Jimmy Barnes opens up about terrifying health scare: ‘If we have nine lives, I've used up at least seven'
If a near-death experience re-defines a person's life, rock music legend Jimmy Barnes has had multiple re-definitions.
He's survived years of drug and alcohol addiction, countless health emergencies, and the open-heart surgery (his second) he endured 18 months ago.
Barnes has famously stared death in the face and won. Again and again.
'I've confronted death a few times,' he laughed. 'But normally it's sort of self-inflicted.'
'If we have nine lives, I've used up at least seven.'
Now the 69-year-old swears he will treat his final two with far more respect.
Barnes has taken time out of his busy concert schedule to speak with 7News in an exclusive backstage interview before the Sydney show.
He's nearing the end of his sell-out 'Defiant Tour' – his first solo tour since that near-death moment in December 2023.
The man who could be described as the heart of Australian rock and roll, had suffered a savage bacterial infection of the heart.
It came after complications from a hip replacement.
Barnes has just about toured more hospital wards than concert venues in those 18 months – and he was glad to back on stage.
And the Sydney gig was special: in the audience are the medical team from St Vincent's Hospital that saved his life.
'They're coming along to see how their little handiwork went,' he laughs. 'They saved my life. So, you know, I'm forever grateful.'
So are his fans.
Defiant shot to the top of the ARIA charts this month, his 16th Number One album.
His publicity team says that's two more Number Ones than The Beatles, and three more than Taylor Swift.
'How lucky am I? It's extraordinary, isn't it? I don't take it for granted,' he said.
'When I think that, you know, joining Cold Chisel 50 odd years ago, 16-years-old and thinking, will we make a living? How long will the band be going? And to be doing this this long afterwards, and we're still having people turn up. It's a blessed life.'
His life now is in a very different place to that teenager's but it's still driven by the same dream: to make music.
But in December 2023, he and his wife genuinely believed that run of luck had come to its end.
'I literally turned to Jane and said, 'I think this might be it. I think it might have caught me finally'.'
He revealed that he actually made preparations for the worst.
'I did do a lot of that,' he said.
And as he lay in his hospital bed, he was writing music with a message that held the hint of a farewell.
'I've sort of changed the way I wrote the songs I wrote,' he admitted.
'And I'm letting everybody I know that I love them, know that I've had the best life, you know.'
Surviving that has changed everything about his life.
'Well, I'm healthier'' he says.
'If I want to enjoy my family and the life that I've built and I want to continue to make music and be relevant and bring joy to people, I've got to stay fit, I've got to be healthy, I've got to be focused.'
'These days, I appreciate every single day, every step I take.'
He still performs at 110 per cent and 120 decibels.
His face looks ready to explode and he belts the lyrics to the back of the hall in that traditional 'Barnestorming' way.
And he refuses to change or slow the pace.
'It's like having primal therapy every night. Your pain, your fears, your love, your anger - all in an hour and a half on stage - and you can walk away and say, 'I'm okay now'.'
His next major milestone will be his 70th birthday next April. Any advice for those of us coming after him?
'I think you can always get better,' he says.
'I honestly believe the more focused I am, the more I look after myself, the more I open up to the people around me and listen to them, the better I get.'
He insists he's heading into the best years of his life – as a husband, father, grandfather and musician.
'I think I'll be performing until I drop. Defiant,' he declares. 'I am defiant.'
