Chapter One: ‘Are you compatible with Librans and Sagittarians?'

In the beginning, I never imagined that I would end up in the music industry. It wasn’t a path I consciously chose. It was one that came to me unexpectedly. My mother Daphne played a pivotal role in guiding me there. Mum found the job for me at RCA Records and encouraged me every step of the way. Her belief in me made all the difference when the road ahead was unclear.

The early days were filled with struggles. I was navigating a new world that seemed completely foreign to me. But soon enough, it became clear that this was where I was meant to be. I discovered a deep passion for working with people, promoting new talent, and championing their success. It felt like I had found my calling. However, it wasn’t without its challenges.

The music industry was full of temptations, especially when it came to drinking and drug use. I came from a family with strong faith and values, and I chose to remain different from everyone else. That was difficult at times, especially when I found myself in situations where those around me were making choices that I didn't believe in. Yet, it was my faith and upbringing that kept me grounded. They were my strength when everything else seemed uncertain.

While it wasn’t always easy, staying true to my values became my greatest asset. There were moments I had to stand firm, when I felt isolated or out of place, but those were the moments that shaped who I was and ultimately, helped me find success on my own terms.

We were a middle-class family — my parents Kirby and Daphne instilled in me strong values and a healthy work ethic. We all had our regular chores, but we didn’t receive pocket money; it just wasn’t the done thing in those days.

I was born in 1955 and was the second of four children: Paul was the eldest, followed by me, Stephen and Cathie — all of us were three years apart in age. Our parents were both veterans of World War II and carried that spirit of service into our family. In 1941, Mum had enlisted as a telegraphist with The Woman’s Royal Australian Navy.  She took great pride in being number seven of the first intake of ten WRANs in Australia’s history. She trained in Canberra and then took on assignments as a wireless operator, a role that was essential for maintaining communications with the Australian naval ships at sea. Mum always spoke with immense pride about her service to our country. 

She formed many lifelong friendships during that time and made sure to teach us, her children, about the true value of the sacrifices made by those who gave their lives for our freedom and liberty. One of mum’s most significant moments during her service was in November 1941, when she was on watch as the HMAS Sydney, the pride of the Australian fleet, was tragically lost, torpedoed by a heavily disguised German raider. It was the greatest loss of life in the history of the Royal Australian Navy.  

Mum was on duty at the time, and her testimony later played a crucial role in inquiries during the 1990s and again when the HMAS Sydney was finally located in 2008, ultimately helping to exonerate the ship’s captain. Mum’s remarkable life and her contributions to the WRANS are well documented in The Australian War Memorial.

My Dad also served in the Navy, working with supply ships during the war, and he continued his service throughout his entire working life. He met Daphne during peacetime, and they married in 1947 at Our Lady of Dolours, Chatswood.

Their first home on Queens Ave, in Avalon was actually a wedding gift from our maternal grandmother. My grandparents had bought the property, a cosy two-room fibro shack, back in 1939.

We lived at a cottage in Avalon Beach in Sydney’s northern beaches, until Paul and I were toddlers. My family then moved into a beautiful bushland home that my parents built at West Chatswood, in a quiet cul-de-sac surrounded by bushland. I attended Mum’s old primary school, Our Lady of Dolours, Chatswood, and went to high school at Mercy College, also in Chatswood. My younger siblings, Stephen and Cathie, attended the same schools as me.

Paul and I were closer in age, so we always played together with our friends from school and the neighbourhood – the Gemmels, the Butlers, the Taskers, the Chards and the Coates.  We’d spend hours making cubby houses in the bush and racing our handmade billy carts, which was always great fun. We grew up completely unfazed by all the outdoor creepy crawlies. In fact, we even collected funnel web spiders for the CSRIO to help them find an antidote. We somehow managed to never get bitten.

My family was very musical. In the early 1960s, Dad and a bandmaster named Reg Bishop formed the Willoughby Brass Band, which still exists today. In his youth, Dad performed in a jazz combo and was a big opera buff — that love of music carried on through our entire family. Both Mum and Dad played the piano. Paul played the trumpet and the cornet; Stephen joined the school band when he was nine and I learned piano between the ages of seven to ten. I took lessons with a very strict nun, Sister Teresa. She was quite, well . . . let’s say ‘encouraging’ (rather than demanding) about me mastering my scales. I fell in love with the Paul Newman film ‘Exodus’, which came out in 1962, and I persuaded Sister Teresa to teach me the theme song. I can still play it today.

