Stories from Australia in the 1980's

Frankie’s Family: Some families are just dysfunctional

In Perth in the 1980’s, the pub band scene and going to see live gigs, was the fashion and all my friends were very much into it. So much so, our weekly gig/social agenda was very important and set in stone.

More or less.

Monday nights was a day of rest and recovery. Tuesday nights was The Never Never at Cagney’s Hotel in Claremont. Wednesday nights was whoever was playing at The Captain Stirling Hotel in Nedlands. Thursday nights was Perfect Strangers at The Floreat Hotel. Friday nights, after an afternoon drinking session at the UWA tavern, was V Capri at the Floreat. The Sunday afternoon session was at Steve’s Hotel in winter, OBH and the Cottesloe Hotel in the summer. Occasionally we changed venues and saw different bands on different nights, but more or less that was the schedule.

Week in. Week out.

Without fail.

The only night that varied regularly was Saturday which was more to do with the amount of numerous options on offer on a typical Saturday night.

However, if there were no plans scheduled and the desire was to have a moderately easy night, the preferred option was often The Fairway Tavern, which was kind of our fall back, wild card.

The Fairway was a simple bar attached to the local municipal golf course and was designed in reality as the proverbial 19th hole for golfers to have a beer and maybe a steak sandwich after their round. The food was basic, the beer on offer relatively cheap and limited in variety, the decor was tired and functional. It was the kind of bar that did exactly what it said on the tin. Nothing more. Nothing less.

My friends and I, as well as many other people who lived in the area, saw it as a cheap alternative that was walking distance from home. It was the night you had when you were not having a night out. A “Claytons night” so to speak, in the local vernacular.

Now on Friday nights the management put on a one man show of which Frankie Fingers ( real name John Jones) was the star, at least in his own lunch box. Frankie was the Fairway Tavern’s version of a fading Liberace impersonator, on his last legs. He would have been in his late fifties with a pot belly from one too many middies of beer and receding black hair slicked back like a Colombian drug lord. He often wore sequin shirts that were unbuttoned to just above his protruding gut and black leather trousers that seemed to be screaming to be cut from his body. This spectacular ensemble was capped off of course, with gold jewellery in abundance.

Frankie’s remit was simple. Play covers of songs everyone knew on his Casio keyboard and occasionally strum a few tunes on his guitar. However, Frankie was determined to be the star he had always alluded to being and with his larger than life and rather narcissistic personality, there was often a sense portrayed that these famous songs being tortured every Friday night were Frankie’s and he was the musical god people had come to worship. His performances would include going into the crowd and crooning to girls at their tables, dancing wildly with his own version of the Elvis hip wiggle as he played his key board or the guitar, and he would continually urge the crowd to join in with him, which they often did. His show was extremely schmaltzy and cheesy. Nevertheless, credit where credit is due, it worked and people came back.

Friday nights at the Fairway became reasonably popular. So much so, Frankie termed Friday nights “Frankie’s Family at the Fairway” and the posters that adorned the tavern promoting the night, were entitled with that moniker and included a photo of Frankie, smiling in what he considered a seductive pose, lying on a sofa, legs spread with his guitar between his legs, adorned in his ostentatious garments and bling.

Of course it needn’t be said that Frankie was a bit of a prima donna. A diva so to speak. You weren’t allowed to ask him for requests and if he felt the night was not going his way, the crowd was not being responsive, or talking too much while he played his repertoire, he was famous for suddenly calling a halt to proceedings and walking off stage. Sometimes the management would try and convince him to return, sometimes they simply put on music over the sound system and carried on. Often the punters were oblivious to what had happened, so lost were they in conversation and an alcohol infused haze.

In an attempt to be more crowd inclusive, as part of his “family nights”, Frankie began to invite people on stage if it was their birthday so he could induce the crowd into singing happy birthday with him to the birthday celebrant. For the most part, the invitee would often be embarrassed and nervous about being on stage in front of other people, so Frankie controlled the moment. He also knew this was a good tactic in bringing the crowd on board, particularly if the night hadn’t been going so well for Frankie.

One Friday night, having gone a little overboard at The UWA tavern that afternoon, and being low on funds, my friends and I as a last resort, decided to pop into the Fairway Tavern for a couple of beers to finish off the night. All was going well. We were sat in a corner chatting and laughing away as 19 year olds do on the fumes of what alcohol we could afford, in what was a fairly sparse crowd for a Friday night. Frankie began his set in the smarmy way he always did and quickly became irritated by the noise coming from our table.

“Oh, we do have a rowdy lot in tonight!” Frankie smiled through gritted teeth in our direction, “Hopefully they’ll join in with the rest of Frankie’s family to sing this next song!”

As Frankie launched into his over dramatized and very much over acted version of Bob Dylan’s Knocking on Heavens Door, we continued our conversation, detached and disinterested.

Suddenly Frankie stopped playing mid song and stormed off stage.

There was an uncomfortable murmur amongst the crowd during this sudden musical blackout as the inquest began into what had caused such an abrupt departure and a few accusing glances were thrown in our direction.

After some delay, the management were able to cajole Frankie into returning, and doing his best to ignore the young upstarts on table 12, he launched into his go to, crowd participation song, Don Mclean’s American Pie.

What a success it was! The crowd had swelled during his absence and the new arrivals were in full singing voice as they joined in exuberantly. Frankie beamed from ear to ear and bowed as the crowd applauded at the end of the song. Frankie was back! The night was back!

It was then Frankie decided to go to his birthday routine, just to add another layer to the moment. That broad grin was still evident as he enquired if there were any birthday celebrants in the crowd and it diminished only ever so slightly when my friend Kingy raised his hand from amongst our group, much to our astonishment.

It wasn’t Kingy’s birthday.

“ We have a birthday boy amongst Frankie’s family tonight.” Frankie announced confidently, “ Maybe if we all give him a round of applause he might come up and join us. Come on everyone.”

Kingy played the shy, embarrassed punter to perfection, timidly walking up to the stage, feigning reservedness about joining Frankie, and keeping his head bowed as Frankie began his bit and the spotlights now became firmly fixated on this odd couple.

“ So, what is our family members name?”

“ John,” Kingy murmured, head still bowed.

His name isn’t John.

“ So John, where do you live?”

“ I’m from round here, but I’m studying at Duntroon military academy in Canberra.”

He wasn’t.

“ A soldier! Well thank you John for your service. Let’s give John a big Frankie’s family round of applause, shall we?”

As the crowd applauded enthusiastically, ‘John’ acknowledged the crowd with a humble wave and smile, while Frankie soaked up the moment.

“ Let’s sing a big Frankie’s family happy birthday to John shall we?”

Frankie was now totally in his element. The spotlights shone brightly on the star and his timid guest as the crowd joined him in a rather raucous rendition of Happy Birthday.

Frankie was grinning so broadly and contently, one couldn’t imagine he’d ever experienced a happier moment.

That was until he heard an exclamation of shock arise from the crowd, and noticed fingers pointing to something behind him.

Frankie was still beaming as he turned around to see what all the fuss was about.

Then the colour drained from his face.

John was now standing naked from the waste down, his trousers and underwear around his ankles, both arms raised aloft, smiling triumphantly at the crowd.

“ KILL THE LIGHTS!”

… were the last words Frankie uttered that night as he exited stage right and out into the night…

…leaving his family behind.

Kit Calder-White is the author of the Soundtrack Of My Life series. Volume one: First Love is available now on Amazon and from most online book retailers.