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The Age
8 minutes ago
- The Age
Stand-up comedy: Luke Kidgell rode wave of social media as Instagram and TikTok exploded
, register or subscribe to save articles for later. Add articles to your saved list and come back to them any time. It was the night of the US election, and Luke Kidgell was working at a venue in Los Angeles. An Aussie abroad, watching history unfold. The residents of the predominantly blue Californian state were anxiously awaiting the results, though many of those Kidgell had spoken to before had resigned themselves to an incoming Republican president. At the venue, the emcee hopped on the mic every 30 minutes, updating the audience with the latest vote count, slowly but surely confirming their worst fears. Tough gig for the guy on stage trying to make everyone laugh. Luke Kidgell has performed at famed venues such as the Laugh Factory in LA and New York's Gramercy Theatre. Credit: Simon Schluter As we sit down to lunch, Kidgell tells me that some crowds are inevitably better than others, though a bunch of progressives staring down four more years of Donald Trump wasn't his toughest audience. That, he says, was when he opened for Steve-O, a prankster from the dangerously disgusting 2000s-era show Jackass . Steve-O became famous for stunts such as sticking a hook through his cheek and throwing himself into the ocean as 'shark bait'. It was safe to say his audience came to the gig expecting some hardcore content. 'They didn't want the jokes,' Kidgell says with a laugh. 'It was just a bunch of neckbeards in heavy metal T-shirts waiting for Steve-O. Like, 'Why is this little boy on stage?'' Difficult shows are bound to happen when you relentlessly tour the world for four years – the trick is to dwell for no more than 24 hours before getting over it, Kidgell says. He is one of a handful of Australian comedians who can regularly sell out shows from Europe to America, at famed venues such as LA's Laugh Factory and Indigo at London's O2 Arena. If you haven't heard of him, you're probably not on TikTok, where he has amassed millions of followers and posts clips of improvised interactions with crowds. Those international gigs are a long way from Melbourne's north-eastern suburbs, where Kidgell grew up. He still lives nearby, and he chose this, his local pub, for our lunch because in his mind 'it would be funny' but also 'extremely convenient'. Panko-crumbed chicken breast topped with Virginian leg ham, Napoli sauce and melted cheese, served with chips and salad. Credit: Simon Schluter We arrive at the Diamond Creek Hotel, affectionately known as the Diamo pub, and take in the atmosphere. 'I've never been here at this hour,' Kidgell says, appraising the grandparents shuffling between the bistro and pokie machines. 'I've never made a better choice in my life. It's awesome.' The meal he orders reveals as much about his simple tastes as the location, despite his globetrotting lifestyle. Kidgell ignores my efforts to elevate our dining experience by pointing out there are oysters on the menu, and states he wants a parma. Chicken tenderloins coated in a Dorito spice blend, fried golden, with lettuce, guacamole, tomato, jalapenos, American cheddar and a creamy buffalo sauce with chips and side of cheese sauce. Credit: Simon Schluter He says it with such conviction that I hurry to the counter – there's no table service, and drinks are ordered separately at the bar – forgetting we are also supposed to get sides. On the spot, I order my Dorito-crumbed chicken burger, glance over the menu again and pick the popcorn cauliflower for a side. Wrong choice. Bite-sized cauliflower, deep-fried and served with a side of sriracha mayo. Credit: Simon Schluter When it arrives at the table, Kidgell looks at the dish as if it has just told a very bad joke, calls it a bold order and doesn't touch it throughout the meal. (The parma, smothered in stretchy, wet cheese, and a side of chips are meticulously devoured.) My Dorito burger has certainly got its namesake crunch, but I forgot to ask for no jalapenos, so I put it down and return to our conversation. Doing stand-up comedy might be many people's worst nightmare but Kidgell relishes it. He recalls his first-ever gig at the Imperial Hotel near Melbourne's Parliament Station: 'I think I got, like, three laughs, but it was enough to get me to come back.' The 29-year-old has been chasing those laughs since he was a teen in high school, which is where we first met, though we haven't caught up for more than a decade. I remember him as someone who was more interested in joking around than studying, dedicating endless hours of his lunchtime filming skits with his friends. The videos would be posted to the early iterations of Facebook in a group that quickly developed a mass following among his classmates. I ask Kidgell to describe what he was like when he was younger, and whether it was natural that he went on to make people laugh for a living. 'Can you [describe me]?' he asks instead. 'I would classify you as a class clown-type,' I say. Kidgell was first told he should do stand-up by a disgruntled teacher. Credit: Simon Schluter 'You can use the term attention-seeker,' he says. 'That's probably more accurate.' He reveals to me over lunch that it was in our high school history class he was told for the first time he should be a stand-up comic – by a likely disgruntled teacher tired of his interruptions, but still. '[She said] you should do stand-up comedy, laughed, and then walked away,' he recalls. 'I have a distinct memory of her saying that ... It was the first time anyone's ever suggested it, even if it was a joke. She was probably like, 'That would be the worst'. And I was like, 'She's onto something'.' Kidgell admits he was never particularly studious, and he has certainly maintained his laid-back demeanour, lounging in his chair on the Diamo pub's balcony in his plain white tee and jeans.
