ANH: Two of my great passions are people and painting.
In this series, I get to enjoy both.
I meet extraordinary Australians, explore their stories...
I'm putting my hand up and saying,
"I want to do something. I want to be part of the solution."
See, I'm now crying, now talking about crying! What's happened to me?
..and paint their portraits.
It's theirs to keep, so I hope they like it.
(GASPS) Oh! (LAUGHS)
Wow! (GASPS)
Oh, my God! Holy mackerel!
That looks me! It's beautiful.
Mate, that's incredible.
You look gorgeous. That is absolutely amazing.
Welcome to Anh's Brush With Fame.
John Williamson is an Aussie legend.
Since leaving farm life for show business more than 40 years ago,
he has been a crowd favourite...
(SINGS 'OLD MAN EMU')
..and a major contributor to our national songbook.
♪ I run the pants off a kangaroo... ♪
I'm looking forward to getting to know
the true blue man behind the voice.
JOHN: I hope Anh captures the sentimentality of me, I suppose.
I'm a sentimental bloke.
Like all of us, we might put on a tough front.
But I'm not all that tough.
Maybe he'll capture that.
John is a man of principle who gets behind the things he believes in.
And he has thought a lot about what it is to be Australian.
He has the ease and humour of a bloke from the bush,
but he's also not afraid to speak his mind.
I want to capture John's warmth and his wisdom
which is evident in his songwriting.
G'day, John.
Anh, really good to see you again, mate.
Great to have you on the show. Been a while.
It's been a long time. About 13-14 years.
Take a seat. Take a seat, John. I'm really looking forward to this.
So am I. No-one's ever done a good picture of me.
Is that right? Oh, gosh. The pressure's on.
The pressure's on. (LAUGHS)
Well, you've got a great face.
I'm looking forward to getting there, you know.
You look about 50, John.
Oh, yeah. Thanks, Anh. Thank you. (LAUGHS)
You might need glasses like me. (CHUCKLES)
Let's start with your childhood.
You're the eldest of five boys. Five boys, yeah.
You grew up on a farm...
I regret I didn't have a sister, it would have been good.
What was it like for mum - six guys running around?
Yeah. She had to be tough. But she was great. Yeah, great mum.
She only left us about 18 months ago.
Oh, really? Yeah. But she was 93.
So... Wow!
What did mum and dad do? Wheat farmers.
Full-on wheat farmers, yeah, their whole lives.
Is it true that you have three brothers
who were born roughly nine months after dad's birthday?
(LAUGHS) Yeah, I wrote that.
Well, Dad's not with us anymore, I can tell you that. Yeah.
He was born in February 5th,
and nine months later is around about when I was born, November 1st.
Then there's two brothers were born within four days of me.
So, yeah. You figure it out.
He got a birthday present. (LAUGHS)
That's great. Oh, gosh, that's so funny.
(BOTH LAUGH)
Your mum and dad were both into music, weren't they?
Yeah.
Well, whenever they were trying to raise money for a new town hall
or for a swimming pool in Quambatook,
there'd be always a musical event to raise money.
And Mum was always in there and Dad was always in there
because they loved it.
They'd put on musicals, Gilbert and Sullivan,
you name it, they did all these things.
And that's how our town entertained itself.
You know, Dad played banjo in the local band.
My uncle played fiddle.
Oh, yeah? Yeah.
So the whole family was into it?
Yeah, it was just... home entertainment, really.
And we were always dragged into it, so we had a talent quest.
I played... with two cousins.
We all played the piano at the same time, like a trio.
Yeah, that was fun.
And your mum used to do things like
tell you about fairies and all of that.
Yeah, she was very creative.
Yeah, and used to dress us up.
Any fancy dress competitions or whatever, she would dress up.
She should have been in showbiz, really.
She had a really lovely voice, so did my dad.
And I think that's why I was encouraged so much,
because they could see them through me, you know.
Mm. And you started playing very young, didn't you?
Yeah, I was playing harmonica and ukulele
by the time I was about seven.
I used to sing George Formby songs for the older ones listening.
George Formby was an English comedian that played ukulele
and sang kind of risque songs.
So I sang a song called I Go Cleaning Windows
where he spots ladies in the nude and all this.
And I remember the Baptist lady in town
thought the song was a bit rough, but I still did it anyway.
And how old were you when you were playing this?
Oh, seven or eight. (BOTH LAUGH)
What was it like growing up in the bush?
In a little bush town, really.
I had the best of both worlds
because I could go out on the farm with Dad
and I could drive by the time I was nine years old
because we could drive around on the farm.
