The Ballroom

The Melbourne Punk and Post-Punk Scene

Dolores San Miguel

• Publisher: Melbourne Books
• Year: 2021
• Print ISBN: 9781877096419
• eBook ISBN: 9781925556681
• Topic: Social Sciences
• Subtopic: Social Science Biographies
• Index: Social Sciences

The Ballroom is a brutally frank memoir of what has become known as one of the most pivotal, fascinating and influential periods of Australian musical and cultural history. The story is illustrated with original flyers and candid photos, some never before seen or published.

SIXTEEN

Jekyll and Hyde, a broken heart and moving on

During my absence, La Femme hadn’t practised at all. Chane blamed the others for not phoning, yet he hadn’t bothered to contact them. I rang around and organised a band meeting. The main problem appeared to be lack of communication and follow-up, and both Jules and Dan had other musical commitments, which left little time for songwriting together. By the end of November they’d left the band, and the following month Joe, the drummer, quit. Chane’s reaction was anger and blame; everyone was at fault, bar him.

On Christmas Day 2007, Chane gave me a beautiful ring— something I’d yearned for over the years. It was a sixties 18-carat gold cocktail ring with a large smoky quartz stone. It was a symbol of our love and commitment, and I was thrilled to bits! Charlotte, Darve and a few others called in on Christmas night. I felt secure, content, and I was madly in love. My only sadness was that I rarely saw Hayley — since I’d reconnected with Chane, she kept her distance.

A close friend had recently gone through six months of interferon treatment for hepatitis C. We’d both known ‘Alex’ since The Ballroom days, and he was still a working musician. He wasn’t a heroin user, but had shot speed back then, catching the highly contagious disease. He recommended the treatment to Chane, explaining it was hard going yet worth it, to be cleared of the potentially fatal virus. Chane had been a regular patient at the Alfred Hospital’s hep C unit for many years; he knew of the program, but due to his depression they’d advised him against it at that time. Chane had stopped his antidepressants in late 2006 and was feeling clear-headed and happy, so he decided to make further enquiries about going on the treatment in the New Year.

Early in 2008, we met with Bill Walsh to discuss the prospect of running our Hush Hush events at Cherry Bar on a regular basis. The first was booked for Saturday 1 March with Fearless Vampire Killers, The Breaks, and a young Melbourne indie band, Tonight is Like Space Invaders (now Winter Street). It was an outstanding success and a full house; Walsh was impressed, so offered Hush Hush a permanent home!

The following weekend, Chane and I flew to Coolangatta; it was his stepfather’s eightieth birthday, and they paid for our flight. I’d met his parents two years before, when they were visiting his youngest sister and her husband. Eddie and Joan had retired north to the warmer weather many years before, and although Chane still bore grudges from the past our time with them was pleasant. All the family felt I’d contributed to Chane’s newfound happiness, and he heartily agreed.

We’d also found a guitarist and a bass player through MySpace, and for the last couple of months Chane had rehearsed with them, looking to restart La Femme. The main problem was finding a drummer. Chane was writing new songs and he was optimistic about the band’s future.

Chane’s hep C treatment would take a year, with a 40 to 50 percent chance of success, and he was due to start in June. In hindsight, we should have done more research on both the disease and the treatment; we were equally naïve. I became increasingly concerned when Alex said the interferon treatment had caused him to be cranky. I’d known him for thirty years and he was the most placid guy I knew, whereas Chane was a naturally aggressive person who could snap at any given moment. I shuddered to think what this drug might cause.

Our next Hush Hush at Cherry Bar was on Saturday 10 May, with three young bands and Jarvis headlining. It wasn’t as packed as the first gig, yet a success all the same. We’d booked our next one for Friday 27 June; Chane was due to start treatment on Friday 6 June. The night before, the Cherry Bar was gutted by fire.

The office above Cherry is owned by British celebrity chef Jamie Oliver, whose Melbourne restaurant, Fifteen, featured in a reality television series two years prior. It was here the fire started around 8.30pm. A 34-year-old former employer was later charged with arson. Most of the damage was water-related, and Bill felt they’d be up and running within a couple of weeks. Therefore, we delayed cancelling the next Hush Hush gig for the time being.

I accompanied Chane to an appointment at the Alfred, when the nurse went through all the rituals of his treatment. A stout Indian woman, she studied us both thoughtfully as she showed us out.

‘Try and stay positive. And remember to phone if you have any problems at all. Good luck.’