Sydney Morning Herald
8 minutes ago
- Sydney Morning Herald
‘People think I'm a way better bloke than I am': Why this comedian is trashing his do-good image
It was the night of the US election, and Luke Kidgell was working at a venue in Los Angeles. An Aussie abroad, watching history unfold. The residents of the predominantly blue Californian state were anxiously awaiting the results, though many of those Kidgell had spoken to before had resigned themselves to an incoming Republican president. At the venue, the emcee hopped on the mic every 30 minutes, updating the audience with the latest vote count, slowly but surely confirming their worst fears. Tough gig for the guy on stage trying to make everyone laugh. As we sit down to lunch, Kidgell tells me that some crowds are inevitably better than others, though a bunch of progressives staring down four more years of Donald Trump wasn't his toughest audience. That, he says, was when he opened for Steve-O, a prankster from the dangerously disgusting 2000s-era show Jackass. Steve-O became famous for stunts such as sticking a hook through his cheek and throwing himself into the ocean as 'shark bait'. It was safe to say his audience came to the gig expecting some hardcore content. 'They didn't want the jokes,' Kidgell says with a laugh. 'It was just a bunch of neckbeards in heavy metal T-shirts waiting for Steve-O. Like, 'Why is this little boy on stage?'' Difficult shows are bound to happen when you relentlessly tour the world for four years – the trick is to dwell for no more than 24 hours before getting over it, Kidgell says. He is one of a handful of Australian comedians who can regularly sell out shows from Europe to America, at famed venues such as LA's Laugh Factory and Indigo at London's O2 Arena. If you haven't heard of him, you're probably not on TikTok, where he has amassed millions of followers and posts clips of improvised interactions with crowds. Those international gigs are a long way from Melbourne's north-eastern suburbs, where Kidgell grew up. He still lives nearby, and he chose this, his local pub, for our lunch because in his mind 'it would be funny' but also 'extremely convenient'. We arrive at the Diamond Creek Hotel, affectionately known as the Diamo pub, and take in the atmosphere. 'I've never been here at this hour,' Kidgell says, appraising the grandparents shuffling between the bistro and pokie machines. 'I've never made a better choice in my life. It's awesome.' The meal he orders reveals as much about his simple tastes as the location, despite his globetrotting lifestyle. Kidgell ignores my efforts to elevate our dining experience by pointing out there are oysters on the menu, and states he wants a parma. He says it with such conviction that I hurry to the counter – there's no table service, and drinks are ordered separately at the bar – forgetting we are also supposed to get sides. On the spot, I order my Dorito-crumbed chicken burger, glance over the menu again and pick the popcorn cauliflower for a side. Wrong choice. When it arrives at the table, Kidgell looks at the dish as if it has just told a very bad joke, calls it a bold order and doesn't touch it throughout the meal. (The parma, smothered in stretchy, wet cheese, and a side of chips are meticulously devoured.) My Dorito burger has certainly got its namesake crunch, but I forgot to ask for no jalapenos, so I put it down and return to our conversation. Doing stand-up comedy might be many people's worst nightmare but Kidgell relishes it. He recalls his first-ever gig at the Imperial Hotel near Melbourne's Parliament Station: 'I think I got, like, three laughs, but it was enough to get me to come back.' The 29-year-old has been chasing those laughs since he was a teen in high school, which is where we first met, though we haven't caught up for more than a decade. I remember him as someone who was more interested in joking around than studying, dedicating endless hours of his lunchtime filming skits with his friends. The videos would be posted to the early iterations of Facebook in a group that quickly developed a mass following among his classmates. I ask Kidgell to describe what he was like when he was younger, and whether it was natural that he went on to make people laugh for a living. 'Can you [describe me]?' he asks instead. 'I would classify you as a class clown-type,' I say. 'You can use the term attention-seeker,' he says. 'That's probably more accurate.' He reveals to me over lunch that it was in our high school history class he was told for the first time he should be a stand-up comic – by a likely disgruntled teacher tired of his interruptions, but still. '[She said] you should do stand-up comedy, laughed, and then walked away,' he recalls. 'I have a distinct memory of her saying that ... It was the first time anyone's ever suggested it, even if it was a joke. She was probably like, 'That would be the worst'. And I was like, 'She's onto something'.' Kidgell admits he was never particularly studious, and he has certainly maintained his laid-back demeanour, lounging in his chair on the Diamo pub's balcony in his plain white tee and jeans. 'I was capable, but didn't apply myself – the correct terminology is underachiever,' he says. I try to tease out what goes into building such an impressive brand, having seen the shift from that kid goofing off in class, but he's reluctant to talk about his success. Kidgell brushes off the size of his social media following, cringes when I use the word 'fans', and claims comedians leech more off society than they contribute. ('Oh, such a service that we do,' he quips. 