It was great, because we lived on a little river
so we learnt to swim at an early age.
Learnt how to handle leeches and catch fish
and I had good mates in Quamby
and we used to go collect birds eggs, because I was into birdlife
and that was a big thing, to find a different bird
and have a different egg in your collection, you know.
How did you bring them down from up high in the trees?
Well, I was usually the smart one that caught the eggs.
(BOTH CHUCKLE)
I had a mate that broke his arm.
He was prepared to go out on that final limb.
But the trick is to put an egg in your mouth...
(MUFFLED) ..and climb down the tree with the egg in your mouth.
But if you hit a branch or something
the damn thing could be rotten or have a chick in it.
(LAUGHS) It was a great life.
I could recommend it to any kid.
For John's early education, he went to local schools.
But was sent to Scotch College in Melbourne for his final years.
I didn't learn much there.
I just learnt all about what it's like to live in a city,
which is great for me now.
You know, when I took on this game I was ready for the city.
But it was great for sport and great for music.
Folk music was huge in Melbourne at that stage in the early sixties
and I got into that, so I was never into rock'n'roll.
For me, folk music was more about what I was about, you know.
About trees and grass and hills.
Whereas, you know, rock'n'roll seemed to be about
bitumen and bodgies and widgies.
(BOTH LAUGH)
And so after school finished, you went straight back to the farm?
Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.
My dad had a brand-new EH Holden ute, which I wish I had now,
waiting for me, because we needed a ute anyway, so it was mine.
So I felt very privileged - I had a brand-new ute.
As soon I got my licence, I was off, you know?
Yeah? Off to Swan Hill.
To take out a girlfriend there or go to the footy,
or whatever, you know.
So, it was great, but, ah...
It got bashed about eventually and became the farm ute.
In 1965, the Williamsons moved to New South Wales
to a farm at Croppa Creek, near Moree.
Life on the land taught John some tough but valuable lessons.
What was it like being a farmer?
I'd go back to it now for the lifestyle.
I think farming is great, but it's very tough.
You could work 12 hours a day for 12 months
and you could lose it all the week with two days of frost,
or a flood or a drought.
You know, I think if it was easy
you wouldn't be able to afford the land out there,
but it's a hard life.
One year we had 3,000 acres of wheat in
and we lost them two nights of frost.
So that's a year worth of work? Oh, a lot of money, yeah.
It was over a million dollar's worth in two days.
When we first moved to Moree, we bought a sheep property
which slowly but surely became a wheat farm.
So we bought sheep when we went up there
and that was the worst drought that they ever had,
when we first bought in.
So we ended up losing a lot of sheep
or sold them for one and thruppence just for skin value.
So, yeah, it's a character building thing.
You learn how to cope with failure as well as success.
That was one of things, I thought,
"I... I can find a better way to make a living, I reckon."
That better way came in the form of music.
But just like farming, some years were better than others.
And then in 1970, you wrote Old Man Emu.
Yep.
How did the idea come to you?
I was into writing funny songs, I was into Roger Miller.
I like to entertain,
because that's what I started with the George Formby songs, you know.
With the old sow... (OINKS, SNORTS, WHISTLES)
And all these funny little songs he used to sing on a ukulele.
So I discovered at an early age
that that's the way to entertain, is to do silly songs.
So Old Man Emu, first song I ever wrote, was a silly song.
Still is. But they last forever.
♪ Take a look, it'll prove to you... (LAUGHS)
♪ ..I run the pants off a kangaroo... ♪
(HUMS)
It's a great song. It's just a ridiculous song, really.
But I don't know today whether an emu is faster than a kangaroo.
And the first time you played it, you got a good reaction.
Yeah.
I played it in a pub in Moree and I had to sing it three times
and I've never written a song that I've had to sing three times since.
So... They just went, "Sing it again!"
They said, "Do it again. Do it again."
And that's when I thought, "Well, I've got something here."
Everyone encouraged me and said,
"You've got to do something with this song."
So, luckily my dad's first cousin was the musical director
of Graham Kennedy Show and New Faces on Channel 9.
He was the music man on Channel 9, and he got me on straightaway.
♪ Ha, ha-ha-ha, ha-hoo
♪ He can run the pants off a kangaroo... ♪
How did you go on the show?
I killed them in Melbourne, then they did the national one
and the judge in NSW said,
"Oh, that's alright, but it will never make television."
And I sang Old Man Emu on every TV show that existed,
and there were a lot those days.
What was that like? To be feeding the pigs and you come on the radio.
Yeah. Oh, yeah.
