Billy Joel at Koala Park

BY ALEX MITCHELL

Singer Billy Joel is sadly forgotten by elements within New York’s entertainment industry, but around the world his songs are played by avid fans.

What makes him a hero around the world but a commie Jew-boy to the American establishment?

William Martin Joel was born on May 9, 1949. On his mother’s insistence, he began taking piano lessons, and then dropped out of high school to pursue his musical career. His band began to dominate the charts with hits like Uptown Girl and Only the Good Die Young.

In 1987 he organised the first tour of Moscow by an American rock and roller. It was wildly popular although it resulted in him being called a commie bastard back home. The same New Yorkers cheered when Paul McCartney sang Hey Jude to a crowd of over one million in Moscow’s Red Square right in front of the Kremlin. And yes, Vladimir Putin, now President, was in the audience. A few years later Roy Orbison, The Eagles and Mick Jagger made similar tours although tickets and memorabilia went on sale at exorbitant prices.

Billy Joel did not need entrepreneurs and other flunkeys to make his USSR tour successful. The official figures spoke for themselves.

They were most impressive. Billy Joel had sold 160 million records worldwide.

To change the pace, we will now travel to the other side of the world to Koala Park. It no longer exists. It was a street away from Tallebudgera Creek. Koala Park was where my parents, Jim Mitchell and Lucy Mitchell, née Wilesmith, lived after seeking refuge from Townsville (very hot) and Southport (very crowded).

I was lying on the carpet in the living room and my Dad was in his armchair watching cricket. Play stopped because of some reason or other. In London, where I was then working for The Workers Press, soon to became Britain’s first colour daily News Line. I belonged to the Central and Political with a mission to overthrow capitalism through revolutionary socialism. Family and friends had given me some wonderful recent photos of my Mum, but none of Dad. Why not? 

My mother had greeted me at the door when I arrived, but there was no sign of Dad. She said he was taking a nap but I didn’t believe her. Dad came into the living room and I saw that he had lost half his weight. While he ran a comb through his hair I noted that his Scottish burr had returned. “I’ve got Motor Neurone Disease,” he said truculently, “but I’m going to beat it.”

Dad was curled in his armchair as my tape of Billy Joel was paused while a Steinway piano replaced the studio piano where he rehearsed in London.

With everything in place, the Piano Man, which was Mr Joel’s nickname, began singing We Didn’t Start the Fire. The house fell eerily quiet as if we had been transported to a cathedral:

We didn’t start the fire
It was always burning, since the world’s been turning
We didn’t start the fire
No, we didn’t light it, but we tried to fight it

Joseph Stalin, Malenkov, Nasser and Prokofiev
Rockefeller, Campanella, Communist Bloc
Roy Cohn, Juan Peron, Toscanini, Dacron
Dien Bien Phu falls, Rock Around the Clock

Einstein, James Dean, Brooklyn’s got a winning team
Davy Crockett, Peter Pan, Elvis Presley, Disneyland

Bardot, Budapest, Alabama, Krushchev
Princess Grace, Peyton Place, Trouble in the Suez

We didn’t start the fire
It was always burning, since the world’s been turning
We didn’t start the fire

No, we didn’t light it, but we tried to fight it

Little Rock, Pasternak, Mickey Mantle, Kerouac
Sputnik, Chou En-Lai, Bridge on the River Kwai
Lebanon, Charles de Gaulle, California baseball
Starkweather homicide, children of thalidomide

Buddy Holly, Ben Hur, space monkey, mafia
Hula hoops, Castro, Edsel is a no-go
U2, Syngman Rhee, Payola and Kennedy
Chubby Checker, Psycho, Belgians in the Congo

We didn’t start the fire
It was always burning, since the world’s been turning
We didn’t start the fire
No, we didn’t light it, but we tried to fight it

Hemingway, Eichmann, Stranger in a Strange Land
Dylan, Berlin, Bay of Pigs invasion
Lawrence of Arabia, British Beatlemania
Ole Miss, John Glenn, Liston beats Patterson
Pope Paul, Malcolm X, British politician sex
JFK – blown away, what else do I have to say?

We didn’t start the fire
It was always burning, since the world’s been turning
We didn’t start the fire
No, we didn’t light it, but we tried to fight it

Birth control, Ho Chi Minh, Richard Nixon back again
Moonshot, Woodstock, Watergate, punk rock
Begin, Reagan, Palestine, terror on the airline
Ayatollahs in Iran, Russians in Afghanistan

Wheel of Fortune, Sally Ride, heavy metal suicide
Foreign debts, homeless vets, AIDS, crack, Bernie Goetz
Hypodermics on the shore, China’s under martial law
Rock and roller, cola wars, I can’t take it anymore

We didn’t start the fire

It was always burning, since the world’s been turning
We didn’t start the fire
But when we are gone
It will still burn on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on

We didn’t start the fire
It was always burning, since the world’s been turning
We didn’t start the fire
No, we didn’t light it, but we tried to fight it

We didn’t start the fire
It was always burning, since the world’s been turning
We didn’t start the fire

No, we didn’t light it, but we tried to fight it

We didn’t start the fire
It was always burning, since the world’s been turning
We didn’t start the fire
No, we didn’t light it, but we tried to fight it

When Billy Joel had finished his anthem against American complacency, my Dad offered no comment. “I’ll turn on the cricket and you can listen to your tape.”

We made a rather amazing tableau. My Dad, born in Glasgow, watching cricket, and me, a revolutionary Marxist in London working to overthrow capitalism in the world’s oldest industrial centre.

Paying another visit to my Mum and Dad a few years later, I found Dad wretchedly unhealthy. He had lost more weight and he found it difficult to speak or write. Mum was on a large sofa with him.

“This is your father’s letter to you.” It was short and sweet but I could feel the burr.

“Dear Alex,

Following our last meeting a few years ago, you may have thought that I didn’t like Mr Billy Joel’s song. I did, so I ordered his tape and play it all the time. To celebrate your visit, I’d like to play it for you. While you’re listening to Mr Joel, I’ll wait for the covers to come off at the Gabba.”

Lying on the carpet in front of Mum and Dad’s sofa, I shed some tears. “I can listen to Billy Joel any time – let’s watch the cricket.”