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INXS meant more to Australia than just sex, drugs and Kylie INXS meant more to Australia than just sex, drugs and Kylie
(7 months later)
It seems safe to assume that It seems safe to assume that Channel 7’s two-part miniseries INXS: Never Tear Us Apart, which premieres on Sunday, will largely focus on the aspects of Hutchence’s life which most delighted those sections of the media which took the least interest in his work. And this is understandable: a professional musician’s day-to-day trudge between rehearsal room, studio and venue is not the stuff of which grippingly lurid drama is made. And it’s why professional musicians end up pursuing – money and powers of persuasion permitting – the sorts of pastimes which get them in the kinds of papers which made such hay from Hutchence’s eventful personal life.
Channel 7’s two-part miniseries INXS: Never Tear Us Apart, which premieres on Sunday, will largely focus on the aspects of Hutchence’s life which It must be hoped, however – especially given the involvement of INXS’s surviving members in the project – that some consideration is given to Hutchence’s accomplishments as a singer and performer, which have become occluded by the circumstances of his passing. Granted, a lot of what INXS recorded hasn’t aged terrifically well. Like many artists who define their times, INXS ended up being defined by their times, and their biggest albums were enduringly cursed by the echoing pomposity of 80s production.
most delighted those sections of the media which took the least interest in his work. And this is understandable: a professional musician’s But those albums INXS recorded at their commercial peak, from 1984’s The Swing to 1987’s Kick, did contain moments of genuine grace. INXS were an interesting tempering of their British post-punk inspirations with the breezy populism necessary to survive an apprenticeship on Australia’s unforgiving pub rock circuit. Burn For You, Kiss the Dirt (Falling Down the Mountain), New Sensation, are all superior pop froth, but they resonate mostly as Pavlovian triggers of their era. It’s desperately difficult to name a significant act of whom it can be said that INXS were a key influence (although Arcade Fire covered Devil Inside on their recent Australian tour, this was gallery-playing akin to Bruce Springsteen’s recent tilt at the Saints’ Just Like Fire Would; and though Nile Rodgers has been known to perform Original Sin, he produced the record).
day-to-day trudge between rehearsal room, studio and venue is not the stuff of While there is nothing wrong with – or easy about – creating such instantly irresistible confections, Hutchence always seemed faintly troubled that INXS were never taken wholly seriously. Certainly, at the Australian high schools I attended in the mid-80s, any fondness for INXS, especially among male students, was indulged furtively. They weren’t even granted the dubious consolation of being regarded, by beard-scratching cultural arbiters, as “important”, like U2 or Midnight Oil. INXS were always more respected for their success than the music they’d earned it with. It is impossible to avoid suspecting that the reason Hutchence so enjoyed playing a hip, underground wastrel in Richard Lowenstein’s 1986 film Dogs in Space was that this was precisely the kind of singer he’d rather have been.
which grippingly lurid drama is made. And it’s why professional musicians end Hutchence’s distress at this state of affairs became most obvious on INXS’s increasingly turgid post-Kick albums, on which his thwarted desire to be acclaimed a proper grown-up artist overwhelmed his group’s essential playfulness. There is evidence, however, that there was more to him as a frontman than a confidently worn pair of leather trousers. In the late 80s, Hutchence took a break from counting the royalties from Kick to record, under the name Max Q, a terrific album with avant-garde composer Ollie Olsen and other denizens of Melbourne’s underworld. Long out of print, it remains, by some margin, his finest hour. In an interview I did with Olsen at the time, he described Hutchence as “One of my best friends – a really talented guy, much more than people give him credit for.”
up pursuing – money and powers of persuasion permitting – the sorts of pastimes It is telling that though INXS were never cool, Hutchence was rarely derided by his compatriots who were: Olsen was happy to make a record with him; Nick Cave sang at his funeral. This may have been partly on the grounds of basic affability: working for the street press in Sydney in the late 80s, dealing by definition with musicians less successful than INXS, I don’t recall hearing a bad word uttered about Hutchence as a human being.
which get them in the kinds of papers which made such hay from Hutchence’s But in 1980s Australia, Hutchence was admired, whatever one thought of his music, for what he’d made appear possible. Before INXS, the idea that any group could graduate to dominance of the world’s airwaves from the sweaty beerhalls of Australia seemed as strange and remote as the country itself. Before Hutchence, the notion that mainstream international rock star was a plausible career option for someone from Australia felt preposterous. He gave Australians something to dream at, which is what people in his line of work are supposed to do.
eventful personal life.