To hear myself on radio for the first time.
Yeah, it's pretty weird.
Quite weird. Exciting, but weird. (LAUGHS)
The pigs didn't understand it, either.
(BOTH LAUGH)
And I actually thought, "Gee, I sound old."
I'd never heard myself before on radio, you know.
And here it was number one, so it was quite an experience.
And I thought... I went back to Melbourne not long after.
I said, we'll give this a go as a career.
And I thought it'd be easy after that,
but it took 16 years really before I had an album that sold many.
That was Mallee Boy.
♪ And I don't mind at all if you call me a Mallee Boy. ♪
I was like an overnight success in 16 years.
John's life in the bush has informed so much about how he views the world
as a person and a performer.
I really want to get the sense of a good bloke in here.
John married his second wife Meg in 2013.
He has two daughters from a previous marriage.
One of whom used dad as an assistant in a school exam.
Amy's a singer and doing really well.
Georgie is an artist and psychologist.
When Amy did her HSC exam, did she get you to come along as well?
She wanted to sing Hawkesbury River Lover.
This is the physical test, where she had to sing on the spot,
and she chose that song,
and I was the one that buggered it up, so it relaxed her completely.
The teachers all laughed and everything,
so it relaxed the whole situation and she got 100%.
How cool.
Yes, but I was more nervous there than I normally am.
John has sold five million albums, won 25 Golden Guitars
and is an ARIA Hall of Famer.
But amongst all that success,
there is one song that seems to rise above it all.
♪ Hey, true blue... ♪
You've written many iconic songs,
but probably the most famous one is True Blue.
Yeah, I think sometimes people think that's the only song I've written
I do it that often, and on that many occasions, yeah, True Blue.
Such a good song.
I hope you ask me what it means,
because I think you're a great example of what it means
to be true blue, I really mean that.
No, it's about honest people, you know.
I guess when I wrote it, I wrote it for a TV show.
I wasn't trying to write an anthem or anything else
or a funeral song, it's used at funerals.
"Don't say you've gone" is the first line.
I wish I hadn't put the word 'race' in it, but it rhymed with 'face'.
Because, to me, Aussies aren't a race
they're more a spirit of being, a free spirit.
If you're fair dinkum, you're true blue, you know.
I think you're fair dinkum.
You came across to me when I first met you.
Thank you, John.
I love this country. I love Oz. Yeah.
That's all it takes to be true blue.
Love this country and be an Aussie, you know.
It's not just about Vegemite and Holden cars and meat pies and beer.
You know, it's the bush that they live in
that makes them the way they are.
It doesn't matter where they came from originally.
Yeah. Mm.
John, so many of your songs are used at big moments in people's lives.
I wonder why.
I think probably because I've been determined to keep it Australian.
You know, I'm not trying to write for the world.
I mean, I'll probably die one day thinking,
"I wish I'd written one song that was hit in the world."
But I just love this country so much.
It's always been a struggle early
for Aussies to listen to their own songs
and I think it was always novel songs originally.
To take them seriously was something that took a while to achieve.
My music gets used a lot in big Aussie occasions
because the music is Aussie, simple as that.
Mm. And sung with an Aussie accent.
I think that's probably part of being true blue too.
You're just being who you are.
And it's pretty courageous sometimes
when you've got this American product coming
to try and compete with.
I figure the best way to compete is not to be like it at all.
Yes, sure, sure. That's brilliant.
You've sung at a lot of occasions,
but then you had to sing at Steve Irwin's funeral.
Steve Irwin's funeral, yeah.
That was a hard one, because I'm facing his family, his best mates.
Yeah.
Apparently... the whole world was watching and it was live to air.
So that's pretty scary.
I think it was 300 million, they reckon.
But in the long run I realised
it's not my luxury to get emotional, I have....I will sing for them.
So that's how I got through it.
♪ Hey, true blue... (PLUCKS GUITAR)
♪ Don't say you've gone... ♪
At one point you put his name in - "Is it Steve Irwin?"
And I remember at home watching, and, yeah, it brought a tear.
♪ Is it Steve Irwin too?
♪ Is it standing by your mate
♪ When he's in a fight?
♪ Or will she be right?
♪ True blue... ♪
You also sung at Don Bradman's funeral.
Yeah, it was at a church in Adelaide.
And they had a vesper out the back and little hall out the back,
where we'd put the microphones in and all this, like today.
And I'd zipped my pants down a bit so I could undo the belt
and I forgot to pull the zip up again.
And I'm standing at the door.
And the security bloke said, he said, "Mate, your fly's undone."
