http://entertainment.news.com.au/story/0,1...32-7484,00.htmlWorking class manBy Tiffany Baker
May 03, 2006
HE'S sold more than 500,000 records since appearing on reality TV in 2003. But while his fans are among the most passionate, the music industry is having a hard time accepting him. What is it about Shannon Noll that divides us?
To understand just what it is that so connects one-time Australian Idol finalist Shannon Noll to his audience, you'd probably have to go back to the early 1980s, to an oval in Dubbo.
That day, Noll was driven by his parents - along with his equally sports-mad brothers Adam and Damian - from their home in country New South Wales to town for a cricket match.
But it was no ordinary country cricket game. That day, the likes of Dennis Lillee, Greg Chappell and Kim Hughes were all due to pad up, and eight-year-old Noll was beside himself at seeing his green-and-gold heroes in the flesh.
His favourite player - who shall remain nameless - was manning the boundary line and, despite all attempts by the Noll boys to get his attention, the player ignored them.
At the end of the game, the cricketer still refused to acknowledge the boys or the crowd and walked straight off into the dressing room.
"Shannon was really, really, upset," remembers Noll's mother, Sharyn. "He said, '[He] didn't even stop. We just wanted him to say hello.' And his dad said to him, 'Son, that's a good lesson, he's got too big for his boots, and he's forgotten how important his fans really are.'"
These days, it's Shannon Noll who is constantly besieged by autograph hunters and, by all accounts, he's happy to sign every one of them and have a chat with whoever crosses his path.
"To have that ability to make a memory for someone is a beautiful thing," says the singer on the day we meet up in his adopted hometown of Sydney. "If that means signing something or saying g'day to someone - I don't think it's too much to ask. It's a gift to be able to affect someone's life."
Few within the Noll family could have foreseen the effect that the boy from Condobolin [pop. 3500] would later have on the record-buying public of Australia. Who knew, as he sauntered - somewhat self-consciously - into the auditions of Australian Idol back in 2003 (where he ultimately came runner-up to Guy Sebastian), that he'd become one of the most popular singers in the country?
His two albums to date - 2004's That's What I'm Talking About and the most recent, Lift (both of which reached number one on the ARIA charts) - have sold more than 500,000 copies combined, he's toured consistently around the country and, so far, managed to prove wrong the many who thought he would quickly be relegated to doing the rounds of suburban nightclubs.
Today, Noll is dressed like most 20- and 30-something men making their way through any Australian city: T-shirt, jeans, cap and perhaps the only outwardly obvious sign of his farming heritage - some serious cowboy boots.
(Shopping, the 30-year-old will later tell me, is not one of his fortes; he prefers to leave that to his wife of just over 18 months - and partner of almost 10 years - Rochelle. In fact, he says, since this "fame thing" has happened, he's only acquired two significant purchases - a house just south of Sydney and a black ute.)
In person, he resembles your brother or your next door neighbour - he's friendly, but a little embarrassed by the whole interview process. He thinks fame is bizarre. But it's that "everyman" persona that has so endeared him to the masses.
"Shannon resonates with middle Australia because he's one of them and unashamedly so," says former Idol judge Ian "Dicko" Dickson, who has long been one of Noll's most vocal supporters.
"I think the general public haven't seen me change as a person, it's not like they've watched me go from one of them into somebody else," says Noll. "They still class me as theirs, which I'm stoked about. They look at me as one of them who's made it, and it gives them a feeling like they can make it, too."
Dickson says he first noticed Noll at the show's Melbourne auditions, and remembers being instantly struck by the affable bloke from Condo. "Shannon was one of the few Aussie male rock voices who had shown up," he recalls, "which, after 500 Usher wannabes, was a massive relief.
"He had recently lost his dad and everything in his life seemed to be turning to shit. But he had a real dignity about him, which shone through week after week as he progressed in the competition."
Of course, history shows that Sebastian took out the crown, but it is Noll who has surpassed his fellow finalist's popularity, as well as that of subsequent Idol alumni, Casey Donovan, Anthony Callea and Kate DeAraugo.
Still, critical acclaim eludes him. There have been no ARIA Awards, despite the fact that he has sold more albums than Ben Lee, who has a couple to his name. And let's face it: Shannon Noll is an easy target. Other musicians simply don't regard Australian Idol success as a precursor to a long-term musical career. (Powderfinger's Bernard Fanning made a crack about "Nollsy" taking out the Best Male Artist Award at the recent MTV Awards over him.) It seems that every-bloke ordinariness that makes him so popular with the public is the very thing that grates on his peers.
There have been various other instances of negativity from other bands and their fans, alike. Noll recalls one festival in Darwin where he shared the bill with more alternative acts such as Frenzal Rhomb (who have been known to sport an "Australian Idiot" banner at their shows), Grinspoon and The Dissociatives. He copped a barrage from the fans and a fair bit of attitude from the bands themselves.
Still, when I ask Noll if it bothers him, he just shrugs his shoulders, (even though he admits he was ready for a fight that day had anyone actually said anything to his face).
"Look, I just go up to those blokes and shake their hand, and say, 'Hi, I'm Shannon,' and they usually back down straightaway ...
"[People] lose sight of what's important. They forget what it's about. It's all well and good to be an artist and be creative - because it's great to create an emotion - but the people have to be out there to feel that emotion," he says.
