Vancouver. 1985. 2000. 2015.

My relationship with Tina Turner was complicated. No. Multilayered is more accurate. While I loved the woman, the music, I’d grown tired of hearing it play in our home as a teen. Reason being I could never hear just Tina sing. Her vocals invariably overdubbed by my mom, accompanying Tina with gusto, mom singing in an assortment of keys, none of which meshed with Tina. I suspect mom felt Tina was off. I can assure you she wasn’t.

So I saved up some money and bought two tickets for the Private Dancer tour, to the show in Vancouver. And took mom. Part of me wanting mom to hear the music played live. Maybe hear for herself that Tina hit every note flawlessly. My motivation not entirely generous, indeed somewhat self-serving. Bordering on spiteful.

Yet in spite all of this, we had a good time. One of mom’s attributes being the ability to selectively see many things through heavy rose-tinting. This being one of those things. Her son seemingly treating her well. The concert, superb. “And wouldn’t you know it,” she said afterward. “Stadium sound is much more in-tune than our stereo system at home.”

To recap, I got points for taking mom to a show. Our stereo system at home was updated. And mom and I got matching black tee-shirts with strutting, spiky-haired Tina embossed on the front. Very much a win-win. Or win-win-win I suppose.

Fifteen years later and I’m back at that acoustically true arena, this time with my spouse, to see Tina’s retirement tour. A brilliant stage presentation: lights, dancers, swinging cranes, with costume changes Cher would envy. A truly spectacular show. Each note still flawless. And yet, what I felt that night, and still feel now, was that Joe Cocker may have stolen the show, as he was the opening act. Joe Cocker, ripping out ten megahits. To start the night! Nothing could top it. Make no mistake, Tina’s show was outstanding. As good as a concert can be. But nothing could upstage old Joe that evening. I left the show still loving Tina. And loving Joe a little bit more.

Another fifteen years elapse and I’m watching an AC/DC retrospective, in fact a Brian Johnson biography. And Brian’s recounting his first jam with the band after Bon Scott had passed. In actuality, it was an audition, although no one was using those words. Brian laughs as he shares the story. The four bandmates are there, gear set up. Brian’s given a mic and asked what he’d like to sing. “Hm.” He thinks about it. “You know Nutbush City Limits?” And with that, the reinvigorated, Back in Black AC/DC began. Brian at the mic, singing Tina Turner.

A true story, I believe. And see no reason to doubt, or question it either. I like the shared credit. Collaboration and “hats-off” all around. Bringing it back to Tina. And my convoluted, unending relationship with this powerhouse, icon, and legend. Her influence remains exclusively positive, a vital and pivotal role in more defining musical moments than I could possibly thank her for. Still, I hope that these stories, these places, these times, resonate. A eulogy in its way. A love story too. Tales of making a difference, and the good that one person can do.

 

Stereo Story #716

Bill Arnott is a songwriter, poet, and bestselling author of the Gone Viking travelogues. His column Bill Arnott’s Beat runs in several magazines, and for his travels he’s received a Fellowship at London’s Royal Geographical Society. When not trekking with a small pack and journal, Bill can be found on Canada’s west coast, making music and friends.