IT’S a wintry December day in Lagrange, Kentucky, about 30 kilometres east of Louisville and Kenny Rogers is on the phone line.
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He’s in the middle of his 33rd annual Christmas tour. It began in Niagara Falls, on the Canadian side, pushing into New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, Michigan and Indiana, West Virginia, Ohio and eventually finishing in Westbury, New York. Eight feet of snow chased his tour bus out of Niagara Falls.
Australia in January is looking pretty good.
‘‘The last time I went there [in 2012] I went bungy-jumping and sky diving. This time I’m going scuba diving.’’
At 76, he must be ageing gracefully.
‘‘No, I’m not,’’ he says. ‘‘I’m just pushing my luck.’’
The tour opens on January 23 at The Star casino in Sydney, followed by Tamworth on January 25 and the Newcastle Entertainment Centre on January 28 then Melbourne on January 30.
Of course, he’s got his eye on attending the Australian Open tennis tournament, too, hopefully meeting up with good friend Evonne Goolagong Cawley and her husband Roger.
‘‘If nothing else, our promoter has a box,’’ Rogers says. ‘‘Who wouldn’t choose to do that.’’
This journey has been labelled the Farewell Down Under Tour, with Rogers pronouncing they will be his final concerts in this part of the world. He’s toured Australia seven times, beginning in 1973 when he was with The First Edition, then with Dolly Parton in 1984 and 1987, with Reba McEntire in 1998 and three times since then.
‘‘I love the people,’’ he says. ‘‘Their sense of humour is similar to mine. It’s warped, and we both know it.
‘‘I love the people,’’ he says. ‘‘Their sense of humour is similar to mine. It’s warped, and we both know it. My goal is not for them to leave the show and say he was the best, but to say ‘I had a really good time’’’.
While his voice may not be what it was at his peak – he’s been performing since 1956 – it is not the reason he’s calling it quits on performing in Australia and New Zealand.
Rather, it’s about family. ‘‘I have identical twins age 10 [Jordan and Justin]. To come [to Australia] I have to invest five or six weeks and I just want to stay close to them.’’
Rogers has continued to do about 100 shows a year, but you have to think it’s about passion not money. Music fans always kick the question around about the legends – Dylan still tours, Jagger tours.
His advice to newcomers in the industry: ‘‘If you’re in it for the money, don’t get in it. You won’t last. If you are in it because you’re called to it, well, success is easier if you are committed to it.’’
Rogers has sold more than 120million albums and had 24 No.1 songs. The trail of a success tells quite a story in itself, forming his first band, a rockabilly outfit called The Scholars, in 1956 in his hometown of Houston, Texas.
He had a song on the charts in the 1950s, That Crazy Feeling.
In the 1960s he popped up playing stand-up bass in a jazz group, the Bobby Doyle Three, before joining The New Christy Minstrels, a hugely successful folk group that was part of the bridge from old folk into country rock. (He joined at the same time as Kim Carnes and Karen Black.)
But soon Rogers and a couple of others from the Minstrels formed their own band, The First Edition, and their sound was rock’n’roll. The birth of a new band was also the beginning of Rogers’ beard.
‘‘I didn’t have it when I joined The First Edition. They thought I was too old. I grew the beard, put in an earring, put on sunglasses – I was a happening dude. I looked younger than him.’’
The First Edition struck gold with a psychedelic pop hit, Just Dropped In (To See What Condition My Condition Was In). The song reached No.5 on the US charts. While Rogers has long since moved into country and adult contemporary, he hasn’t forgotten it. ‘‘That song was immortalised in The Big Lebowski. It was the first time a song has even been played from start to finish without cutting it,’’ he says.
A year later the band had a hit with the controversial song, Ruby Don’t Take Your Love To Town, painting a picture of a disabled war veteran pleading with his wife not to abandon him (‘‘don’t take your love to town’’).
The song had been a country hit, but The First Edition brought it to a new audience, even though it signalled their move towards country music.
‘‘I took it to our producer,’’ Rogers says. ‘‘He said ‘you’ll never get it played on radio.’ I said, ‘if I do it’ll be huge.’’’
It was Lucille in 1977 that made Rogers a country music star.
Then came The Gambler, which propelled him to superstardom. It parlayed into a TV movie, then a five-part mini-series seen by 100million viewers. And Rogers acted in it.
The song still resonates today, certainly in Australia where it’s heard not only on the radio but frequently at wedding receptions and parties.
Rogers was inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame in 2013, and cut a new album, You Can’t Make Old Friends, the same year.
Rogers is old-school. He’s not out of the Nashville music factory, even if he is party to it. He precedes it, and that counts for something.
Not that he would like to be starting out now, in the age of iTunes and Youtube. He pulls out a line he’s been known to quote: ‘‘Somebody asked if I got tired of playing my hits. I would hate to be the guy to go out on the stage without them.’’
Rogers is known for using songs from different songwriters throughout his career. He still operates the same way today. And he puts a lot of trust in his record company and manager to know what will work.
In response to the question, ‘‘do you look at a lot of songs?’’, Rogers responds: ‘‘not until I start recording. I don’t save music.
‘‘It’s not fair to songwriters. I love good songs, usually a story song with social significance, or a love song that says what every man would like to say and every woman would like to hear.’’
The fans keep coming.
As an adult contemporary artist, his Billboard record of hits rates only behind Elton John, Neil Diamond and Elvis Presley among male artists.
His biggest fans are two ladies who have been to more than 1300 of his shows.
When the Country Music Hall of Fame started looking for souvenirs of his career, they had a pretty good supply.
‘‘Once you pass that thousand mark, you become a stalker, not a fan,’’ he jokes.
‘‘They are so sweet.’’