I said, "Yeah, good one, mate."
And I looked down and it was. (LAUGHS)
And after that, it was a breeze,
because I could have gone out there with my fly undone.
So after that I thought, "I'm so lucky."
I sang the song to Don Bradman quite easily.
(LAUGHS)
Then a few years ago, True Blue was used at certain rallies,
and you weren't thrilled about it.
Oh, well, recently a bunch of real rednecks
wanted to use True Blue because they're...
They're almost going back to the White Australia Policy, I think,
their attitude about things - I don't agree with that at all.
So I said, "No way. I don't endorse the music, True Blue, no."
True Blue is about being Australian but just being who you are
and enjoying the country and becoming an Aussie.
I will never allow True Blue to be used for anything other than...
It belongs to people now....
Every time I sing at the front row it's got half a dozen people crying
because they've buried their mum or dad or somebody to True Blue.
And it should never belong to any product, you know.
It belongs to Australia.
That sounds big-headed, probably.
But I think that's the way it is. No, not at all.
In the true spirit of folk music,
John's songs have always had a message.
♪ Over the hill I go, killing another mountain... ♪
His passion for the environment a common theme.
And he's never afraid to ruffle some feathers.
♪ Rip, rip, woodchip, turn it into paper
♪ Throw it in the bin, don't understand
♪ Nightmare dreaming, can't you hear the screaming?
♪ Stirs my blood, gonna make a stand. ♪
You wrote a song called Rip Rip Woodchip...
Yep. ..about cutting down trees.
Now, some people thought you were a greenie, and...
I'd rather be called a bluey, because the further you go inland
the bluer the Bush gets, truly, in colour.
You'd know as an artist, the Australian bush is quite blue.
So, yeah, well I'm into the bush and I just think
our greatest heritage in Australia is the bush
that's never been touched by anybody.
And I think if you walk into that
and just realise that this is the way it's always been,
that's a fantastic heritage
and it gets you into the spirit of this... of the earth, really.
And every time we wipe a bit of that out,
we're wiping a bit of ourselves out, as far as I'm concerned.
There's been a line that should have been drawn a long time ago.
I wish more people could feel the bush the way I do, you know?
Where it's pristine, just leave it,
because, uh... one of our greatest heritages.
Tell me about the fan that didn't like you writing Rip Rip Woodchip
and he sent you an album.
There was an old bloke in Western Australia.
I think he must have been a timber getter of some sort.
And when I wrote Rip Rip, he sent my first album to me, back.
He said, "Stick it." He said... (LAUGHS)
And he went to the trouble of sending me...
And I only had one and I'd lost it.
(LAUGHS)
So, "You beauty! Here it is!"
In protest!
Because there was only 2,000 of those albums.
If got one with a colour picture on the back,
and it's got the emu
running the pants off the kangaroo on the front -
it's a cartoon, you know - it's a rare album!
And he sent it back! (LAUGHS)
(LAUGHS)
In 1998, the Williamsons had to deal with a family tragedy.
John's brother Robin succumbed to cancer.
You wrote a song called Salisbury Street for your brother Rob.
Well, we had five boys, no girls, and the middle one, Robin,
he got up to the age of 48.
He moved to Moama,
which is on the NSW side of Echuca on the Murray River.
I absolutely loved the Murray River.
Built a house there with a young family and built his own houseboat.
He got cancer.
He thought he got rid of it. It was a melanoma on his back.
But it hadn't gone away
and then he had six months to live, basically,
but he thought he'd beat it.
So the last time I saw him was on the houseboat
and I tried to imagine what it must be like for him, you know?
So I wrote a song called Salisbury Street,
which is the street we were all together as kids in Quambatook.
But the song was really about going down the river
and saying goodbye to the gumtrees
and it must be terrible
thinking, "Well, am I gonna see all this again?"
That's the way I would feel. Yeah.
It's one of the most requested songs, actually, Salisbury Street.
♪ Tomorrow there'll be time to cry... ♪
I sing it every show, so he's always with me
and I drink a toast - I've got a cup of water -
I drink a toast to Rob every night.
So, you know, the sadness has sort of kind of been dissipated that way
because I celebrate his life every show, really.
After all you've been through, John, what's life about do you think?
What's life about? Yeah.
Wow.
It's not about just being successful at the end.
I think it's about really choosing early on what you really want to do
or what you really want to be and stick to it.
But find something that you enjoy.
So the joy is in the journey.
If it's not in the journey, you've got the wrong job, you know?
In fact, as a songwriter,
I still feel like I'm still a farm boy, really.
