Where was Helen Reddy's I am Woman on the Hottest 100?
After lunch, as number 56, Jimmy Barnes' Working Class Man played, my daughter showed me an Instagram reel shared by @sherelmoodyfemicidewatch. It was footage of well-known Australian rap artist, Fortay, who has decided to try his hand at stand-up comedy. The reel was from a recent performance at Zhivago nightclub in Adelaide, where he addressed any feminists who might be in the audience: 'If the power grid goes down, you bitches are in trouble. You better start behaving yourself. Stop protesting. Stop trying to cancel my concerts. 'Cause once the power grids go down … 'cause I tell you what…' At this point the men in the audience jollied him along. 'Fortay's comin round!' one called out. Encouraged, Fortay continued: 'The men in this crowd are gonna be doin' what we want with you.'
I typed ferociously in the comment section, trying to be concise and powerful, but knowing, in my escalating anger, that I was a voice in the wilderness. Because, in reality, no one is going to cancel Fortay. His threats of violence will continue to be condoned and this will help to sustain a culture that kills one woman a week in our country.
How do I know Fortay will not be cancelled? My life spans the second and third waves of feminism and is taking me into the next, but misogyny does not die; it just reinvents itself. Now it looks like a tattooed rapper with street cred, or a YouTuber, or an angry incel, or a 'Christian' American president.
After the wave of anger subsided, we continued to enjoy the afternoon of music nostalgia, counting down towards the top 10: the best ever, most loved, most powerful, most iconic Australian songs. So far, we'd heard anthems like Treaty by Yothu Yindi at number 36, a still unfulfilled promise that resonates with as much relevance as ever.
I was surprised that we had not yet heard Helen Reddy's feminist anthem, I Am Woman, which became a soundtrack to the women's liberation movement worldwide, and whose lyrics – 'Hear me roar' – have been part of the vernacular for female empowerment for more than 50 years. But I assumed its significance would be satisfyingly recognised in the top 10.
The bangers kept coming: Powderfinger, the Angels and AC/DC. Paul Kelly made a well-deserved appearance at No. 9 and Cold Chisel at numbers 8 and 7! Missy Higgins and The Veronicas edged in at 4 and 3, and finally Hilltop Hoods' Nosebleed Section at No. 2 and INXS's Never Tear us Apart at No. 1. Great songs. But still no Helen Reddy. It was over, and I Am Woman was not listed as even one of the best 100 Australian songs.
It was a democratic process, and I am not disputing the results, but it made me wonder why our feminist anthem was overlooked. 'I am woman, hear me roar'. These words have become idiomatic in the English language, emblematic of equality, resistance, of breaking down patriarchal structures that disempower women. It would seem that a war cry is needed more now than ever when misogyny is rearing its ugly head through legitimised channels.
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Sky News AU
an hour ago
- Sky News AU
Inside the insular, identity-obsessed demise of woke $60,000 Aussie book prize that champions 'unexceptional' literature
The Miles Franklin Literary Award is announced this week. Once a standard-bearer of Australian literary excellence, the prize is in a terrible state. Each year, its shortlist seems more like a ritual than a revelation—a disproportionate array of identity-driven narratives, only loosely tethered to questions of literary merit. The prize has become a barometer for a narrow and increasingly insular corner of Australian publishing: ideologically affirming, stylistically mediocre, and incapable of capturing the contemporary cultural zeitgeist. In this landscape, identity is not merely a theme—it is the dominant grammar of the prize. This affirming mindset has allowed for lax standards of literary craft, which ought to be the prize's uncompromising focus. At a time when beautifully composed literature ought to be celebrated, the Miles Franklin has become a showcase for the predictable, the pedestrian, and the culturally prescriptive. Dirt Poor Islanders Winnie Dunn In this identity driven narrative, a half-White, half-Tongan girl is going to see that being a dirt poor Islander girl is more beautiful than she can even begin to imagine. While authentic, vivid and unsparing in its themes of identity, this work is conspicuously average at the level of writing craft. It has a common and functional narrative structure, simple sentences with a rhythmic sameness, a static or observational tone that dulls the prose. Ghost Cities (2025 winner) Siang Lu This identity-driven novel is that terrible thing - a work that thinks its more shrewdly droll than it actually is. After a page or two we're literally off to the races. 'Oh,' I say, because he has made an assumption about the language I speak - my culture, who I am or must be - entirely from my face. 'I don't speak Chinese.' 'Ah, you're Japanese? Korean?' 'I'm Australian.' He tsks. 