Bill Arnott’s Beat: A Stereo Stories Feature

Welcome back to Bill Arnott’s Beat. Unless this is your first visit, in which case, welcome! This column represents my sharing, through the lens of The Miramichi Reader, a bit more within our literary realm. And I’m delighted to feature select vignettes from Stereo Stories, a mixed-media journal and live concert series from Australia. Their tagline, A Song. A Place. A Time. Stereo Stories’ hub is Williamstown, Melbourne’s first port settlement, a historical maritime centre in the country’s southeast, where author and editor Vin Maskell runs the publication.

My first share with you is a story about Tina Turner. A personal story, but one in which Tina is very much the gold thread binding the storyline’s fabric. One of the pleasures of enjoying a Stereo Story is to fully embrace the mixed-media genre by letting the song play as you read the story’s words. Stories include a link to the song via YouTube. All that’s required is to find a comfortable volume, hit play, and enjoy reading the written story. When the Stereo Stories performers and band play live, it’s all being shared from a stage. But to savour this here we’ll rely on a song’s recording and leave the story reading to each of us. The result, I feel, is still richly engaging and intimate, interestingly enough, through a venue of sharing.

With that, I give you my chronicle, republished with permission from Stereo Stories. This link will take you to the original publication, including the music. For the repurposed story shared here, read on. And I encourage you to visit the wellspring of music and literary talent that is Stereo Stories online, to enjoy this story in its full, sensory embrace…

My relationship with Tina Turner was complicated. No. Multilayered is more accurate. While I loved the woman, and 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 of 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.

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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.



Bill Arnott is the bestselling author of A Season on Vancouver Island, theGone Viking travelogues, andA Perfect Day for a Walk: The History, Cultures, and Communities of Vancouver, on Foot(Arsenal Pulp Press, Fall 2024). Recipient of a Fellowship at London’s Royal Geographical Society for his expeditions, Bill’s a frequent presenter and contributor to magazines, universities, podcasts, TV and radio. When not trekking with a small pack and journal, Bill can be found on Canada’s west coast, where he lives near the sea on Musqueam, Squamish, and Tsleil-Waututh land.