There goes the neighbourhood! Billy Thorpe moves to East Melbourne

Wandering the wide, leafy streets of East Melbourne the other day, I was reminded what a civilised part of town it is. As if all its towering Victorian townhouses, Deco dazzlers and historic mansions weren’t enough, it’s got the picnic paradise of Fitzroy Gardens within cooee, and seems magically buffered from the incessant traffic noise that plagues most of the inner city. An oasis of gentility, a haven of refinement… And yet…

One of Australia’s rowdiest rock’n’rollers once lived — and partied hard — in these very streets! 

Banchory Cottage, Gipps St, East Melbourne: someone was inside, watching me from the front left window when I took this, so I didn't hang around trying to take a magnificent photo!

Yep, this unassuming little cottage in Gipps Street was once home to Billy Thorpe — at the height of his pub-rockin’, ‘sink-more-piss’ phase, no less. It was in this ‘house of lunacy’ that ‘a million brain cells died and the Sunbury Aztecs were born,’ recalls Thorpie in his second autobiography, Most People I Know (think that I’m crazy). Judging by his detailed descriptions of the nocturnal festivities that went down there, I’d say that was more like a trillion.

Joining Thorpie in this den of debauchery were his girlfriend Jackie and two of his bandmates, Paul Wheeler and Jimmy Thompson. They hit town from Sydney in December 1968, and within no time, a constant flow of freaks and friends was beating a path to their front door. 

After a few months of this madness, the desperately sleep-deprived singer resorted to a drastic measure. He nailed a big sign to the front door, emblazoned with the following hand-painted message:

To those about to knock. About every 8 minutes DAY and NIGHT some arsehole knocks on this door and I’m going fucking insane! My bedroom is the front window to your right and I haven’t slept in 6 fucking months. Regardless of what you’ve been told this is not the Melbourne Salvation Army, the Hilton or the Thumping Tum East, IT’S OUR HOUSE. We don’t save souls, take confessions, serve breakfast, arrange marriages, sell cars, arbitrate disputes, find lost dogs, supply inspiration, give spiritual guidance, sell drugs, bust virgins, counsel lost teenagers, or need your stimulating conversation. Therefore:-

• If you’re not bleeding from every orifice and about to die.

• If your gear hasn’t blown up and you need to borrow an amp.

• If you didn’t leave your clothes here last night and you’re naked in the street.

• If you’re not a philanthropist with a million dollars to give away.

• If you’re not a record company that wants to give us a deal.

• If you’re a debt collector.

• If you haven’t called so we know you’re coming.

• Or if you’re a copper without a legal search warrant then;

FUCK OFF!!!!

                        Peace and love

The sign wasn’t up for long. An outraged old lady called the cops, who made Thorpie take it down. 

Don’t you just love it that little gems of rock’n’roll history like this still exist in the most unexpected places? 

Another view

Postscript:

Personally I much prefer the early, Sydney-era Aztecs (not to mention Thorpie’s rollicking account of those years, Sex and Thugs and Rock’n’Roll), but Most People I Know is well worth a read for its vivid, bawdy depiction of Melbourne in the late 1960s. 

Melbourne song of the month: "Shakin' All Over"/Normie Rowe & the Playboys (September 1965)

They say you can’t improve on perfection, but I’d argue that Normie Rowe’s version of the Johnny Kidd & the Pirates classic “Shakin’ All Over” comes pretty close. Released in September 1965 as a double A-side with “Que Sera Sera”, this monster hit needs little introduction. Apparently it was one of the top-selling Aussie 45s of the 1960s; certainly, it remained in the charts for more than half a year and hit the number-one spot in Melbourne, Sydney, Brisbane and Adelaide. 