'Getting up there and having people pay to hear our thoughts!') But a serious drive lurks beneath that unassuming surface. Kidgell co-owns a business with his brother and manager, Jack, and they have 10 employees working on a plethora of projects: they have a new, self-produced comedy special; they've built an almost 3 million-strong social media following; Kidgell is in the midst of a three-year-long tour schedule; he's just written a new show; he performs up to four times a week when he's in Melbourne; and he has a podcast. And his attention to detail extends beyond being able to mop up every inch of a pub parma. Kidgell colour codes his writing so he can tell how funny his script is at a glance, and he keeps track of how many gigs he's done – 1304 at the time of interview. Oh, and he's training for a marathon. 'I only really do the [social media] videos as a means to make it a career,' he eventually elaborates. 'I just knew it would sell me tickets, and it worked. I think it worked better than I thought it would. I kind of was just like, 'Oh, man, if I could just do this full-time, that'd be great'. And now we've started a whole business, and it's a whole thing.' Kidgell rode the wave of social media as Instagram and then TikTok exploded, and says being online is increasingly becoming a requirement for entertainers to get exposure. 'I think every comedian now has realised that you need to be on social media. And it works,' he says. 'It's where most people under 30 consume media. I don't know why you wouldn't be on it at this point. It would be a disservice to your career if you weren't where everyone's eyes are.' He says his willingness to take a punt and improvise with crowds plays well online, but it was an interaction with a woman with Tourette's in regional New South Wales that first propelled his content into virality. 'She started ticking,' he says. 'She said eff off, which is not uncommon in Tamworth, so I just thought it was a regular heckle.' She explained and they had a laugh, and the interaction went viral. She came up after the gig and thanked him; she didn't normally feel comfortable going to shows. 'Then a bunch of other people with Tourette's started coming to my shows, and I ended up doing a fundraiser for them last year,' Kidgell says. 'That's the thing, people get so uncomfortable joking about it. [But people with Tourette's are] Like, as long as you're not being mean, and you're including us in it, it's great. So I think that has been maybe a bit of a point that has differentiated me in the sense that I don't go in on people – unless they deserve it.' But he wants people to know he's no angel. In fact, it's the theme of his show Good Intentions, which he's touring Australia on the back of another stint in the US. 'People think I'm a way better bloke than I am,' he says. 'That's what my new show is about. It's about me telling people, like, I'm not actually that nice.' Kidgell looks around and says he doesn't go to the Diamo pub that frequently any more. His friends refuse to come with him at weekends because he gets recognised too often, though he glances towards the pokies-playing pensioners this Tuesday lunchtime and reckons we're safe for now. 'We have the pub at home now,' he says. '[My partner] Meg got me a kegerator for Christmas. It's like a beer tap in a fridge, so now we just do it up the road. 'But the parmas aren't as good.'
Sky News AU
an hour ago
- Sky News AU
'A stalwart of stage and screen': Beloved Play School presenter and Australian actor Donald Macdonald dies after cancer battle
Australian actor, screenwriter and novelist Donald Macdonald, best known for his role as a presenter on ABC's Play School, has died following a battle with cancer. He was 86 years old. Macdonald was among the original faces of Play School when it launched in 1966, charming young audiences with his cheerful, engaging presence alongside co-stars including Don Spencer, Alister Smart and Lorraine Bayly. News of his death was confirmed by entertainment reporter and close friend Craig Bennett, who shared a heartfelt tribute on Monday. "One of our showbiz greats left us at 12:45am today," Bennett wrote, posting a carousel of photos of the late actor. "Donald Macdonald was a stalwart of stage and screen… He was a dapper delight and always great company." Bennett said Macdonald had faced cancer with "copious good humour" and was surrounded by loved ones in his final days. "His cherished cousin Paula Duncan and Amelia Barrett have been in residence as his last days approached," he wrote. "On Saturday we turned his hospital room into a party- laughs and smiles a-plenty- as Donald enjoyed some bubbly and lemon meringue pie! "…Vale to a true gentleman." After MacDonald finished up with Play School in 1969, the Sydney-born performer went on to star in his own TV series I Married a Bachelor, and made memorable guest appearances in Skippy the Bush Kangaroo, The Pathfinders, A Country Practice, Cop Shop, Skyways, Rafferty's Rules and Rake. His film credits included Superman Returns and Kenny. Beyond acting, Macdonald was an accomplished writer. He penned the award-winning stage play Caravan- a classic Australian comedy about couples navigating life on the road, as well as Hot Taps, Giuseppe, Saints Alive, Seasons, Boulevard Play, and Truth. He was widely respected in the arts community, earning an A.O. (Officer of the Order of Australia) in 1991 for his work as General Manager of the Australian Opera, and later an A.C. (Companion of the Order of Australia) in 2006 for his contribution to national life and creative industries, including public broadcasting. Following the news, friends, family and fans have paid tribute to Macdonald's legacy. "A sad day! Another stalwart of the Australian television industry has left us…," one commenter wrote on Facebook. "My condolences to all his dear friends and family. Donald was unique in our industry and such a gentleman," added another. Actress Antonia Murphy recalled working with Macdonald on the first national tour of Caravan. "A very good man… was honoured to be part of the first national tour of Caravan. Some wonderful memories. Sending love to you all," she said.