Noll's older brother, Adam, who plays guitar in his band (his other brother, Damian, plays drums), is less forgiving. "I get annoyed. There's a stigma that people have [that Shannon came out of Australian Idol], but if they'd worked half as hard, they might have something [to say]. Frankly, they've all got their heads up their arses. They want to get in a car and drive to Mudgee and Berowra and Wellington and play to 40 people and not make one cent out of it and be away from your family for [weeks]? Do not tell me that he hasn't cut the mustard, mate."
Ian Dickson agrees: "Idol contestants tend to get teased in the playground, but notching up a second number-one album went a long way to getting that monkey off his back."
And Dickson argues that Noll, unlike many of his peers, isn't afraid of doing the hard touring yards. "Most local artists tend to not venture too far from the metropolitan centres," he tells me. "While Shannon spends weeks on end touring rural Australia - where you wouldn't normally find a multi-platinum artist touring."
Noll is under no illusion that a fair chunk of his popularity is down to the fact that he will go to regional centres, or anywhere, basically, where someone wants him to pull up a stool and sing. His most recent Australian tour comprised 40 shows in 47 days (something he says he'll "never do again"). And he does admit that on that tour, selling tickets in the metro centres proved much more difficult.
There have been a few public mishaps along the way. There was the motorbike accident when Noll propelled himself into a fence that all but wrecked his knee (he lifts the leg of his jeans to reveal a large, nasty-looking scar).
Then there was the drink-driving incident, back in late 2004 when, on a visit home to Condobolin, he was pulled over, breathalysed and found to be twice the legal limit. He was fined and lost his licence for nine months.
For one who so relies on public support, the fall-out could have been immense. He doesn't have the "cool" factor of someone like Craig Nicholls of The Vines, who had a very public meltdown, kicked a photographer and yelled abuse at his audience. Indeed, he was almost celebrated for it, as if that's the way "true" rock stars are meant to act. You get the feeling Noll wouldn't be afforded such leeway.
"It could have been hugely detrimental," concedes Noll. "But I didn't carry on about it. I said, 'I've had a shocker, I shouldn't have done it and I won't do it again.' I don't condone it, and I think everyone knew I'd taken my medicine."
Harder still for Noll has been combining a marriage and his role as father to two young boys (four-and-a-half-year-old Cody and three-year-old Blake; a third Noll baby is due later this year), while managing an increasingly demanding career that pulls him in all directions.
"Rochelle's proud as punch," smiles Noll, warmly. "It's hard for her, being away from me, if I'm on tour. We did it really tough there for a while, but she's stuck with me through all the years both emotionally and financially. We never picked this would happen - so that's gratifying for her."
As for the ubiquitous female fans, Noll is nonplussed. Despite the inevitable rumours, there've been no confirmed kiss-and-tell reports of Shannon behaving badly.
"I was [living in Sydney] and playing footy when I was younger and I had two dates in nine months, and one of them was Rochelle, so when I go out now, if I see people looking at me, I'm like, 'Where were you when I was 21?'"
It's immediately obvious that family is the most important thing in his life. He is extremely close to his brothers and to his mum and, although he admits that the Noll boys have had their fair share of scraps, should anyone outside the family have a crack at the Nolls, then it's game on.
"If anyone raised a hand to my family or to my dog, it's a place I wouldn't like to go mentally," he says, quietly. "I get as angry as the next bloke and I've had my fair share of stoushes in pubs and on football fields growing up - just for standing up for what I believe in. But that's a place I wouldn't like to take my mind these days for fear I'd lose time and lose something else along the way."
Noll says a lot of the protective instincts he feels toward his loved ones have grown substantially stronger since the unexpected death of his father, Neil, in 2001. (Noll shows me a tattoo he has on his back dedicated to his dad, and says even now he can't remember the date of his father's death; he believes he's blocked it from his mind.)
"My dad's death has buggered us all in many ways," he says. "I think we're just getting out of the woods with it now."
Neil Noll died after a fuel tank on the family farm toppled over and struck him on the head. At the time, Noll was driving through the gate with a mate when he saw his brother Damian attempting to resuscitate his father. Initially, he thought they were clowning around.
"There was a frantic rush to get him to hospital, but I don't think it would've mattered if they'd got him there or not. It was all just horrendous," he says. Now, Noll has written a song - Now I Run - as a tribute to his dad.
"The boys adored their father," Sharyn tells me. "Shannon and Damian were with him when his life was ebbing away. They were right there on the spot and they couldn't do a thing to save him. I think writing Now I Run gave him the opportunity to write how he feels about it."
Noll says his family remains hugely affected by the loss - and angry. (After Neil's death, the Nolls lost the farm that had been in the family for generations.) And, by all accounts, it was Neil who encouraged the boys in sport and in music. In fact, Noll Sr occasionally played drums and sang in the family band in his younger days.
"Some reporters came out to my grandfather's place," remembers Noll, "and they said to him, 'Did it surprise you, the music thing?', and he was like, 'Oh, he can't sing half as good as his father.'"
After spending some time with him, one gets the feeling that Shannon Noll is just stoked to be given the opportunity to get his music out to the people - and that the people are paying their hard-earned wages to come and hear him perform.
"I'm just doing the best I can do, and I hope that people like it. But without the belief of the people, I haven't got anything. I'm back to shearing."