Normie was already a teen idol by the time “Shakin’ All Over” (his fourth single) was released, but this catapulted him into almost intergalactic heights of pop superstardom. And no wonder! He sings it like he means it, if you catch my drift. Can’t you just imagine the effect this must’ve had on his teenybopper fans?! (Actually, no imagination needed. The video at the bottom of this post provides a clear picture, showing Northcote’s most famous son miming the song on The Go! Show to a hysterical studio audience)

Normie-mania in all its hormonal hysteria! Unfortunately, I don't know the names of either photographer

I should mention that I love Johnny Kidd & the Pirates’ 1960 original of “Shakin’ All Over” – particularly the guitar sound and the vocals -- and I think it’s a tragedy that Kidd died so young because anyone who could pen such a gem at the age of 24 surely had a brilliant future ahead of him. I’m also partial to The Who’s rather macho rendition of the song. But Normie and his Playboys take it to another level: quickening the pace, embellishing the middle-eight and adding a hypnotic keyboard line that gives it an extra dimension of grooviness.


And that stinging guitar — goddamn!! It’s brutal and beautiful at the same time, like a tiger about to pounce on its prey and tear its throat out. Or something. Actually, I saw Normie and the original Playboys at the Flying Saucer Club about a year ago, and if memory serves me correctly, lead guitarist Bill Billings performed “Shakin’ All Over” with the same guitar he used on the recording. (I just wish I could remember what it was. Some kind of Maton?). Age hadn’t dimmed its bite, that’s for sure – it sounded killer.

Normie Rowe has a four-octave vocal range, and judging by his show last year, his golden tonsils are still going strong. But in “Shakin’ All Over” he sticks to a seductive, swoon-inducing rock’n’roll croon. Purrfect.

Which is more than can be said for his bizarre reworking of the song with celebrity chef Curtis Stone for a Coles ad about hormone-free meat back in 2012… Ahem. Best to not go there. 

Say no more...

Far better to end on a high. And so, I give you Normie on The Go!! Show: a surreal little snapshot of teen hysteria at its peak…

Mystery girl: Jan Stewart

In this day and age of digital footprints and full-disclosure Facebooking, there’s little that a good Google search won’t reveal. However, as I discovered today, the worldwide web falls intriguingly short when it comes to 1960s fashion model Jan Stewart.

Jan glamming it up in some swinging ski gear. Photo: Janice Wakely

As far as I know, Jan was from Melbourne, and worked with local photographers such as Bruno Benini (profiled in an earlier blog post) and Maggie Diaz.

Reclining Jan. Photo: Maggie Diaz

With her Audrey Hepburnesque features and natural grace, she was every bit as divine as my favourite 60s model Jean Shrimpton — but clearly didn’t hit the same heights of fame, because I simply can’t find anything about her online except a few photos and an interview snippet where she recalls the staging of this fabulous shot in a Little Collins Street building site for Sportsgirl:

Frock with a view. Photo: Bruno Benini

So, unless anyone out there can tell me more about this beautiful mystery babe, we’ll just have to be content to swoon over her… Besides, as they say, a picture’s worth a thousand words.

Jan doing Jean! How Shrimpton is this? I have a postcard of this pic somewhere, from that 2011 Como House exhibition, Mannequin. Wish I could find it so I could give the photographer due credit...

Yogi Jan. Photographer also unknown.

Then and now: When American jet-set and Beatlemania came to town

Can you believe that this blue-tiled beauty….

The Southern Cross Hotel in all its glory. Photo: http://www.nealprince-asid.com

…was demolished to make way for this beacon of blandness?

 
Admittedly, by the time it was closed in 1995 (demolition came a few years later), the Southern Cross Hotel  was past its prime, its blue tiles having long since given way to a drab brown façade, but surely its historical significance alone should have ensured its survival?

Designed by Welton Becket, the architect responsible for mid-century LA landmarks such as the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion and the Capitol Records Building, the Southern Cross Hotel boasted more than 430 rooms, eight restaurants, Melbourne’s first-ever ten-pin bowling alley (in the basement, no less), a massive ballroom and a shopping plaza. Its vividly coloured interior was masterminded by Neal Prince, director of interior decorating for the Intercontinental Hotel Corporation. 