We absolutely loved the beach and spent every Christmas and summer holiday at our family cabin in Avalon, which was about the size of your average granny flat. We did this for 17 years straight, often staying as long as six weeks. Dad built the six bunks we slept on, and Mum somehow managed to prepare meals on a small gas burner. The cabin was a tight squeeze, but we loved it, spending the sunny days out in the garden and on the beach. There were koalas in the trees and possums and bandicoots everywhere; they’d keep us awake at night with their racket. It wouldn’t have been a true Aussie holiday house without an outdoor dunny and the occasional red back on the toilet seat. We had both.

With no TV — we didn’t know about it until 1956 — our entertainment came from the radio and those endless outdoor adventures. Back then, it was all about not coming home until teatime, and that freedom to explore and play with other kids provided me with a truly great childhood. I was envied at school because our family would take an extra two weeks break during the May school holidays and vacation in Burleigh Heads, Queensland. We’d meet up there with our neighbours and friends from Chatswood, the Gemmels and the Duncans, who all remain close today.

In the 1970s, my parents built our dream holiday home on the Copacabana headland on the Central Coast, which I still visit regularly. During the 1990s, Donnie Sutherland, the former host of TV’s Sounds, and someone I’d worked with during my career, bought the land next to us and built his own dream home. He was our neighbour for 25 years.

On my birthday, April 13, it became a tradition for me to call Mum no matter where I was in the world. She would always tell me the same story: that she and Dad had prayed for a baby girl, and when Dr Gunning announced, ‘It’s a girl’, they were absolutely elated. I grew up knowing that I was wanted, valued and prayed for by my parents.

As a teenager, I loved listening to my transistor radio and collecting Top 40 charts from 2SM and 2UW. I also developed the habit of doing my homework while listening to the radio, which set me up for lifetime of always having music playing in the background – which I can now see had its advantages and disadvantages. After school, from the age of 14, my friends and I would head to Benjamins department store and listen to albums in little cubicles with headphones. It was such a wonderful feeling to be immersed in music and to discover new sounds and artists like the Moody Blues, Creedence Clearwater Revival, the Doobie Brothers and the Easybeats, whose ‘Friday on my Mind’ was the first single I bought.

When I was 16 and studying at Our Lady of Dolours, I earned pocket money by working at the Woolworths store in Chatswood on Thursday nights, Saturday mornings and during school holidays. I learned how to use the cash register and worked across all the different departments, from fresh food and clothing to the ultimate test: the lolly (confectionary) counter. But my favourite spot of all was the record counter.

The selection consisted mostly of budget records and music from middle-of-the-road artists; it didn’t really include any Top 40 albums or popular music that I was familiar with. However, I did find a budget compilation album, Big Concerto Movie Themes, which featured music from various 1940s films. I had studied classical music when I was learning piano, and I was familiar with these classics, including Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto No. 1 in B flat minor. There was no piped music, as there is today, so I started playing this compilation album on the store stereo. Before long, it caught the attention of shoppers who enjoyed hearing it too. The album was a hit and copies began flying out of the store.

The sales rep, who suddenly had to fill orders for more stock, couldn’t understand how this happened, especially since it wasn’t a new release, had no publicity and only seemed to sell on Thursday nights and Saturday mornings. The general manager finally discovered that it was me, acting like a DJ and playing the tracks that resonated with the shoppers and inspired them to buy on impulse.

This was my first exposure to how music could stir emotions and, in turn, inspire people to purchase a record. The manager offered me a full-time job as manager when I finished school, but, realising that I possessed sales skills, I had bigger dreams.

My mum Daphne and my maternal grandma Agnes were talented dressmakers and milliners, so I grew up a with a deep appreciation for clothes, fabrics and fashion. My mum was so skilled that she even made copies of Chanel suits for herself. She also created some stunning outfits for me and taught me the importance of dressing modestly but always with a touch of class. Mum demonstrated through her life and work ethic the importance of making the most of whatever gifts, talents and skills you have been given. 

She shared countless valuable insights and pearls of wisdom that truly helped shape my life, and really helped me, at the age of 19, enter the work force at RCA Records. Mum showed me that as a woman, I could do anything I set my mind to; she proved that it’s not strictly a man’s world. Mum taught me to stand strong in my convictions, whatever they may be.

It was my mother who spotted the ad in the newspaper.

It was 1974 and I was a fresh-faced nineteen-year-old, straight out of Secretarial College and ready to take on the world.

The ad read: ‘Are you compatible with Librans and Sagittarians and enjoy the fresh outdoor atmosphere? Our very funky Advertising and Publicity Officer desperately needs a cluey young assistant to help in all facets of her function.’

We all knew our star signs in the 1970s – and given that mine was Aries, it meant I was compatible with Librans and Sagittarians. This was a good sign, quite literally. What also caught Mum’s attention was the fact that the RCA offices and factory were in North Ryde, which was close to our home in Chatswood and surrounded by open, airy spaces. It seemed like a good place to work.