'No, no! I mean your race.' Again, at the level of literary craft, this novel is pedestrian, unexceptional, and doesn't rise to the threshold of serious literature. Compassion Julie Janson A work also centering on identity, Compassion is a story of anti-colonial revenge and roaming adventure. It is the dramatised life story of one of Julie Janson's ancestors who went on trial for stealing livestock in New South Wales. It continues Janson's literary exploration of the lives of Aboriginal women during the 1800s, which she began as a counter narrative to colonial history in Australian literature. This work is very much worthy of inclusion in the best book shortlist - prose with literary craft and mature depth. Highway 13 Fiona McFarlane In overlapping stories, Highway 13 explores the reverberations of a serial killer's crimes in the lives of everyday people. The writing is glib, and there are low-grade constructions on almost every page: "He ate the last of his own lunch with a conclusive flourish" "He raised his hands as if he were about to push a flat, heavy object away from his body" "Lena bubbled and smiled, billowed with gratitude" This work is averagely written, to the extent it is actually worrying it has been included on the shortlist of a major literary prize. Theory & Practice Michelle de Kretser A novel also leaning heavily into identity, the narrator, a Sri Lankan–Australian postgraduate at the University of Melbourne in the 1980s, discovers what she describes as racist diary entries in Virginia Woolf—specifically a depiction of a Sri Lankan anti-colonialist as a 'poor little mahoganyâ€'coloured wretch.' That image profoundly unsettles her feminist identification with Woolf. This language is a fictional construction—apparently designed to represent the kind of racist sentiments that Woolf could feasibly have held. Conjuring up an imagined slight by a literary icon, and then using that to explore ideas of race and identity is a conceit borne of flaky contemporary sensitivities and cultural neurosis, and therefore a neat fit for the Miles Franklin Prize. For good measure, an earlier narrator reflects on a theft he committed at the age of six, which was blamed on an Aboriginal maid who was then dismissed. Chinese Postman Brian Castro Abraham Quin is in his mid-seventies, a migrant, thrice-divorced, a one-time postman and professor, a writer now living alone in the Adelaide Hills. He reflects on his life with what he calls 'the mannered and meditative inaction of age'. This is an execrable attempt at literary sophistication; a march of overwrought allusions and diversions. The Abilene Paradox is a concept where a group of people collectively decide on a course of action that none of them individually believe is desirable, or agree on an interpretation of something, simply because they each mistakenly think that everyone else is of the same opinion. Sadly, there are hundreds of readers who've decided this book is profound. The current shortlist continues the same heavily disproportionate preoccupation with identity of the years prior. The 2023 Miles Franklin Literary Award finalists Cold Enough for Snow Jessica Au In this identity-informed narrative, a mother and daughter travel from abroad to meet in Tokyo. They talk: about the weather, horoscopes, clothes, and objects, about family, distance, and memory. But uncertainties abound. Who is really speaking here--is it only the daughter? And what is the real reason behind this elliptical, perhaps even spectral journey? At a mere 89 pages this work is heavy on reflection and interiority, but without much or really anything in the way of literary craft. The writing, in fact, is minimal, stilted and prosaic. This is not worthy of a prestigious prize nomination. The Lovers Yumna Kassab This work by a diverse author asks: What happens when we become used to each other, when we become bored, when we anticipate each other's moods like the seasons cycled in a day? What happens when you are tired of me and I tire of you? This bloodless work is absolutely tedious, has no literary distinction, and wallows in its interiority and malaise. It is not worthy of a prize nomination. Chai Time at Cinnamon Gardens Shankari Chandran Written by a diverse author, Cinnamon Gardens features a nursing Home nestled in the quiet suburb of Westgrove, Sydney – populated with residents with colourful histories. This is a perfect example of a dreary trope in contemporary literature, a languid, sensual work, benignly charming - with only moderate literary craft. At best it rises to the level of generic reading group fiction. It shouldn't be nominated for prizes. Hopeless Kingdom Kgshak Akec In yet another identiy-themed novel, eight-year-old Akita is feeling settled at her new school and community in Sydney, when her parents decide to relocate to Geelong to be closer to their Sudanese relatives. This coming of age story gives voice to the silent heartache of searching for acceptance in an adopted society which isn't able to look past the surface of skin colour. Individually, the female narrators experience racism, rejection and despair. A grab-bag of every modern literary preoccupation - diverse voice, trauma, racist adopted society, female empowerment and agency, this book, unfortunately, is not especially well written. At times the language is rudimentary, its scope for literary expression quite narrow. It is not deserving of a prize nomination. Iris Fiona Kelly McGregor In this lesbian-themed work, Iris Webber arrives in Sydney in 1932. When she meets young sex worker Maisie Matthews, everything changes. But what options are there in a world where even on the margins, queer desire is harshly punished? The