Mr Tony Burke (Watson, Australian Labor Party, Shadow Minister for the Arts) Share this | Link to this | Hansard source

Tomorrow there's a state memorial service in Victoria for a friend of mine, and I noticed, following the death of Michael Gudinski, that, so often, we're really good in the parliament at making speeches about sporting heroes or significant businesspeople or ministers when we lose them but, when we lose someone who's been intrinsic to the artistic and cultural life of Australia, it often goes without note. I may have missed something. I'm unaware, for example, of any official government statement going out, following the death of Michael, and so what I'd like to do is: there are three people who I do believe deserve to have speeches in this parliament, where I'm not aware of them having been given, and so let me go through those three.

The first is the most recent: Michael Gudinski. Michael was born in Melbourne, in Caulfield, in 1952 of Russian immigrant parents. His entrepreneurial streak began early, and he started organising dances, booking acts, from the age of 15 onwards, and even at the age of 15 was earning $500 a week, which, in the late sixties, for a 15 year old—he clearly had a talent for this. He said:

The minute my father got home, and I'd left school, I was thrown dead straight out of the house … it certainly made me realise that I'd made a serious commitment, and the journey began from there.

In 1972, his first tour of Australia: John Mayall and the Blues Breakers—the same year that Mushroom Records was born in St Kilda, followed by Mushroom Music Publishing the year after. But, by all accounts, in trying to establish an Australian music label, commercial success continued to be just out of reach. Bankruptcy was always, always beckoning, and the early years were really tough.

But things changed in 1975, with the Australian band Skyhooks. Michael was fond of telling young acts when they got started, if something had gone bad, that Skyhooks had been booed off stage and then he found them and got them back to No. 1. Then, of course, shortly after the Living in the 70's album, Michael started working with Split Enz; Jimmy Barnes followed; and, of course, years later, Kylie Minogue, Paul Kelly and many more, and he was also championing First Nations artists like Archie Roach, Dan Sultan and Yothu Yindi.

Every time I caught up with Michael he'd start with the old war stories of a Chisel gig, a Barnsey concert, something relating to Kylie or a Skyhooks story. But then, once he had your attention, he'd say, 'But there's this new artist I want you to listen to.' It might have been Julia Jacklin; it might have been Gordi—there was always a new artist that he wanted to talk to you about to grab your attention so you'd listen to whoever he thought would be next in line to provide the soundtrack of Australia.

When COVID hit, the music industry, in many ways, was smashed. But Michael decided to push for something that had not been possible on commercial television for a long time, and that was to get live music back on TV. So, in the most difficult of environments, on Anzac Day last year Music from the Home Front was broadcast, and it was a commercial ratings hit. As a result, the ABC, which had run the set for a few years but hadn't recommitted to it, decided there was an audience to watch live music on TV again, and The Sound came back. The years of Countdown that we thought would never return have started to find their way back into living rooms. As well as The Sound, we now find The Set back for another season.

I have an endless array of friends whose careers have been in lockstep with the efforts of Michael Gudinski at different points. I wish I could be with them tomorrow but, because of parliament, I can't be. I certainly wish all of them—including Michael's wife, Sue; his son, Matt, and Matt's partner, Cara; his daughter, Kate, and her husband, Andrew; and their children, Nina-Rose and Lulu—deepest sympathies.

Not so many months ago we lost Don Burrows. Don was rightly known as the father of Australian jazz. He had an incredible influence on Australian music, including getting the jazz program properly going at the Conservatorium. His talent was prodigious. He performed with greats like Dizzy Gillespie, Nat King Cole and Frank Sinatra. One thing that isn't widely known about Don Burrows is that from 2000 on—and there were earlier examples as well—he spent a lot of time in First Nations communities. Don, in maintaining the principle of the trained musician—and I think the member for Parramatta, who alone of those in the House was a concert pianist, would appreciate this—said, 'Playing to one child under a tree in Arnhem Land, I'd still be trying as hard as I would anywhere else.'

One of Don Burrows's students, James Morrison, would later become a close friend and collaborator. Ultimately, after Don suffered a stroke in 2013, James Morrison helped him to learn to play again—an extraordinary effort from a friend. It's no exaggeration, as I said before, to call Don Burrows the father of Australian jazz. There was no-one like him. Given his dedication to shaping and teaching the next generation of Australian jazz musicians, the jazz scene in Australia will be forever in his debt.

I saved the next one till last because there's a personal story I want to tell with it. I remain stunned that we never had speeches at the beginning of question time following the death of Helen Reddy—absolutely stunned. Helen Reddy didn't just provide music and songs on the international stage; she performed the anthem for a global movement. Yet, as a parliament, we never marked that. We marked it effectively outside the parliament, though, last week. Helen was born in 1941 in Melbourne to an actress, singer and dancer mother and a writer, producer and actor father. She was on the Vaudeville circuit with them from the age of four. In the late sixties she won a talent contest—before Countdown, there was Bandstand. Helen Reddy won, and the deal was the winner would get a trip to New York to meet with a record studio, Mercury Records. What wasn't explained was that you only got to meet with them; you didn't actually get to put out your album. Helen Reddy was there as a single mother. Things were going very badly and eventually she moved to LA, and at that point she managed to record a cover of the song I Don't Know How to Love Himthe Andrew Lloyd Webber-Tim Rice song from Jesus Christ Superstarwhich was a commercial success.

At that point, Helen Reddy said—they're extraordinary words—'I realised the song I was looking for didn't exist and I was going to have to write it myself.' That song was 'I Am Woman'. Having written it, she then went to the record company, and they didn't even want to put it on the album, because they were convinced there was not an audience for this song. Eventually it was agreed they would put it on the album but they would bury it on the album and not release it as a single. What Helen Reddy did then was perform gig to gig and make sure that, when she performed that song, she effectively ignored the men in the audience and focused on the women. They then started ringing the radio stations saying, 'I want that Helen Reddy song "I Am Woman" played.' With no help at all from the institutions, the women first of the United States and then of the world had a song by an Australian become their anthem. The song reached No. 1 in the charts in 1972. She won the Grammy for best female vocal pop performance in 1973.

In 2002 she moved back to Australia, announcing her retirement from singing and completing a degree in hypnotherapy. She tried to retire but ended up being lured to do a tour in 2012. That song was the reason my mum, once I started school, went back and did teaching and then worked as a teacher for the remainder of her working life. Those stories are all around the world and all around our nation as well. At some point, I just urge us all to wake up and acknowledge the role that our artists have in touching our souls. I'd say may they rest in peace, but I think they'd prefer to rest in harmony, and I wish them that.