We walked along the corridors of the hospital in silence. I knew how nervous Chane was feeling. As for me, I had a very bad premonition regarding our future. I was shit-scared.

Each morning and evening Chane swallowed chemotherapy tablets, and once a week, every Friday, he had to inject the interferon into his stomach. The side effects began rapidly. At first he felt nauseous and very tired, and he had no taste or interest in food. Chills and flu-like symptoms were also side effects, plus his natural pheromones completely disappeared and his odour seemed metallic. Halfway through the second week, I witnessed the first ‘interferon rage’ episode.

Chane had been on edge, understandably so, given the extreme effects the medication was causing. Nothing I said or did helped. Suddenly, he exploded into a seething fury and berated me repeatedly. I was scared and upset, crying my eyes out as his ranting continued; he eventually left to spend some time at his own place. This would become a regular occurrence as the months passed.

Chane had moved into a brand-new council flat in late 2005, run by the same group who managed the boarding house. He secured a ground-floor unit when they first began building in Dorcas Street, South Melbourne, and he’d only stayed there a couple of times since the move, three years prior. After a couple of days, I rang and begged him to come home; we both shed tears on the phone and promised each other we’d work this out.

I was running the publicity for a variety of venues Darve was now booking. Most days I spent writing press releases and sending out promo material. I needed to be stress-free and clear-headed — I was anything but, and on top of this we’d had to cancel our Hush Hush night at Cherry Bar. Bill Walsh had rung to say the venue was still being repaired, and re-opening could be months away.

Chane’s reaction to his treatment was getting worse. He would lie in bed most days and then be up all night; our time together was full of anger, and it was wearing me out. We sought counselling for living with the treatment but the waiting list was months long. Chane had begun writing comments in a journal he’d been given by the hospital to record his treatment and feelings. Every entry contained a scathing remark about me, claiming I showed no sympathy and gave him no love or support. I was turning myself inside out to help him so this just added to my depression. After Chane had a particularly bad rage in response to a jumper I’d bought him, I took an offer to go to Hobart to spend a few days with Darve’s older sister, Meg, who suggested I come for a break. Charlotte was organised to stay and look after my dog and cats, except Chane ended up coming instead. He’d interrogated me about why I was leaving, making me feel guilty. Regardless, I allowed him back in.

Meg had recently moved into an apartment and needed some help with interiors, so I spent three lovely days decorating her lounge room and she asked me back to finish the job later in the year.

Chane’s rages continued over the weeks, and then in August we finally saw a psychologist at the Prahran Hepatitis C clinic. ‘Nola’ was a solid younger woman, with curly brown hair and a country girl’s complexion. I’d written an intense letter explaining everything that was going on with our relationship since the treatment. I also told her of my depression and feelings of helplessness in dealing with Chane. We both felt the session had been beneficial. Nola remained neutral, yet practical, so we booked an appointment for a fortnight away.

The following night we held our fifth Hush Hush at Revolver, a club in South Yarra. Darve also booked a night called Bootleg, so we combined the two gigs together; we didn’t know how long Cherry Bar would take to reopen and needed to keep the gig happening. The headline band was Young Lovers, supported by Red Ink, and although it was a success the night was anything but pleasant for me. Darve had suggested Chane take the night off, yet he insisted on coming and remained morose all evening. As the night wore on, a tight knot enveloped my stomach as I feared he may crack at any moment.

By Wednesday, he was gone again after another fight. It broke my heart every time; the side effects seemed to be getting worse. He coughed and retched, and by now suffered ...

Table of contents

• Cover Page
• Title Page
• Acknowledgments
• Foreword: The Crystal Ballroom
• Another Word: Recollections of Dolores
• One: In the beginning
• Two: Swingin’ London
• Three: Setting the scene: the punk explosion
• Four: Timing is everything: the birth of The Ballroom
• Five: The Exford Hotel and the 475 Club
• Six: Sam Sejavka and The Ears
• Seven: The Paradise Lounge/The Ballroom
• Eight: Calm before the storm
• Nine: The Mt Erica Hotel
• Ten: The Espy by the sea
• Eleven: The Wild, The Beautiful and The Damned
• Twelve: The end of an era
• Thirteen: As time goes by
• Fourteen: Will you still love me tomorrow?
• Fifteen: A funeral, a court case and the Bangkok Hilton
• Sixteen: Jekyll and Hyde, a broken heart and moving on
• Copyright
• Back Cover