only way forward is paved with violence. Historical fiction that revives and lends agency to an overlooked plucky woman, queer desire, and an oppressive, narrow-minded society that denigrates marginalised identities - all the modern preoccupations present and correct. Trouble is, this is reading group historical fiction at best. The literary craft is moderate with some deft touches. This is not a prize-worthy novel. It is a hardly more than a common everyday novel you would likely skirt amid the plinths of fiction in a bookstore. Limberlost Robbie Arnott A skillfully written but essentially diffident and passive read that stirs little, demands little and speaks to little. Nomination-worthy, but leaving few traces and with hardly any lingering impression. The 2024 Miles Franklin Award Hospital Sanya Rushdi This identity-themed work is based on real-life events and originally written in Bengali. Hospital is a first novel that depicts the precarity of a woman living with psychosis and her struggles with the definition of sanity in our society. At just 132 pages - I regret to say that this isn't prize winning material, its only just of a publishable standard. It is written in a functional, expressionless way, and again, while it may be tackling a compelling subject, and offer a new voice and perspective, that doesn't mean it has literary merit. The convenors and judges of the Miles Franklin award deserve criticism for including this. Only Sound Remains Hossein Asgari In this work, also contending with themes of identity, Saeed has not returned to Iran after publishing his novel for fear of political persecution. He is surprised when Ismael, his father who has never left Iran, announces that he is travelling to Adelaide to visit him. Central to this story is the feminist Iranian poet and film director Forugh Farrokhzad – a controversial figure in her lifetime for her open views about feminine lust and love. So: a diverse voice, with a large focus on overlooked feminine intellectual and sexual agency. Secondly, more importantly, there is no significant literary craft in how the story is written - no euphony, no impressive expression, figurative language or rhetorical flair. It is fair to middling, and not worthy of a prestigious award nomination. Wall Jen Craig A woman returns to Australia to clear out her father's house, with an eye to transforming the contents into an art installation in the tradition of the revered Chinese artist Song Dong. This work, from the first page, is lacking in literary merit, defined by drawn out interiority - emotional preciousness that offers few rewards for the reader in terms of literary craft. It is not worthy of a prize nomination. Anam André Dao Born to a Vietnamese family based in Melbourne, the narrator of this identity-themed novel, is haunted by the story of his grandfather whose ten-year imprisonment by the Communist government in Vietnam's notorious Chi Hoa prison looms large over his own place in the world and his choice to become a human rights lawyer. This is an expansive story: spanning generations and examining the legacies of displacement, trauma and faith. But again - emotional authenticity and the profound and serious realities of intergenerational trauma and dislocation are not enough to make a profound novel on their own. While there are flourishes here and there of quality expression, the craft is only moderately good, with often sparse and functional sentence construction. While certainly a fine book, this just isn't a great one. The Bell of the World Gregory Day When a troubled Sarah Hutchinson returns to Australia from boarding school in England, she is sent to live with her eccentric Uncle Ferny on the family property. The property and its environs are threatened, however, when members of the community ask the Hutchinsons to help 'make a savage landscape sacred' by financing the installation of a town bell. So: a plucky young heroine, and reflections on colonialism, in a historical fiction work with wistful and whimsical elements. Day certainly has some lyrical talent as a novelist but nothing special - sometimes the writing is overwrought and overly lush. Praiseworthy Alexis Wright In a small town dominated by a haze cloud, a crazed visionary seeks out donkeys as the solution to the global climate crisis and the economic dependency of the Aboriginal people. This is a novel which pushes allegory and language to its limits, a cry of outrage against oppression and disadvantage, and a fable for the end of days. Praiseworthy can be a surging, romping book seething with feeling, and shot through with sensory delight, and it can also be a seven hundred page slog, often exhausting, often needlessly repetitive. It is a perfect book to strike a chord with droves of middle-class socially conscious people, receptive to dozens of pages of visceral disparagement which they conscientiously take as their socio-cultural due. The perfect book to be adulated at festivals. That, then, is the last three years of Miles Franklin Literary Prize finalists - a world from which masculine themes, proclivities and compelling characters are almost wholly exempt, and where identity is so overwhelming a preoccupation it has almost become the gist of the prize itself. This award is no longer in the zeitgeist, and represents an Australian publishing landscape that is insular, identitarian, and lacking appeal.