Wilawa Cocktail Lounge. Photo: http://www.nealprince-asid.com

Southern Cross Hotel plaza, as photographed by Wolfgang Sievers. Photo: NLA

Lifestyles of the rich, famous… and fab

Such was the excitement about this flashy American-style establishment located on Exhibition Street between Bourke and Little Collins, that its August 1962 opening was even broadcast on local TV! Ushering in a new era of world-class accommodation and customer service, the Southern Cross Hotel quickly became the place to stay for visiting dignitaries and celebrities, hosting the likes of Frank Sinatra, Judy Garland, Marlene Dietrich and Roger Moore, plus a cavalcade of prime ministers and presidents. Over the decades, it was the venue of choice for the Logies, the Brownlow Medal and various Liberal Party shindigs.

But the Southern Cross Hotel’s main claim to fame was for hosting The Beatles, who stayed there during the Melbourne leg of their 1964 Aussie tour (almost 50 years ago to the day).

John and Paul saying g'day to the heaving throng, June 1964

No less than 20,000 screaming fans crammed the surrounding streets trying to catch a glimpse of the Fab Four — a spectacle that was televised live for those who didn't make the scene. I can’t think of a single star who could pull that off today. But the appearance of John, George, Paul and Ringo on the Southern Cross’s balcony caused pandemonium, and sealed the hotel’s place in history.

Can you imagine this many teenyboppers turning out for One Direction?

After they left, enterprising staff tore up their bed sheets and sold the strips — marked with the name of the Beatle who’d slept on them — to raise money for charity. I wonder if any survive to this day?

Neville Waller, photographer for Everybody's magazine, captured The Beatles hanging out in their twelfth-floor digs.

Nice sandals, George

Related posts

Holy mop tops, Batman! Beatlemania in Melbourne: a quiz

Melbourne song of the month: 'Chicago'/The Purple Hearts (April 1967)

Here’s a challenge for you: whack this baby on your car stereo and try to stick within the speed limit. Released in April 1967, three months after they’d broken up, The Purple Hearts’ version of “Born in Chicago” (under the abbreviated title “Chicago”) is a rip-roaring, faith-restoring joyride that leaves The Paul Butterfield Blues Band’s original pirouetting in the dust. Goddamn, I love it!

Unfortunately, I can’t find an online link to include in this post, so unless you’re lucky to own the original 7” (on Sunshine Records - anyone have a copy they want to sell me?), your best bet is the brilliant Half A Cow anthology, Benzedrine Beat.

Originally from Brisbane, The Purple Hearts relocated to swinging Melbourne in early 1966. Their second and third singles, “Early in the Morning” and “Of Hopes and Dreams and Tombstones” (killers in their own right) were recorded at the popular Armstrong’s Studio in South Melbourne, so I’m making an educated guess and assuming “Chicago” was too. 


 
The Purple Heart’s reputation as one of Melbourne’s most dynamic live bands comes across loud and clear in this recording. Frenetic but full of swaggering groove, totally unhinged but perfectly tight, its only fault is that it leaves you gagging for more after a measly 2:21 minutes. Sure, a short song is a good song, but this takes the whole ‘treat ‘em mean, keep ‘em keen’ ethos to another, altogether sadistic level!

Like so many Aussie bands of the 1960s, The Purple Hearts didn’t write their own material, opting instead to cover the r’n’b and blues classics they dug so much. But their creative take on these tracks ensured they ended up with a totally different beast at the end of the process. 

“Chicago” is way tougher-sounding than the original; faster and wilder. Swinging between a soulful falsetto and a deep throaty growl, Mick Hadley’s vocals are impassioned (to say the least) and his harmonica brutal; Lobby Loyde’s guitar, meanwhile, prowls around in the background like a tiger waiting to pounce – which it eventually does, in a lead break so freakin’ cool it hurts. Meanwhile, the turbo-charged rhythm section of Tony Cahill, Rob Dames and Fred Pickard doesn’t let up for a millisecond. If this isn’t a band at the peak of its powers, I don’t know what is.

