Elton, AC/DC And Me: My Life As A Female Roadie
I never really had any roots. Since my early childhood we’d been constantly moving; I ran away from home as a teenager in the early 1970s and travelled up and down the coast with a group of hippies. Eventually I found myself at the Nimbin Festival, where [high-wire artist] Philippe Petit’s troupe was performing. I ended up going down to Sydney with them [where Petit walked between the Harbour Bridge pylons]. That was my first experience of event production and I really got into it. I was amazed by all the work it took to do.
The first time I went to a club was a gig at [Sydney’s] Whisky A Go Go. I sat beside the sound console and it was quite distracting – I kept looking at the guys at the console instead of the stage. I can’t even tell you who played that night. I was totally entranced by everything else going on. There were all these people involved in the show who didn’t play instruments: they were fixing the mic stand and bringing equipment onto the stage. I asked the tour manager who they were and he said, “They’re the roadies”.
It was the first time I heard the word “roadie”. Then someone mentioned they were going to Melbourne the next night and Adelaide after that and I thought, hang on – you travel with the band, you get to hear live music every night and you get paid? I was already doing the travelling, I was really into the music, I just wasn’t getting paid. I thought, How do I make this happen?
My first job started as a joke, but it became a career. A friend and I were at a gig and she was hoping to get a lift to Melbourne with the band, who were heading there next. After the show I asked, “Can you give her a lift?” They looked over to the stage and said, “If the roadies get out of here tonight she can go in the truck with them. Otherwise, forget it”. So I said, “I’ll give them a hand.” More to embarrass them than anything else, the guitar player said, “This is Tana, she’s coming over to give you a hand.”
There was an attitude that this was men’s work. They let me break down the drum kit, because they thought I couldn’t hurt myself too much with that. Then they had me coiling cables. When it came to load the truck they said, “This is too heavy for you,” but I said, “I can lift that” – and I did. When the band came back to Sydney a month later, they offered me a job. I needed to get out of Sydney at that stage, so off I went.
My next gig was with AC/DC. They were moving down to Melbourne and I wasn’t just asked to work with them but also to live with them. Part of the logic, I think, was that Malcolm and Angus [Young] hadn’t even lived away from home yet and since they had sisters, having a girl living in the house would be a good thing. I didn’t have to cook or clean or anything – girls who were fans would turn up to cook and do the laundry.
I spent the next two decades touring with bands in Australia and overseas. One of the hardest things was that there was no personal space. I was the only female and there were no exceptions made for me. It was simple things, like when you needed to pee. Guys can just pee up against the wall. If I needed any hygiene products, I was really shy about that kind of stuff, so trying to get them to stop somewhere when we were on the road was awful. They’d just say, “Whatever you need you can get it tomorrow,” or “Oh, we’ll be in Berlin next week – get it then.”
Sex was tricky. I’d be living in close contact 24/7 with up to 100 guys. Sometimes there were unwanted advances from a band member or crew; sometimes they would keep making them after I said I wasn’t interested. There was a real double standard. A male roadie who got laid every night was a hero; if a female roadie got laid, some saw her as a floozy.
I was on tour in in England when I discovered I was pregnant. I went to see a doctor to ask about my options. He berated me, telling me I had to accept the consequences of my lifestyle. I didn’t have anyone to turn to – a bunch of male roadies weren’t exactly the best source of advice. I didn’t know what to do so I kept touring. It wasn’t until I got back to Australia that I saw another doctor. I was barely showing but he told me I possibly had another month to go. My waters broke that afternoon.
“Some guys treated me as if they were my big brothers, some as mates; some looked to me for advice on women but most of them accepted me wholeheartedly.”
My mother agreed to help out, looking after my son until I got settled into a new home in the United States. Then she changed the plan. She wanted to raise him herself. She told me in every phone call, “I can look after him better than you can. If you take him away from me, it’ll kill me.” It became a nightmare that ended up in court. She made out that I was an unfit mother, simply because I worked as a roadie. I only had limited access to my son, and it affected our relationship forever.
Being a roadie is a tough gig – long hours, hard work and incredibly technical. In the early days we were playing in pubs where you might have to carry the equipment up four flights of stairs, and the buildings weren’t set up to run as much electricity as we were pumping through the system. You could blow their power if you weren’t careful. The equipment kept growing on a daily basis; you had to keep up with more and more technical knowledge.
I’ve had gigs where I didn’t see daylight for months. What keeps you coming back is that moment when the house goes dark, the band walks on stage and everyone in audience becomes one, yelling at the same time. That’s what you do for it. You’ve been there since 6am, it’s now 8pm, but that’s how you get the energy to do the loadout after the show.
How a tour goes is determined at the top. The way an artist behaves trickles down to the crew. If they party all the time, you get dragged into it. And when everything is turned on for you – free meals, free alcohol, free illicits – it can be difficult. The thing is, the artist doesn’t have to be up until sound check at 6pm. Roadies have to be up early for load-in, and there is no way around that
One of my most memorable gigs was when Elton John performed at Prince Andrew’s 21st birthday at Windsor Castle. All the male roadies had to wear tuxes. I was told to wear a formal gown and over-the-elbow gloves, and had to point out that wasn’t going to work. Finally I got permission to wear pants as long as I kept a low profile. First I bumped into Prince Andrew, then Princess Di came down to take a look. She was very bubbly and nice; I showed her the lighting rig and let her push a couple of buttons. The worst moment came when I heard our truck driver saying, “Doll, have you got a cigarette?” – when there was no smoking allowed. I looked up and he was trying to bum a fag from Princess Margaret! I was like, “No smoking, no chatting up the princess!” I was running over to try and save the situation, and I bumped straight into the Queen. She looked very pointedly at my trousers.
Rock’n’roll gave me the family environment I had been looking for. As far back as the AC/DC days, the Youngs had such a strong family unit and that was transferred to our house. Everyone who lived there was accepted and protected. Some guys treated me as if they were my big brothers, some as mates; some looked to me for advice on women but most of them accepted me wholeheartedly.
Want more Tonic delivered direct to your inbox? Subscribe here
Interview_Ute Junker
Photos_ Lisa Johnson + supplied