The Age
2 hours ago
- The Age
‘I am done with being hard on myself': Sporty Spice Melanie Chisholm at 51
This story is part of the August 3 edition of Sunday Life. See all 13 stories. It's the clichéd British expat dream – to take up residence at Sydney's Bondi Beach – but for one of the UK's most famous exports, Melanie Chisholm, it was a reality for several months this year. The singer formerly known as Sporty Spice, thanks to her pivotal role in '90s pop phenomenon the Spice Girls, never thought she'd call the famous stretch of coastline her second home, but a coaching gig on The Voice and an Aussie boyfriend gave her a chance to reacquaint herself with a city she's always loved. 'Bondi is the health capital of Australia, if not the world,' she says. 'And being Sporty Spice, it feels like I found my spiritual home. It's a very natural spot for me to be in.' It may be nearly three decades since the Spice Girls conquered the charts with their debut single, Wannabe, but Chisholm, 51, still proudly embodies her famous moniker. Dressed in a casual red-and-white-striped T-shirt and sport-luxe pants, she's already been on an early morning walk before her chat with Sunday Life. She's religious about her three days a week strength training but has come to accept exercise-free recovery days are important, too. 'I have been a 'go hard or go home' person for much of my life, and now trying to slow down is actually quite nice,' she says. Joining the Australian version of The Voice was a no-brainer for Chisholm, having been a coach on the UK children's iteration of the show in 2021. She was drawn to the opportunity to encourage new talent, having experienced what it's like to audition in front of a room full of strangers. 'There are many opportunities to sing on reality TV shows, but with The Voice, it's the only one that's very nurturing and is really all about the talent,' she says. 'It's the only show I am interested in being a part of.' Instead of breaking hearts and shattering dreams, Chisholm is mindful with her coaching advice. 'We always try to leave everybody with constructive criticism and give some guidance if they don't get through the competition,' she adds. A meteoric rise to pop-star status, and the inevitable challenges that follow, is a path Chisholm knows well. When the Spice Girls reached international stardom in the '90s, the shift in gears forever changed the lives of its members: Geri 'Ginger' Halliwell, Victoria 'Posh' Adams, Melanie 'Scary' Brown, Emma 'Baby' Bunton and Chisholm. Born in Lancashire, Chisholm's parents split when she was three years old. She spent most of her time with her mother, Joan, and would go on adventurous school holiday trips abroad with her dad, Alan. Her mother sang in bands, and met her new husband Dennis, a bass player at the time, at a pub in Liverpool. They married and have a son Paul. He's six years younger than Chisholm, and found his sister's fame a bit awkward when he was growing up. 'When I think back to the Spice Girls period of my life, it was more incredible than difficult,' Chisholm reflects. 'It was crazy, exhilarating, exhausting – a fairy tale and the ultimate dream when you're a kid. We were all navigating this new world we found ourselves in. 'The big moments, like being at The Brits [awards] in 1997, were a huge highlight. We'd been around the world, conquered it as we always hoped we would, and to come home and be celebrated was incredible. But being on the other side of it now gives us a new perspective.' Overnight success and the pressures that came with fame during peak Spice Girls mania saw Chisholm grapple with depression and eating disorders, revealed in her 2022 tell-all memoir, The Sporty One: My Life as a Spice Girl. 'I was reluctant to write an autobiography for many years, and the reason was that I needed to be honest and open,' she says. 'There were certain parts of my experience that were difficult for me to unzip. On reflection, it was important to do that, and to know I can be a source of comfort for people who went through similar things. That certainly felt like a good thing to do, even if it was hard. 'It's almost like closing a chapter in my life. It's acknowledging the past – the good and the bad - and looking forward to the next phase of life.' When the Spice Girls called it quits in 2000, Chisholm focused on her solo career. She's released eight albums since 1999 and is in the process of adding the final touches to an album she's been working on for the last two years with English producer Richard 'Biff' Stannard, who's written many songs for Kylie Minogue. 'My new album has been a real labour of love,' says Chisholm. 'It's uplifting and I've had a lot of fun in the dance genre. I am leaning into the club world and my sporty side, which taps into different aspects of my personality.' Chisholm has relished watching Kylie's career boom as the Aussie singer has traversed her 50s, hence her decision to team with Stannard for her own club renaissance. 