I think it's important not to... believe in your publicity, I guess.
It's just...
'Cause you're not really... You're not better than anybody else.
I can't understand why people think fame is so important, you know?
The enjoyment of being an entertainer
is enough reward, surely.
It's more important than Golden Guitars or gold albums or...
Really, it's the life you've got that's, uh...
..fantastic to have, you know?
Not everyone can have it.
What you need most
is something that is worth getting up for in the morning.
Something you really enjoy.
We're very lucky, Anh. We're very lucky, you and I.
Give me some advice for young people, John.
I think probably the main thing is to realise your fingerprint...
There's no-one else in the world that's got your fingerprint,
so realise that you are an individual
and you've got something to offer that's yours, you know?
I think that's the best advice you can give.
And work on your strength.
You know, if you can't draw, don't try and be an artist.
(LAUGHS)
If you can't swim, don't try to be a swimmer.
Work on your strengths, you know? And you'll have strengths.
Just got to find it.
And that'll be the thing you enjoy the most,
is your strength, you know.
I'm nearly done.
I can put the glasses on, John, or leave them off.
Do you have a preference?
It's up to you. Yeah, OK.
I'm going to go no glasses. OK.
Do you want me to take them off? No, just keep it on. It's fine.
It's only small. I can paint around it.
Paint right through the glasses. Yeah.
After all me wondering which glasses I should wear today.
Were ya? You spent time thinking about it
and I'm not even going to paint it.
I had a haircut today as well. Did ya?
(LAUGHS) Yeah. I've been out in the bush. I was pretty woolly.
I would love to hear True Blue as I finish off.
What you reckon? This is your idea, not mine.
(LAUGHS) This is my idea.
I'll just grab your guitar over here.
I'll have to sit over here,
'cause I usually play with armless chairs.
(PLAYS INTRO TO TRUE BLUE)
♪ Hey, True Blue
♪ Is it me and you?
♪ Is it Mum and Dad?
♪ Is it Anh Do too?
♪ Is it standin' by your mate
♪ When he's in a fight?
♪ Or will he be right?
♪ True Blue. ♪
That'll do ya.
So good, John.
Thank you.
I'm nearly done.
I just need 10, 15 minutes and then I'm going to bring you back
and I'll show you the John Williamson.
So take a little break! I'm scared.
(LAUGHS) Don't be. Don't be.
Looking forward to it. Awesome.
I enjoyed it. I think it's good.
It was a privilege, really. Yeah.
I think it's pretty unique, getting that...
..a likeness out of broad strokes.
He's pretty clever.
John Williamson is an iconic performer and a great bloke.
I've tried to capture his warmth and gentle wisdom,
but he has also mentioned
that no-one's ever done a good portrait of him,
so I am feeling the pressure.
Alright. Let's get him in.
All done, John.
Come on back in.
I'm nervous. Yeah, me too. Me too.
It's been great. I've had a great time.
Thank you very much.
You've got a lovely warm energy about you.
Oh, thank you. So I've used warm colours.
But you're you've also got the rugged Aussie bloke
and I just wanted to paint a good Aussie bloke.
Oh, good. So, close your eyes.
OK. I'll spin it around and show you.
Alright, John. Go for it.
Holy mackerel! There it is.
That's good, mate. You've got it.
Very good.
That's the best so far, mate. Best portrait ever.
Is it? There you go.
Oh, thank you very much. I like it.
You're amazing, how you do that.
There's a lovely wisdom about you.
You got me, uh...
There's going on in my brain there, by the look of it.
You're a deep thinker.
Your songs always talk about something important, John.
It'll end up in my shed.
That sounds bad, but the shed has, uh, got my whole career in it.
Yeah. Yeah.
Wonderful, wonderful. I'm happy with that. (CHUCKLES)
Well, glad you like it, John. I'm rapt.
Thanks for coming on this show. I've enjoyed it very much.
Thank you. Pleasure.
Thank you. Privilege.
One of the biggest worries about doing this
is that you're not going to like it.
But I do.
I... Straight away, I liked it. I didn't have to think about it.
He's captured me. He's made me look a bit younger, which is nice.
It's brilliant.
What an honour.
John's music catalogue is like a memoir of Australian life
and it's great to have him preserve the parts of our culture
that are so uniquely us.
Next time, Lauren Jackson on love, life and her incredible experiences
as one of the world's best professional basketball players.
He was a spy. My... my "poppa" was a spy.
It's so weird.
The portrait has to reflect her persona on and off the court.
(GASPS)
I love it!
It's... It's magic. It's beautiful.
Captions by Red Bee Media