John Hanlon is back
The Damn the Dam man
He's up there with Lorde and Dave Dobbyn after winning the APRA Silver Scroll twice in the 1970s, but at the height of his fame, songwriter John Hanlon disappeared off the entertainment radar. Nearly half a century later, Andre Chumko finds out why he's back with a new album.
At a semi-rural property in northwest Auckland’s Muriwai Valley, a raspy John Hanlon laments the amount of stray cats scampering about his yard. ‘‘All these bloody four-legged children,’’ he growls before returning to discussing his extensive landscaping, which includes wooden statues and mounds. ‘‘It’s like a poor man’s Monet, and I’m the mad Asian prince.’’
You might’ve never heard of Malaya-born Hanlon before, but perhaps you should have. The 71-year-old won the prestigious APRA Silver Scroll for songwriting in 1974 and 1975 for his Lovely Lady and Windsongs. The double-win is such a rare feat that it’s only been achieved by a handful of other Kiwi artists, such as Dave Dobbyn and Lorde.
But that’s not his only claim to fame. He was awarded the Aotearoa Music Award for NZ Album of the Year in 1975 for Higher Trails, and won Single of the Year in 1973 and 1974 for his Damn the Dam and Is It Natural, respectively. But then he disappeared into obscurity.
So, what happened? He says he was 24, and didn’t feel in charge of his own destiny. ‘‘It was a
‘‘I got forgotten because I chose to walk away at the top of my career. You reap what you sow...’’
John Hanlon
certain immaturity. I never had any intention of becoming a pop star,’’ he says.
‘‘Being a songwriter was a very strange beast in those days. On television, at the height of my career, I was constantly asked to sing Neil Diamond, Cat Stevens [songs]. I refused to do it. That didn’t exactly make me popular with the powers that be.’’
And so, disillusioned and despondent from the weight of the industry, and having been ‘‘blacklisted’’ by the Broadcasting Commission (now NZ On Air), Hanlon fled to Australia in 1978. There he enjoyed a successful career in advertising. But his guitar did not sit idle.
‘‘An artist doesn’t do the same painting every day for the next 40 years. You change, you do new paintings... I walked away because I thought I’d morphed into something I never set out to be. If you’re not having fun, why would you bother?’’
He moved back to Ta¯ maki Makaurau from Sydney about six years ago, and later this month will return to the scene with a new album called
Naked Truths.
Hanlon, who’s now retired, is hyper-aware of the amount of time that’s passed. His first album,
Floating, was released nearly five decades ago. But this 23-track offering is not being released for the money – ‘‘in fact, it’s costing me’’, or even the fame. Having recently recovered from a kidney transplant, which went poorly, and a brush with death, Hanlon is cognisant of his mortality.
As well as recording again with producers Bruce Lynch and Russell Finch, Hanlon has spent his days blogging about his medical experiences. His latest entry, The reason for my madness, details his walking away from music. He’s also an author, with a collection of short-story fiction Stealing
Smokes published in 2016.
Hanlon says he’s well enough. Covid-19 has meant time usually spent in Europe has been scuppered, but he and his wife, Russian-born classical violinist Yana Zuyeva, are enjoying fostering more cats.
He always knew his kidneys would fail due to his hereditary polycystic kidney disease. But going through dialysis – and the alarming speed with which he lost his fitness (particularly his ability to play golf, and go for walks) – was cause for concern.
When his transplant went poorly, his children
were phoned so they could say goodbye and Hanlon was in hospital for almost 10 weeks. He ended up surviving, but is upset he can no longer eat prosciutto or blue-vein cheese.
He jokes about doctors leaving his other nonworking kidney inside his body. ‘‘Unfortunately I will have a belly for the rest of my life – I tell people I look like a New South Wales police officer.’’
Hanlon first waltzed into the world of professional music after a chance meeting with an Auckland producer at a small late-night gig. Before then, it was just him and his guitar in his bedroom, or playing to ‘‘people who were interested’’.
His low profile has been deliberate, he says. While he’s continued writing, he was a bit shocked at the new pace of the music industry. Returning home, Hanlon also discovered he wasn’t on many notable lists of important New Zealand songwriters, including one published by the New Zealand Music Commission. ‘‘It’s probably my own fault,’’ he says.
Hanlon says people are ‘‘famous for being famous’’ now; radio stations are ‘‘all pretty much the same’’; it’s harder than ever for young artists to become successful despite the ubiquity of digital resources. But some things are the same – record deals are driven by profit, and there are still the artists and the hangers-on.
Hanlon’s new music is mostly just his voice and a guitar. He hasn’t attempted to write in what he calls a modern genre ‘‘any more than I’d wear tight jeans with holes in them’’.
He recorded 50 demos before whittling down the final 23. Although he reckons ‘‘there’s no place for old men’’ in today’s music world, he does want to remind audiences he was a potent songwriter.
‘‘A journalist once responded to a request for an interview saying, ‘It’s been at least two generations since John Hanlon’s been relevant’ ... maybe it’s ageism. The music industry has changed,’’ he says, adding he believes he’s part of music’s ‘‘organic’’ camp.
‘‘I got forgotten because I chose to walk away at the top of my career. You reap what you sow – that was my choice,’’ he says. ‘‘I’m a songwriter in the same way I’m an artist. I draw pictures that other people can colour in.
‘‘If I emerge from this period with people saying ‘If nothing else, John Hanlon’s still a good songwriter’, that’s it. I wanted to leave some kind of legacy, get this thing finished. We’re there now.’’
Naked Truths will be available in music stores and online.