Centre
of attention
Craig Mathieson was
the last person to interview Michael Hutchence for Rolling Stone. This is
how he remembers him.
In January 1996, the day after the final Big Day Out had closed in a flame
of electronica and alternarock, I spent, like thousands before me, a few
hours in the orbit of Michael Hutchence. INXS was holed up in the ABC studios
in the northern Sydney suburb of Gore Hill, rehearsing for the Elegantly
Wasted world tour, and the press were welcome.
The previous September, paparazzi had staked out
the gates of London apartments, hoping for a shot of the then red-hot Paula
Yates in the company of Hutchence. But on this slightly overcast day Yates
was 12,000 kilometres away, and the only person trying to catch up with
Hutchence was the ABC's Health and Safety Officer, who'd been alerted to
the fact that the INXS vocalist had driven his convertible sports car through
the winding backstreets of the sprawling complex at great speeds.
Hutchence laughed as he related the story, pausing
only to light up the first of many cigarettes as he sat under a prominent
"No Smoking" sign. The singer, dressed in his almost standard
ware of fine boots, tight pants and shirt open almost to the waist, had
a way of making you feel welcome. He would shake your hand and throw in
a "How's it going, mate?", before draping his still lean frame
over a standard issue ABC folding chair while teasing his publicist as she
delivered toasted sandwiches and coffee to the rest of the band.
For someone who had been interviewed endlessly for
almost 15 years, Hutchence still gave the impression of paying attention.
He littered his answers with asides and prickly  jokes, meeting your eyes with
a searching glance whenever he grew wary of where the conversation was heading
(generally matters relating to his private life). While some of the group
appeared touchy about the band's commercial fall from grace with Welcome
to Wherever you Are and Full Moon, Dirty Hearts, Hutchence was sanguine.
"We got off the train," he drawled, offering a few partial explanations
for what the group had been through (disagreements with their American record
company, change of management), but being quick to add, "It's not an
excuse, but it can let you down."
Whatever he had to say, good or bad, Hutchence had
the ease of someone used to being the centre of attention. He had the ability
to carry a group of strangers with him, simply through sheer force of personality.
It was a laconic Australian essence tempered with an American accessibility.
Perhaps the most memorable moment of the morning
was the way Hutchence grew protective of his cherubic songwriting partner,
keyboardist Andrew Farriss. A man of few words, Farriss would slowly sketch
out his answers, searching for the right phrase as everyone waited. If another
member of the group interrupted, Hutchence would quieten them, allowing
Farriss to finish before adding his own brief clarification. The pair was
apparently mismatched the last of the international playboys and the
country-loving family man but Hutchence illuminated the bond with
his watchful manner, like the kid in school who watches out for his geeky
friend.
When the interview was over Hutchence flew out of
his chair. "Okay, now we get to play," he declared, eyeing off
the assembled gear at the far end of the room. "Hey," he said,
spinning around with all the finesse of someone who'd been working on stage
for years, "you can hang out and hear some songs if you like."
Watch a band rehearse at 11 in the morning? Normally
there's always something better to do, but when Michael Hutchence did the
asking eyes flashing, a smile playing across his lips, his body already
tensed, exuding energy - you found it hard to say no. |
