Tina Arena on the fight that never ends – for respect
Date
November 15, 2015 - 12:15AM
Bernard Zuel
Senior music writer
Tina Arena: "I think this country can be really hard on you, particularly hard on their own."
Photo: Supplied
When Tina Arena is inducted into the Australian recording industry association's Hall of Fame at the ARIA Awards this month, it will seem like the inevitable outcome of a charmed life. It will feel like the culmination of a career begun 40 years ago when she was nine years old and singing
You're the One That I Want (in lurid gold top and questionable appropriateness) on TV's
Young Talent Time. It will seem almost easy, what with the seven ARIA awards, an "outstanding achievement" award from the organisation already, the French knighthood for her contribution to the arts and album sales of more than 10 million.
Put this to her on the night, though, and the Melbourne-raised, Paris-loving singer, whose earthy good humour and frankness sees fellow musicians and publicists affectionately refer to her as Tina "F---ing" Arena, will likely declare "bullshit" and pin you to the wall to explain just how stupid that is.
Tina Arena in full voice at the Civic Theatre in Newcastle last year.
Photo: Simone De Peak
She might also point you to her newest album,
Eleven, whose lyrics are filled with recurring images of struggle and recovery, a theme she comes back to in conversation as well.
"I think what I struggle with is a human being today is the smoke and mirrors that the media so conveniently portray. I don't like that. I don't like that whole sensibility of the gratuity of 'they're rich, they're famous, they have everything'," Arena says. "It's such bullshit. I really struggle with that."
Tina Arena says she has gone through bad experiences because of her "vulnerability that people prey on".
Photo: Cybele Malinowski
Sure, the front of the building we're in today has a giant poster of her across its front, all but shouting out to William Street. And it's true
Eleven debuted at No. 2 on the charts this week, beaten only by a semi-farcical album of Elvis Presley vocal tracks married to new orchestral arrangements. But easy? Shaddup.
"I've never cruised through life. I think that's a choice that I have made because I'm not really a cruiser," Arena says. "It's interesting when people feel that you have everything and your life is absolutely amazing; they don't understand what goes on behind. So yes, I do talk about that. I don't want people to be naive about it. Maybe that's incredibly idealistic of me, I can accept that, but the world that we live in today has become unbelievably complicated so when people try to say to you, 'Oh, it's easy', [I say] 'Get lost. Who are you trying to bullshit?'"
Looking back on her career, Arena describes her 20s and early 30s as a time when she "went into the woods" and experienced her darkest times, not knowing what she was doing as everything escalated around her. It's hardly an uncommon story in the music business "and it will continue to happen because of that vulnerability that people prey on", she argues.
"I'm still, at 48, battling because I refuse to [have] somebody in their 20s – who doesn't really understand what it's like to be 48 and what it's like to have gone through the journey that you've gone through – try and shut me up," she says. "Don't do that."
This may make Arena out to be some angry ant, up for a fight at any time, but the truth is there are equal or greater portions of serenity from someone who describes "an ability to zoom out" and examine herself objectively as critical. It's a worthy skill but one that took a while to learn, even for someone who was a national star before she had left primary school.
"I don't think I had developed it by the time I was 20," she says. "I think I was far too in pain at that age. The last 10 years I've had the capacity of knowing where my strengths and weaknesses are. And that that's OK, that imperfections are fine."
What she is still learning is "judging people's genuine intentions", though she thinks an industry built on those "smoke and mirrors" is no longer fooling her or many record buyers.
"I think this country can be really hard on you, particularly hard on their own. There is not always a great generosity of empathy," she says. "I think you can't continue to perform for as long as what I have without the empathy gene. I think it's impossible."
Maybe that's true, but if you're a different kind of performer, one whose career is built on charm and surface, you can do just fine without empathy for a good while. Look around, it's not like we are short of examples. But the trade-off is that if you trade on emotion but don't really have it or don't know how to convey it from depth, eventually you will be found out.
Arena would be too polite to use this example, but say you begin as an emotion-heavy teenager singing at your piano and your audience connects with you as one of their own. Then you shift constantly in a search to be "relevant" until eventually no one really knows who you are. The shallowness will be exposed by an audience that may not be able to say why they stopped listening but instinctively know they should.
"I've never been capable of faking it. I've got one of those faces where it's just completely readable," Arena says. "If I'm shitty, you can see I'm shitty; if I am unhappy, you can see I'm unhappy."