Here’s the band playing it at a reunion gig in 2006 (I was there! Great gig, so much love in the room – I even managed to give Lobby a hug afterwards). It’s not quite the original line-up, but it’s still got that joyous energy….“Lobby, give it to me!”

RIP Lobby Loyde and Mick Hadley 

Related post:
Melbourne song of the month: 'The Real Thing'/Russell Morris

Bruno Benini

As the sweetheart-darlings among you would undoubtedly know, it’s the Virgin Australia Melbourne Fashion Festival this week. To be honest, I don’t consider that great cause for excitement, given the banality of most Aussie fashion these days, but it’s a mighty convenient excuse for today’s post.

After all, if today’s fashion looked anything like this, I’d be fighting my way to the front row by any means possible...

Behold, the genius eye of fashion photographer Bruno Benini (1925-2001)!

Too cool for words. Model Jan Stewart wearing Simona mini-dress for Sportsgirl, 1966. 
Photo: Powerhouse Museum Bruno Benini archive collection

These boots were made for posin'. Unknown model in a Sharene Creations number, 1963.
Photo: Powerhouse Museum Bruno Benini archive collection

Born in a medieval Italian town, Bruno Benini migrated to Melbourne with his family in 1935. After studying science at Melbourne Technical College (now RMIT) and working briefly at the Holden plant in Fisherman’s Bend, he returned to Italy by way of London in the late 1940s. It was during this trip he decided he wanted to be a fashion photographer.

Ahoy! Vida Elekna, Lynn Richmond, Terry Taylor and Gay Vardis at Station Pier, 1962.
Photo: Powerhouse Museum Bruno Benini archive collection

His first studio, established in the mid-50s, was in Cotham Road, Kew. While he was honing his skills, he worked as a male model, learning the finer points of lighting and fashion photography in the process.

Gillian Dickson in grey flannel Sportsgirl suit with four cut outs of model Eric Hoek, 1965
Photo: Powerhouse Museum Bruno Benini archive collection

After Kew, he moved his studio to several locations around the city before settling in McKillop Street. This is where he was based during the 1960s, sharing the space with his wife Hazel, a fashion display artist/stylist and his regular collaborator.

Talk about a dynamic duo: Bruno and Hazel singlehandedly cranked up the fabulosity factor of Melbourne’s fashion scene for many years!

Jan Stewart glamming it up in Stephen Glass evening gown, at the Lido nightclub (Russell St), 1968
Photo: Powerhouse Museum Bruno Benini archive collection

Benini’s photos were primarily black and white, and appeared in publications across the country. He photographed all the top models of the time, from the divine Jan Stewart (girl crush alert!) and Maggie Taberer to Janice Wakeley and Maggi Eckhardt, capturing them in beautiful portraits that simultaneously stand the test of time and encapsulate their time.

Marg Hanna in heart-stoppingly groovy Norma Tullo ensemble, 1969
Photo: Powerhouse Museum Bruno Benini archive collection

Benini’s photos are so much more than mere fashion snaps. They’re works of art, drop-dead gorgeous and super-creative, with a fun-loving streak a mile wide running through them. I love that they often feature recognisable Melbourne locations in them, yet there’s absolutely nothing provincial about them — they are universally swoonworthy.

Where oh where can I find a frock like this? Anne Hamilton in Simona dress for Sportsgirl, Black Rock, 1966. 
Photo: Powerhouse Museum Bruno Benini archive collection

Check out the Powerhouse Museum’s inspiring Bruno Benini photography archive for more photos of his work, spanning the 50s to the 80s.

Related post:
Groovy Prue

Groovy Prue

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Crappy TV. Synthesizers. Kids in the Kitchen. Ugly cars. Pat Cash. The 1980s have a lot to answer for.

