Together Alone: The Story of the Finn Brothers

My latest book, Together Alone: The Story of the Finn Brothers, was released 1 June 2010 through Random House in Australia and New Zealand and 1 September 2010 through Omnibus Press in the UK. It's a story that, in its own odd way, has been 30 years in the telling. What follows is an abridged version of Together Alone's opening.

Further info can be found at www.randomhouse.com.au  There's a forum talking about the book at the Finns' website. You can hear a podcast of my talk with Kim Hill from Radio NZ National. The book featured on Border's Top 5 Biography list and made the Top 10 Biography bestseller's lists in Australia and New Zealand.

I recently spoke about the book on TV NZ. I also spoke with Louise Poole from Mix 104.9 in the Top End. Click here to read an interview about the book, with William Verity of the Illawarra Mercury.The Otago Daily Times review can be read here.

The Waikato Times said this about Together Alone: “Apter’s fast-moving writing style makes for a detailed yet easy to read analysis of the triumphs and despairs the Finn family experienced on the way to the top of their game.” You can read the full review here. Writing in the Sydney Morning Herald, Bruce Elder said this: 'Apter has become Australia's most prolific musical biographer. With this biography of the Finn brothers, he attempts a task of subtlety and complexity. How does anyone tell the story of two brothers and sensitively explore all the potent jealousies and antagonisms that have characterised their deep sibling rivalry?' 'There could be no better biographer for the story of the Brothers Finn,' noted the Courier-Mail. 'In fact, it’s Apter’s encyclopedic knowledge of rock and roll history combined with his punchy prose that makes Together Alone such compelling reading.' Dan Lander of Rolling Stone wrote: 'Apter desn't hesitate to point out the flaws and failures of both men, but he does it in a way that endears them further to us. He also makes it clear that for all the rivalry, neither brother would be what he is without the other.'

Pitt Street Gardens Sydney
July 1979
Sydney's Pitt Street Gardens is not your typical rock-and-roll venue. The decor puts a whole new spin on the term lurid: a cheesy mirrorball hovers above the dance floor, and there's a sea of dark carpet to hide the stains of spilled drinks and worse, while its location – smack dab in the centre of Sydney's retail strip – made most serious music fans wary of the place. By its very nature, and location, this was a meat market, where over-dressed suburban Kevins and Sharlenes came together and commingled on the dance floor, ideally to the soundtrack of the Village People. It was not the kind of joint where you'd expect to catch a greasepaint-splattered, be-suited group of expat Kiwis.

Yet there were enough 'real' music lovers assembled on this weeknight, me included, to check out the band that would soon become the hottest act either side of the Tasman. I was still a few months shy of legal drinking age, but when a buddy suggested, strongly, that we check out this 'weird' band that the cool crowd was raving about, I knew it was my duty to catch the next city-bound train. That was more than enough to entice me, a restless teenager living in humdrum suburbia, to scratch together the cover charge and, hopefully, talk my way past the security guy on the door. I was mad keen to check out the freak show.

Split Enz weren't totally new to me. I had heard some of their recent offerings on Sydney's left-of-the-dial radio station 2JJ, such as the tearaway rant 'I See Red' and the heady, giddy 'Give it a Whirl', among others, to know them well enough. But up until now I hadn't had the chance to see them in the flesh – not many rock shows of their theatrical bent included my neighbourhood in their tour schedule. Mine was more a 'beer and Chisel' kind of town, where the louder the band played, the better the response. I knew that the Enz weren't one of those bands, even if I wasn't completely sure what to expect.

Tim Finn once wrote a song called 'Hard Act to Follow' and, though legend suggests it's a nod to Midnight Oil, he may well have been talking about Jimmy and the Boys, their wild opening act for the night. But once the Enz began to play it became apparent they were almost as visual a band as their opening act, and not just because of their garish bespoke suits and eye-popping light show. It was as if each member of the band had rubbed up against a live electrical wire: they crashed into one another while hurling themselves around the stage, their manic stares set just above the crowd's head, their wild hair and pancake make-up greasy and running within minutes. It was impossible to tell if they were laughing, crying or sneering. To me, the impact was as much physical as it was musical – and I had no doubt this band could play – as they caromed off each other like human pinballs. And out front stood Tim Finn, whose dark, towering quiff gave him an extra few inches over the rest of the band, and whose intense stare, ghost-white face dripping sweat, suggested a man who meant business. more...