At a Sydney shopping centre on a balmy Sunday evening, hundreds of people gathered to watch a concert that, according to its host, Richard Wilkins, would set a new livestreaming record for Australian cinemas.
Experiencing a Rod Laver Arena event with popcorn in a cinema chair was unusual in itself – but so too was the fact that its hero, John Farnham, would not be performing, or even in attendance.
At the sold-out tribute concert in Melbourne more than ۱۲۰ artists and musicians celebrated the man of the hour. Céline Dion, Hugh Jackman and Chris Martin made special appearances via live telecasts, while Keith Urban, Human Nature, Tina Arena, Jimmy Barnes, Vanessa Amorosi and Jessica Mauboy belted out Farnham songs on stage.
Farnham’s absence was confirmed by his family on Saturday evening, who said he required ۲۴-hour nursing care and would have to watch the tribute, titled “the celebration concert” for a “living legend”, at home.
His absence loomed as a large, poignant reminder of the evening’s cause: raising money for Head and Neck Cancer Australia, the charity that supported Farnham during his oral cancer battle in ۲۰۲۲.
The ۷۷-year-old’s surgeries mean he can no longer sing in public. His last live performance was at a bushfire benefit concert in February ۲۰۲۰.
“John’s health has deteriorated in recent months,” the family said on social media. “He now requires continuous oxygen support and uses a wheelchair for mobility.
“We have kept these matters private while our family has adjusted to John’s changing needs. However, we now feel it is important that John’s fans and supporters understand his circumstances and why he cannot be there this weekend.”
It was a strange way to watch a concert. The back two rows of the “xtremescreen” cinema had recliner seats, so many in the audience, including myself, were essentially lying down for its duration.
Before it began, the screen displayed a countdown timer backed to crowd noise and soft pop hits.
As a rendition of Love Is in the Air began to play with three minutes on the clock, an elderly man sitting next to me turned and asked excitedly, “You’ll be singing?”
“Oh yes,” I laughed with a hint of fear.
Farnham was Australian of the year in ۱۹۸۷ after the astronomical success of Whispering Jack, which remains the highest-selling album by a domestic artist in Australia. In addition to winning ۲۱ Aria awards, he’s the only Australian artist to have a No ۱ record on local charts across five consecutive decades.
Many in the Sydney crowd were retirees but there were also teenagers, mother-and-daughter duos and young couples. At some points, cinemagoers tapped their feet, while at others, the brave among us launched into soft cheers.
Before the screening, Hoyts emailed ticket-holders warning that a “large number of guests” were expected, urging them to arrive ۳۰ minutes early to manage delays.
All was handed smoothly and the cinema was a notably full. More than one Farnham T-shirt was spotted and some carried programs they’d bought for $۳۵.
At risk of losing my citizenship rights, I am not a Farnham fan, yet I found myself moved to tears during a stirring opening rendition of Age of Reason by Mauboy and Mahalia Barnes.
“Is kindness an ancient skill buried by our blindness?” they sung, and I thought: “Yes! Exactly. What about the age of reason?”
I found myself crying again when Dion – now on tour in Paris, her first full-length concert since being diagnosed with the incurable neurological disorder stiff person syndrome– was beamed into the arena via video to perform You’re the Voice, which she recalled singing with Farnham eight years ago.
The sad irony of a man who has inspired generations for his voice losing it in old age was not lost on me, nor was the weirdness of watching a screen that showed people watching Dion on another screen.
It was, undoubtedly, a celebration, not only of Farnham but of the nation’s culture, one that is diverse and inclusive and warm and a little bit silly.
There was a queer cabaret star, Hans, leading the crowd to sing Sadie, the Cleaning Lady. There was Hugh Jackman, making fun of his own obsession with Farnham.
The final song was always going to be another go at You’re the Voice, with Mitch Tambo performing the opening lines in Gamilaraay and other performers flocking to the stage: Jimmy Barnes and Amorosi and Arena and Farnham’s son Rob. I cried again, as did the woman to my right, as they all hugged each other.
I was thinking of Farnham sitting at home, watching the world pay tribute to him in a way few see while they’re still alive. And I was thinking of a line Chris Martin sung in a song he wrote for his remote performance that evening:
One day we’ll all be gone but the thing about John Farnham songs is they’ll be living on.