However, one of the main reasons for my enduring personal grudge against the era is the fashion. The ruffles and bubble skirts, the stonewash denim and permed hair, the puffy sleeves and shoulder pads, the satin, taffeta and technicoloured makeup — yucko. (And to think we’ve been living through an 80s revival the last few years! Seriously, wasn’t it bad enough the first time round?)

As a disgruntled teenager at the time, I considered Melbourne designer Prue Acton to be just another tasteless purveyor of mass hideocrity. Little did I know that she was once referred to as Australia’s own Mary Quant, and almost singlehandedly made Melbourne mod. Shame on me.

A one-woman youthquake

Groovy Prue, c. 1967 (Getty Images)

Prue Acton was among the first Aussie designers to really plug into the youth-centric vibe of the 1960s. Recognising that young women and teenage girls didn’t want to dress like their mothers, Acton (who was barely 20 when she opened her own business in 1963, with support from her parents) offered them a much-needed alternative.

As Prue herself put it, “It was about looking cute and very youthful, very young, not like Mum.” (George Negus Tonight, ABC TV, 2004)

You could even sew your own Prue designs, like this adorable scallop-hemmed mini-dress

Her designs were frisky, fun and fabulous — and before long, she was designing more than 350 garments a year and selling 1000 frocks a week across Australia and New Zealand.

1969 Courrèges-inspired, Star Trek-style mini-dress (Museum Victoria collection)

Her background in art and textiles served her well: she had a real eye for colour and the possibilities of different fabrics. 

This fabulous woollen coat sold for $78 in 1968 (Museum Victoria collection)

Not only were Prue’s designs embraced by a whole generation of swinging chicks, but her talent was soon recognised at an industry level, resulting in widespread acclaim and awards. In 1967, she became the first female Australian designer to show in NYC, and she did a roaring trade in department stores across the US.

Linen and knit mini-dress, 1969 (Museum Victoria collection)

Just like Mary Quant, Prue Acton wasn’t shy of a rising hemline. Following the sensation caused by British model Jean Shrimpton in 1965 when she turned up at Melbourne’s spring racing carnival wearing a mini-dress and no stockings (much less gloves or hat), the young designer happily obliged her customers’ desire to flash some leg: 

“All the kids who I was supplying, all the 18- to 20-year-olds, said, ‘That's what I wanna look like.’ And overnight, we were cutting the skirts. We were cutting two inches off, and the next week, another two and another two. By Christmas, we were up to something quite disgusting, just covering the bum.”

Ah, fun times! 

Check out Museum Victoria's comprehensive Prue Acton collection for more photos of her designs, spanning the 60s to the, ahem, 80s.

Related posts:
Bruno Benini

What would you give Molly for his birthday?

Time to do yourselves a favour, folks, and charge your glasses to Mr Ian Alexander ‘Molly’ Meldrum, who’ll be blowing out a mighty 71 candles today. 

Image: Faster Louder

I think it’s fair to say that Melbourne’s most famous music guru is loved by millions of Australians. Who can forget the mass outpouring of concern from his friends and fans (not to mention the media) when he fell off his ladder in 2011 and was in a coma for a month? He’s been a fixture of this country’s music scene for 50 years — during which time he’s managed to mumble, bumble and charm his way into our collective hearts. 

Whether writing for Go-Set magazine in the 60s or miming to that same era’s hits on teen pop show Kommotion (oh, to have witnessed that spectacle!), hosting Countdown for 13 years or parading as the King of Moomba just a few years ago, Molly’s always made a splash. And in this day and age of interchangeable plastic-fantastic TV cyborgs, his eccentricities and unique personality are more precious than ever.

Image: ABC

Anyway, if I was ever to give him a birthday pressie, I’d get him this…

After all, his record collection’s probably pretty comprehensive by now.

10 random fun facts about Molly 

• That nickname: we can thank his mate, legendary 60s radio DJ Stan Rofe, for christening him Molly. Apparently he conceived it as a play on the term ‘band moll’.

