Aug 1
Our Aussie Heroes
icon4 Aug 1st, 2008 | icon2 Music |

I was browsing the web recently when I came upon a most disturbing video clip, one that made me recoil in horror. It was the Australian swimming team performing their new song “Live It, Dream It”. I barely made it to the toilet bowl in time.

Why must the Australian people be subjected to this form of musical abuse? Apparently this song is supposed to be inspirational. The only thing this musical crime against humanity inspired me to do was chew my own ears off.

It hardly needs stating, but Leisel Jones is not the world’s greatest singer. I would swim 100 metres breaststroke over broken syringes rather than listen to her warble another note. Of course all the voices are drenched in digital effects, but no amount of supercomputer power could correct the Aussie swimmers’ off-key caterwauling.

And all those healthy people in a recording studio doesn’t sit right. Where are the half-empty bottles of Jack Daniels, the lines of coke, the groupies, the drugged-out hangers-on? I only hope they gave the room a good airing after the previous band departed. Imagine the headlines when the entire Aussie swimming team fails a test for cannabis.

I also take offence to the song’s lyrics, particularly the line “We have no fear”. Fear of what, exactly? That someone might’ve done a wee in the shallow end? You’re swimming up and down a pool, what is there to be afraid of?!

I’ve just spent three weeks watching wide-eyed as cyclists fly down mountainsides at 100 km/h with nothing to protect them from an airy death but an inch of rubber and carbon-fibre nerves. These are the guys who truly have no fear.

This country has a long, sad tradition of sporting types being allowed into the recording studio. Back in 1972 the Australian cricket team released a single “We Are the Aussies”. Do you remember it? Of course not, because it was about as successful as Dennis Lillee’s aluminium bat. And don’t even get me started on Warwick Capper and Mark “Jacko” Jackson.

I can’t recall one singer who has attempted the crossover to professional sport. You don’t see Barnsey standing up there on the blocks in his budgie-smugglers (thank God). The only “individual medley” John Farnham is concerned with is his seven minute montage of hits from his LRB days.

So let’s make a deal. Entertainers, you stick to the recording studio and swimmers, you stick to the pool. Let’s leave the singing of inspirational power ballads to the experts. We already have one Vanessa Amorosi, and I suspect that one is enough.

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