'Biff helped push Kylie even further into the stratosphere – it's been amazing to see,' she says. It's clear that Chisholm is embracing what Victoria Beckham, now an internationally renowned fashion designer, refers to as 'living life from the fifth floor'. 'When I turned 50 last year, I didn't feel concerned about it too much,' says Chisholm. 'And now, a year on, I've embraced all the positive things about getting older. The physical negatives of being this age are that you wake up with more aches in the morning, but having wisdom and feeling blessed to be alive is such a gift. I am focusing on that. I spent a lot of time being hard on myself, and I'm done with that.' As the 30th anniversary looms for Spice, the band's 1996 debut album, so does the talk of a reunion. The album sold more than 23 million copies worldwide and Wannabe reached No.1 in 37 countries, so the pressure is on to mark the occasion. The band has reunited several times in recent years, including for the closing ceremony at the 2012 London Olympics. And in 2019 there was a tour of the UK and Ireland, though without Victoria Beckham due to her fashion commitments. The five members discuss band matters regularly via a private WhatsApp group, figuring what might be possible for the milestone. 'And there are subgroups within the group,' says Chisholm, laughing. 'I definitely know there is a chat group that doesn't contain me, but somewhere else we keep Ginger or Posh out. Like all friendship groups, we have many ways of communicating.' Chisholm is reunion-ready, still holding onto some of those iconic outfits from the '90s in her mother's attic. 'I wish I had kept more, but I am not a hoarder,' she says. Loading There's also talk of a fashion collaboration next year, but for now she's focusing on new music and leaning into the pleasure of finding love again. 'I have enjoyed getting to know my boyfriend's family and friends – it feels like an extended family to me,' she says. Her Australian boyfriend, Bondi-based model and filmmaker Chris Dingwall, is also giving her a new perspective. (Chisholm has a 16-year-old daughter, Scarlett, with a previous partner, property developer Thomas Starr; they split in 2012.) It took meeting Dingwall, and spending time with him in the Aussie sun, to slow down from her busy pace. 'I am a bit of a workaholic,' she says. 'I decided last year, when I met my boyfriend, that I do have an incredible life. My work enables me to travel and I love what I do. It used to be all work and not a lot of play. I am changing that. 'I saw Barbra Streisand interviewed about her book recently, and the interviewer asked her, 'What is there left to do?' She said, 'I want to live more.' And at that moment, I thought, 'Yes, I want that, too.''
Sydney Morning Herald
2 hours ago
- Sydney Morning Herald
‘My father cheated on Mum': Adam Courtenay on his famous dad
This story is part of the August 3 edition of Sunday Life. See all 13 stories. Writer Adam Courtenay has written several books on Australian history, but his latest work, on his late father, the author Bryce Courtenay, is bound to attract attention. Here, the 61-year-old talks about the influential women in his life, and the complicated relationship he had with his dad. My paternal grandmother, 'Paddy', was born in South Africa in 1905. She was this tiny figure who was extremely religious. For her, the Lord was the way, the only way. Paddy was a dressmaker. She fell in love with Arthur Ryder, who worked at the same clothing store. He said he had two grown children who'd left home and was going to divorce his wife. They lived together and Paddy had my aunt, Rosemary, and my father, Bryce [Courtenay, the author] out of wedlock. Paddy discovered Arthur had a loving wife and six children at home to whom he later returned. In those days, Paddy's unmarried status was tantamount to being a witch, so she moved frequently with her two children to reinvent herself. My father's illegitimacy left an enormous scar – he found it shameful and didn't tell me until I was 30. I didn't care; rather, I would have liked to have known what his origins were. My mother, Benita, was highly literate – she read three books a week. She loved art, music, black American jazz and French films. She was a progressive thinker and pro-civil rights. She loved Europe and in 1986 opened a shop in Edgecliff [Sydney] that sold imported French cookware. She had a huge influence on me in terms of culture. My father cheated on Mum with his secretary, Celia. She was 15 years younger than Dad. I felt guilty, as I came to like Celia enormously. I was 15, from a boys' school, and very scared of women. Celia talked about sex and relationships and became a female mentor to me. She tried to instil confidence, and I was enormously grateful for that. My mother knew about my father's numerous relationships but internalised her hurt. She wasn't shocked by the fact he was with someone else, but she was shocked when he finally left her.
