnham song called The Simple Life.

One day, years ago, I bumped into the chain-smoking Whispering Jack at the smoke-choked studios at AAV in South Melbourne. He beckoned me in to the studio to listen to a song he claimed would be a hit. And he needed one.

It was called You’re the Voice. I pointed out that it was ungrammatical.

“You’re the Voice… try AND understand it”. Surely, I said, it is “ try TO understand it?

He ignored me and recorded a massive hit. And then I advised Whispering Jack NOT to do the multi-million dollar revival of Jesus Christ Superstar.

So what do I know?

I know one thing.

Last weekend I saw the greatest Australian star we have seen in my life time.

We have seen exports and imports. Johnny O’Keefe, Kamahl, Little Patti, Johnny Devlin, Marsha, the Delltones, the Aztecs. Farnham strides so far above them it is an embarrassment.

If this really is the big stage end then I say: Goodbye Sunshine. And good luck.

I still think it is a case of coitus interruptus, So does Australia.

.©Copyright Derryn Hinch 2002