NZ singer-songwriter Tim Finn on cigarettes, booze, Buddhism and rugby union
The New Zealand singer-songwriter and Split Enz co-founder on life without alcohol, why he swims, Buddhism and rugby union.
New Zealand singer-songwriter and Split Enz co-founder Tim Finn opens up to Andrew McMillen about cigarettes, booze, seaweed, Buddhism and rugby union.
The first money I ever made was … stacking beer crates out the back of a local bottle shop for a bit of pocket money. I was drawn into the liquor industry at a very young age. (Laughs) In those days, of course, just about everybody drove around half-drunk, no seatbelts, and all the rest of it. They were pretty Wild West kind of days.
Here’s my best advice if you ever find yourself sad: Swim laps every day. I’m pretty fit and quite disciplined about it. That takes care of any minor blues or temporary melancholic states that might come along; it just clears my head, and I’m good to go.
The dirty little secret of songwriting is … that it’s a sublime activity without any dirt attached. (Laughs) It’s one of the few dirt-free things in this messed-up world.
The weirdest thing in my shopping trolley is ... seaweed, but everybody eats seaweed now, don’t they?
The dumbest thing I do is … watch rugby (union). I’m not a rugby fanatic, I don’t watch all the Super Rugby games, but I’ll watch every Test match that I can. There’s a World Cup coming up, so it’s going to be a feast. I remember reading once that Samuel Beckett apparently loved rugby; sometimes those of us who sound a bit cerebral at times, we do love those kind of brutal, visceral kind of encounters, to try and find the balance.
When I played rugby at school ... I wasn’t a natural, but I worked hard. I could spend hours just kicking with a friend; there’s something beautiful about doing those torpedo kicks, where they spiral through the air. I don’t kick anymore, but I definitely love watching.
The last time I kicked a football was … when our son Harper started playing a bit of rugby. He would have been 13 or 14, and we’d go for kicks. It was one of the happiest times of my life, kicking with my son, and he got into it as well.
Not in my life anymore: Cigarettes. I gave up about 25 years ago, when our son was born, because it just became weird to smoke cigarettes in front of the baby. I didn’t miss it. I used to smoke packet tobacco, and they had all these little aphorisms (inside the pack), and there was one that I’ve never forgotten: “Freedom is absence of choice.” I use it quite often now, because with computers, there are so many choices for people to make music, but it’s really good to have an absence of choice.
The last time I had to say no was ... when I saw a delicious-looking bottle of red wine. I’ve stopped drinking; I don’t know if it’s permanent, but I haven’t had a drink for ages. I don’t miss it – but then I’ll sometimes see one and go, “Oh, that would be nice”. But then I go, “No”. I guess I’m a little bit extremist; when I do things, I either do them fully and wholeheartedly, or I don’t do them at all. I think it’s Catholic duality; good and evil. It was very effective, powerful brainwashing that happened to all of us.
Life at age 20 was … amazing. It was 1972: I dropped out of university and we formed Split Enz.
Life at 40 was … a very rich time. I was in Dublin on my 40th birthday, at a Crowded House show. I got up and sang with them, and I had just discovered Ireland for the first time. Why didn’t I go over there sooner? Mum was born in Ireland, so it was connecting with my Irishness. I made some wonderful friends and had an amazing summer there. We used to go swimming up at a place called The Forty Foot, which is where James Joyce used to swim (in a historic bathing pool on the southern tip of Dublin Bay).
Life at 70 is … down to quite a simple but nevertheless inspiring routine of swimming and having a sauna on certain days, which I love. I play the piano, and go for a walk with my wife, Marie. I do my Buddhist practice, and I accentuate the word “practice” because I’m just practising it; I’m not any good at it yet. It’s like those spiral kicks: you just have to go into it in a very slow, meditative way. Even if you don’t get anywhere in particular, you’re going to get somewhere.
Tim Finn will perform a career-spanning concert, titled The Lives and Times of Tim Finn, in Melbourne (September 13), Brisbane (September 14) and Sydney (September 17).
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