It must be hoped, however – especially given the involvement of INXS’s surviving members in the project –
that some consideration is given to Hutchence’s accomplishments as a singer and
performer, which have become occluded by the circumstances of his passing. Granted, a lot of what INXS recorded hasn’t aged
terrifically well. Like many artists who define their times, INXS ended up
being defined by their times, and their biggest albums were enduringly cursed
by the echoing pomposity of 80s production.
But those albums INXS
recorded at their commercial peak, from 1984’s The Swing to 1987’s Kick,
did contain moments of genuine grace. INXS were an interesting
tempering of their British post-punk inspirations with the breezy populism
necessary to survive an apprenticeship on Australia’s unforgiving pub rock
circuit. Burn For You, Kiss the Dirt (Falling Down the Mountain), New
Sensation, are all superior pop froth, but they resonate mostly as Pavlovian
triggers of their era. It’s desperately difficult to name a significant act of
whom it can be said that INXS were a key influence (although Arcade Fire
covered Devil Inside on their recent Australian tour, this was
gallery-playing akin to Bruce Springsteen’s recent tilt at the Saints’ Just
Like Fire Would; and though Nile Rodgers has been known to perform Original
Sin, he produced the record).
While there is nothing wrong
with – or easy about – creating such instantly irresistible confections,
Hutchence always seemed faintly troubled that INXS were never taken
wholly
seriously. Certainly, at the Australian high schools I attended in the
mid-80s,
any fondness for INXS, especially among male students, was indulged
furtively.
They weren’t even granted the dubious consolation of being regarded, by
beard-scratching cultural arbiters, as “important”, like U2 or Midnight
Oil. INXS were always more respected for their success than the music
they’d earned it with. It is impossible to avoid suspecting that the
reason
Hutchence so enjoyed playing a hip, underground wastrel in Richard
Lowenstein’s
1986 film Dogs in Space was that this was precisely the kind of singer
he’d
rather have been.
Hutchence’s distress at this
state of affairs became most obvious on INXS’s increasingly turgid
post-Kick
albums, on which his thwarted desire to be acclaimed a proper grown-up
artist overwhelmed his group’s essential playfulness. There is evidence,
however, that there was more to him as a frontman than a confidently
worn pair
of leather trousers. In the late 80s, Hutchence took a break from
counting the royalties from Kick to record, under the name Max Q, a
terrific album with
avant-garde composer Ollie Olsen and other denizens of Melbourne’s
underworld. Long out of print, it remains, by some margin, his finest
hour. In an interview
I did with Olsen at the time, he described Hutchence as “One of my best
friends
– a really talented guy, much more than people give him credit for.”
It is telling that though
INXS were never cool, Hutchence was rarely derided by his compatriots
who were: Olsen was happy to make a record with him; Nick Cave sang at
his funeral.
This may have been partly on the grounds of basic affability: working
for the
street press in Sydney in the late 80s, dealing by definition with
musicians
less successful than INXS, I don’t recall hearing a bad word uttered
about
Hutchence as a human being.
But in 1980s Australia, Hutchence was
admired,
whatever one thought of his music, for what he’d made appear possible.
Before
INXS, the idea that any group could graduate to dominance of the world’s
airwaves from the sweaty beerhalls of Australia seemed as strange and
remote as
the country itself. Before Hutchence, the notion that mainstream
international
rock star was a plausible career option for someone from Australia felt
preposterous. He gave Australians something to dream at, which is what
people in his line of work are supposed to do.