Tim Rogers: ‘I shouldn’t drink, but I do and that’s pretty dumb’

Singer-songwriter and You Am I frontman Tim Rogers talks frankly about his battles with booze, anxiety, money and insomnia, and his sure-fire cure for sadness.

Australian singer-songwriter and You Am I frontman Tim Rogers. Picture: Aurora Kuhn

You Am I’s method of preparing for a tour performing The Who’s album Tommy is … to go away individually and work out what we want to bring to it. Come in the first day, fight. Go to the pub, come back, everything gels — and when Sarah (McLeod, of The Superjesus) and Hayley (Mary, The Jezabels) join us, they’ll bend us and shape us how they damn well want to. It’s what we want them to do: push us around.

My philosophy on walking is … to not wear sensible shoes. I always take boots. I don’t understand “active wear”. I just get great succour from it, if not relief. I was recently with the (Sydney punk rock band) Hard-Ons in Europe. We’d go out strolling after eight hours in a van each day; you don’t get to see necessarily the big sights of a town, but you get to hear conversations in different languages. So the philosophy is, essentially, when you get somewhere just stroll around. But always take a little notebook and throw it in your back pocket.

My childhood nickname was … “Stubbies”, because I had a pair of Stubbies (shorts) that my mum and dad bought me, and I wore them everywhere, even to formal occasions. Even now, I whack on a pair of Stubbies, King Gees or footy shorts, and get strolling. Keep your bloody headphones off, and get out of my way! (laughs)

The first money I ever made was … selling lemons out the front of our house in Applecross, Perth, aged seven. It was my brother’s stall, with lemons from the tree: he set it up, and thought that’s where his responsibilities lay. He let me man the stall, and I thought that was a great job. In a whole day I made 40c; after his commission, I got five cents and the opportunity to sit front row for Happy Days that night.

My attitude toward money these days is … very inconsistent. I like having some in my pocket. I guess I’ve become a little cagier about money (since the pandemic), but then, if there’s a great record stall set up at a market, I won’t mind buying 20 Grateful Dead bootlegs. (laughs) I like to know I can shout someone a cuppa or a tin if they need one, and also if my daughter needs some.

Here’s my best advice if you ever find yourself sad … read fiction. It’s the only life dictum I have: always take a book. If I’m on a train, a bus, a plane or even at the pub, always have a book with you. I can guarantee after an hour of considering reading, your sadness will, if not lift — it will take a shape where you can thwack it out of the way like a f..king tennis ball.

On my mind at 3am … pure worry. Absolute torment. I’m a shocking sleeper; always have been. I worry that I haven’t done enough, or that I’ve wasted so much time. I want to get up and start playing the banjo again — which I have — and attend to those languages. It’s regret for what I haven’t continued doing. “Why did I stop learning piano?” They’re the perennials. At the time, it seems terrible, but when the sun comes up and you hear the first kookas and maggies in the morning, it all just magically goes away. I’m thankful for the birdsong.

The dumbest thing I do is … pretty obvious, isn’t it? (laughs) For someone who knows that they’re a drunk, I shouldn’t drink. But I do, and that’s pretty dumb, so I’ll wear that one. I don’t wake up in the morning, and think “Tonight, I’m going to be inconsistent, and possibly not do a 100 per cent great show”. The truly dumb part is that it keeps happening, and I don’t know what to do about that. I didn’t set out to be a professional musician; I didn’t even think it was possible, and lucked into it. It’s definitely on my mind, and so from here on in, I’m going to make a solemn promise to myself to cease being dumb. But I said that yesterday, as well. (laughs)

Life at 23 was … peripatetic; a lot of movement, a lot of vans and Taragos, planes and buses. It felt like crawling out from under the ground. I’d just given up my medication for whatever disorder I had, and started touring a lot with the band. I was not necessarily shy, but just a little unsure of where I stood.

Life at 53 is … not much different from the other ages, except happier. My kid’s grown up into a very fine young human, and there’s a peace with that. I guess the big difference is country life. It’s having more records and books, and one person I’m sharing my life with, rather than throwing myself around to about 50 or 60. Looking over the fjords of country Victoria at the moment, this suits me better — but at 6.30, I’ll still be in the backyard kicking the footy around, with a six-pack on the ground, which is pretty much what I was doing when I was 13. (laughs) Not a lot has changed.

You Am I’s tour performing The Who’s Tommy, featuring Sarah McLeod and Hayley Mary, begins July 26 in Caloundra and ends August 18 in Perth.