The quirky ad also mentioned that ‘we require a good typing speed but here’s the good news – no shorthand’. This was a huge relief for me; I’d been expelled after nine months at Secretarial College for not bothering to participate in shorthand class. I simply had no patience for it. Thankfully, my mother was very understanding and never pressured me to focus on shorthand during my time at Secretarial College. So, when I was expelled, she wasn’t upset — she knew that wasn’t my path.

Mum had been the General Manager’s Secretary at Universal Pictures before joining the WRANS during World War II in the 1940s and was an excellent writer and very proficient at shorthand. However, she understood that shorthand wasn’t something I wanted to pursue. My true passion, in fact, had always been art. Throughout high school, I was drawn to graphic design and creative expression.

My mother drove me to my appointment at RCA Records to meet with Doug Armati, the Marketing Publicity Manager. I wore the latest flared pants from Cue and cork platforms. But it had rained the night before, and I accidently stepped into a puddle, so my cork platforms squeaked all the way down the corridor to my meeting.

Armati was a cool, handsome guy in his mid-twenties — Doug was the Libran. His assistant, Sandra Hayes, was a tall, attractive former model — she was the Sagittarian.

I was relieved not to have to do a typing test, as my speeds were quite low. Instead, during the interview, Doug played me a David Bowie interview on a reel-to-reel tape, I think in an effort to gauge my interest or to see if I was starstruck. I liked David Bowie’s music but wasn’t a major fan and didn’t have any of his records. Little did I know that in just a few years I’d be on the road with Bowie.

During the interview, five male executives interrupted our meeting, one after the other, which made me think, ‘Wow, Doug must be a busy guy.’  I later discovered that they were checking me out — and they all gave Doug the thumbs up. Apparently, around 100 young women had applied for the job, but it seemed that my Aries star sign — and my appearance — helped sealed the deal.

‘We were so right in hiring you,’ Doug told me many years later. ‘It was as if the sun had walked in the door. You had “stellar” emblazoned on you from that moment.’

I got along well with Doug, Sandra and the rest of the RCA staff. It was a warm and friendly place to work. Every Friday, we would all meet for lunch at the local pub, The Ranch at North Ryde. My official title was Assistant to the Advertising and Publicity Officer; and I worked nine to five. One of my roles was to communicate with the media over the phone, and process orders of records that the print media selected for review. I also prepared media releases and kept up to date on all our latest releases, which made me quite knowledgeable about the RCA catalogue. At the time, we had a strong roster of country artists, stars such as Elvis Presley, Dolly Parton, Charlie Pride, Waylon Jennings, Chet Atkins, Jim Reeves and the Carter family.

But it wasn’t all country. I got to promote the music of artists like English glam rockers The Sweet who’s single ‘The Ballroom Blitz’ was a top ten hit. Meeting local artists and attending their gigs was another highlight for me. I loved talking with the press and over time I built a strong, friendly rapport with such reporters as John Hanrahan and Craig McCarthy at the Sun newspaper, Matt White and Jim Oram at the Daily Mirror and Dolly’s Lisa Wilkinson. I also got to know reporters such as Janise Beaumont, Nick Brash, Glenn A Baker, Christine Hogan, Craig McCarthy and Leigh Botrell, as well as Helen Dalley, who was with ACP, Glen Williams from Woman’s Day and the Sydney Morning Herald’s Lindsay Scott.

Among the first local artists I worked with were Digby Richards, Lucky Starr and Digger Revell. I’d often see their shows at the local RSLs, which was a great way to immerse myself in the scene and the music community. In 1975, I was instrumental in convincing Digby to re-release his 1962 song ‘Raincoat in the River’. It actually charted again – reaching number 22 in Brisbane and number 44 in Sydney. Digby always graciously acknowledged my help. On the sleeve of his album The Thing Is, he wrote: ‘My heartfelt thanks to Annie for the sunshine.’ That was a phrase Digby often used, and it meant a lot to me.

I was quite naïve, but full of enthusiasm. One bizarre night I joined Doug and visited a mate of his at St Ives to listen to some records. I accidentally took a couple of LSD tabs from Doug’s friend’s matchbox. Doug had no idea what I’d done, and I still don’t know how it happened, but I vividly remember the trip. After throwing up several times, thinking I’d purge everything, I watched in disbelief as my vomit seemed to fly away in mid-air. I asked Doug and his mate to wrap me in a sheet, fearing I’d do something regrettable without realising it.

I was still living at home, and my parents could be strict, but somehow Doug convinced them that I was too unwell to travel from St Ives to Chatswood. And they believed him. I didn’t come home for two days; I was flying like a kite. I vowed to never touch drugs again.