‘My default position is melancholy; Alice’s isn’t’: You Am I’s frontman on love

Alice Topp, 39, a ballet dancer-turned-choreographer, met You Am I frontman Tim Rogers, 54, in 2010. After two failed attempts to make a relationship work, they’ve finally made a home for themselves among kangaroos in rural Victoria.

Tim Rogers and Alice Topp. “It’s letting go from the hurly-burly world of touring, addictions, afflictions and disorders,” says Rogers.Credit: Edwina Pickles

Alice: In 2008, a friend from the Australian Ballet, Juliet Burnett, invited me to Tim’s solo show in Melbourne. I’d never heard of him but thought he was charming and charismatic on stage; I bought a T-shirt and left. Two years later, Juliet took me to see him again in Sydney and, afterwards, introduced me, using just my first name. He shook my hand and said, “Alice Topp. Nice to meet you.” I asked how he knew my name and he said, “That’s for another time.”

The next time we saw a show, in 2011, Juliet invited him over to have a beer and he told me the rest of the story: about not being a good flyer and during a turbulent flight, he’d grabbed the in-flight magazine, which had an article in it on me. He thought if he focused on my face, everything would be fine. We all went back to a friend’s place and played records till 2am.

We had a handful of dates, but the timing was difficult – he was touring overseas, I was performing in Sydney – then he was in a relationship with someone else. In 2012, we got back together. I was disappointed when it didn’t work out, but hadn’t really expected it to go anywhere. Lifestyle-wise, we tour very differently: I’d be getting off-stage and icing my feet just as he was going on and having a few too many drinks. We didn’t fall out of love: we just couldn’t make it work.

‘Tim makes me laugh like no one else and I’ve always felt I can be my bogan self around him.’

Alice Topp

Then, in 2021, we reconnected. I’d just retired [from ballet] and found that palpable, magnetic energy between us hadn’t dissipated. Instinctively, I didn’t ever want to be separated again. We were splitting our time between [our homes in] Coburg and St Kilda, which confirmed that we could live together. We decided to move to regional Victoria, found the perfect place and moved in May 2022.

Tim makes me laugh like no one else and I’ve always felt I can be my bogan self around him. One of the things I adore about him is the way he connects with people by sharing his own vulnerabilities and wounds in his songs and that takes courage. Tim is so transparent about [mental health and addiction]. It’s incredibly hard to watch sometimes, knowing the challenges he faces. In an industry where there’s a lot of drinking and drugs, he has to confront his demons every day. He works so hard. With performers, there’s a feeling of “Don’t speak about anxiety, it’s contagious,” but being open about it invites others to do the same. I know what it is to have anxiety: I like to think we support each other, reading each other’s triggers and helping as best we can.

We’ve launched full head and heart into country life: it’s been the best decision we ever made. In the city, it’s easy to go out and still be in work mode. Now, on our nights off, we watch the kangaroos and the sunset and have a daggy dance while we’re cooking dinner. Tim is quite happy sitting in silence; I’m a talker, yet he’s the wordsmith. And a brilliant dancer. Not balletically – yet – but he’s a very good partner when I’m working out moves. He’s very patient. I love him immeasurably.

Topp says moving to the country was “the best decision we ever made”. Credit: Edwina Pickles

Tim: The first time I was introduced to Alice, I felt I’d met her because I’d stared at her face in a magazine at a time when I’d white-knuckle and white-spirit my way through flights. There was an article on the Australian Ballet and an interview with her. The flight was very turbulent and I kept returning to the photo. A friend brought her to another show months later and my opening line was, “You’re from the in-flight magazine.” We had a conversation and there was something about her, a trust. At a party after a show many months later, we got dancing. I think we kissed.

In 2012, I was doing a show in Sydney [where the Australian Ballet was touring] and we made contact a little clandestinely. I was living a little ingloriously at the time. My daughter [Ruby, to ex-wife Rocio Garcia Rodriguez] had just moved with her mum to New York and I’d brushed it away thinking, “If it’s OK for Ruby, that’s the main thing,” but I was still dealing immaturely with a lot of things. The first time we spent a night together, I woke up and made coffee but decided on a beer and cigarette instead.

‘What has surprised me is seeing how good we both are at just sitting outside and noticing the trees have grown.’

Tim Rogers

Meeting up again [in 2021] was really on a whim, but after a long time of not being romantic together and wanting to be, a strong feeling of care, attraction and excitement remained. Moving in together, that was definitely not whim-ful. It’s been an education for me, and not just in kindness; when someone of such grace can puncture through and tell you you need to sort things out, it’s quite something.

What we’ve created where we live is something that’s absolutely ours; it’s letting go from the hurly-burly world of touring, addictions, afflictions and disorders. In my autumnal years there’s still temptation … and I’ve said to Alice, “I’m 54. This is how I’ve lived my life and it’s going to continue.” Then I’ll listen to her and look into her face and see what we’ve created and think, “I’ll give it two hours.” And I’ll go into my studio and read a book or work on a song and try not to go to the pub. Then I’ll come back and talk to her.

My nickname for Alice is “the Hummingbird”, because she flits around at a pace I can’t keep up with, but what has surprised me is seeing how good we both are at just sitting outside and noticing the trees have grown a couple of inches or the kangaroos have migrated.

My default position is melancholy and 93 per cent of the time Alice’s isn’t, and that grates, but I know that grating is just reminding me I’m being a grump. Living together, though, I can see her positivity isn’t relentless – it has a price – and being there for her when it’s not, I feel useful and not just like her leathery old handbag. This is it. I’m done, and in the doneness of it, it’s not lying down and giving up: we want this to keep going like it’s going. I’ll always love Alice. It’s whether she can exist with such a lugubrious sack of potatoes, really.

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