• Far-out pharaoh: Molly’s obsession with Egyptology is well documented, but I was intrigued to read that he once appeared on Dancing with the Stars dressed as a pharaoh and dancing to The Bangles’ “Walk like an Egyptian” — then promptly got knocked out. Was anyone lucky enough to see his performance? I can’t find any footage floating around on the interwebs.

• Scream-queen: In June 1964, Molly and his friend Ronnie Burns got turfed out of The Beatles’ Festival Hall concert by for…wait for it…screaming too much. 

• He said it: “No-one's above you and no-one's below you and you should treat all people as equal.” (Interview on Enough Rope with Andrew Denton in 2003)

• Ian-tellectual: Despite his sometimes incoherent TV persona, Molly’s no dill: in fact, he was once a member of Mensa and is one of the few Australians ever to win $500,000 on Who Wants to be a Millionaire? (the money went to charity)

• Iggy’s wig-out: In his famously shambolic Countdown interview (c. 1980), a gleefully wasted Iggy Pop addressed Molly as ‘Dogface’ before proceeding to ping around the studio like an turbo-charged Mexican jumping bean in a lip-synched rendition of “I’m Bored”. While Molly seemed to take Pop’s shenanigans in his stride, impressionable children like myself were left traumatised! 

• Fridgy-didge: Molly once featured in an ad for Whirlpool fridges with Bert Newton. But this was no ordinary ad: both men were in (very bad, very funny) drag. See it here.

• Mad hatter: Molly’s famous hat is a Stetson, not an Akubra as often believed

• The real deal: Even if he’d never done anything else of note, Molly booked his place in Australian music history with the mind-bending job he did producing the Johnny Young-penned psych masterpiece “The Real Thing” for Russell Morris in 1969. Six minutes, 20 seconds of hypnotic bliss, over-dubbed to within an inch of its life, and absolutely ground-breaking for its time.

• A philosophy for life: “I don't see things in life as challenges. If it's fun to do, you do it.” (Interviewed by Christie Eliezer for High-Voltage Rock’n’Roll, 2007)

So what’s this blog all about then?

I read an article by PJ O’Rourke recently, called ‘Keeping the 60s on life support’, in which he ponders the reluctance of Baby Boomers to let the 1960s go, get over them, and stop glorifying them as some kind of historical high point. While he claims to be as guilty of this as the rest of his peers, PJ’s realisation that his teenage daughter and her friends barely knew (or cared) who JFK was prompted him to reflect on his generation’s tendency to mythologise the era. Were the 60s really as great/important/world-changing as all that?

As a Gen Xer, I have to admit it bugs me to hear Baby Boomers gushing on about how the decade was so freakin’ fantastic. Check out any documentary or book on the subject, and there they’ll be: smugly recounting all the great bands they saw, the drugs they took, the fab clothes they wore, the freedom they had and the unbridled optimism they felt back in this golden heyday. 

Why does it bug me? Because I’m envious of them! 

Ever since I since I watched reruns of Batman and The Monkees as a child ― since I saw how cool my parents looked in their wedding photos ― since my adolescent crush on Little Stevie ― I’ve been fascinated by and drawn to the 1960s. Whether they’re the most important decade of last century, I’m not qualified to judge. But they were definitely the grooviest. 

This blog is my attempt to experience the 60s vicariously by exploring what was shaking in Melbourne at the time ― musically, culturally, sartorially ― and who was making it shake. Then (as now) Melbourne was way ahead of the pack and totally where it was at. Puzzled by the blog’s name? Check out my profile. 

Image" 'Under the Clocks'/Angus O'Callaghan

Were you there? I’d love to hear from you! Your memories, your suggestions, your corrections, your photos. As this blog progresses, I hope to include personal anecdotes from people who were lucky enough to enjoy the decade firsthand.

In the meantime, whether you’re a Baby Boomer or not, please join me on this time-trippin’, wig-flippin’ voyage into Melbourne’s groovy past…



NB: Background photo - View of Bourke Street at Dusk, Looking East, Melbourne, 1960s, taken by Mr Frank Park (Museum Victoria)