Celebrity publicist Harry M. Miller has died aged 84, sending shockwaves through the entertainment industry.
His remarkable life and hugely successful career is today being remembered by many across the world of showbusiness.
The legendary publicist, remembered as a ‘visionary’ in the Australian media and entertainment industry, revealed his story from rags to riches, and everything in between in a book titled ‘Harry M. Miller: Confessions of a Not-so-secret Agent.
His tell-all autobiography – which he published aged 75, the year he retired – includes a chapter dedicated to late INXS singer Michael Hutchence and his ‘media circus’ funeral.
Miller, who once said ‘I don’t have nervous breakdowns, I give them’ revealed behind the scenes information about the rockstar’s funeral in 1997, and his attempt to control the media storm.
Miller described the late singer’s funeral as nothing but a ‘sad circus’.
He detailed a bitter dispute between the singer’s parents, celebrity ex-lovers and even a member of the church taking advantage of the tragedy for his own 15 minutes of fame.
To read the extract, scroll down.
Harry M Miller and his partner Simmone Logue arrive at the opening night of Matthew Bourne’s Swan Lake at the Capitol Theatre on February 22, 2007 in Sydney,
Harry M Miller and partner Simmone Logue pose during the Akira Collection show at Mercedes Australian Fashion Week on April 26, 2006
A young Harry M. Miller poses for the camera with a pipe hanging out of his mouth
INXS frontman Michael Hutchence (pictured in 1990) died in a Double Bay hotel room, Sydney, in 1997
In his autobiography, Miller goes behind-the-scenes at Michael Hutchence’s funeral, which he described as a ‘sad circus’
Michael Hutchence’s funeral:
One of the maxims I often pluck from that rather battered manila file lodged in the grey matter is ‘All communication comes from the circus.’ In other words, the circus provides the basis for proper communication; it has everything covered—it has comedy, drama, bearded women, death-defying acts, animals everywhere…merchandise out the front.
In many respects the funeral of Michael Hutchence had almost all of those qualities (except the bearded woman, of course), but more than a decade on, I’m still not sure what to make of it. It was all very sad, all very bizarre and all very exposed. It was a circus of the worst kind—a roll-up, roll-up media frenzy.
I didn’t know Michael Hutchence, and I knew even less about his music. But like most people, I couldn’t avoid the soap opera that was his rather complicated personal life—the famous girlfriends like Kylie Minogue and Helena Christensen and the messy entanglement in his final years between himself, Paula Yates and Sir Bob Geldof.
And, like many people, I remember being shocked when I first heard of his death that weekend in November 1997.
The funeral of INXS singer, Michael Hutchence was hels at St. Andrews Cathedral. Pictured is Paula Yates with her daughter in the church
Australian singer Kylie Minogue at the funeral of INXS singer, Michael Hutchence, which was held at St. Andrews Cathedral, Sydney
Kelland Hutchence, Michael’s father, urged his ex-wife Patricia, Michael’s mother, to call me in the hope of getting me onboard to bring some semblance of calm to the media hysteria, as well as help organise a funeral that had no chance of being a private family and friends affair. Patricia and I weren’t friends but we had met at a Sydney book launch not long before Michael’s death. We also shared a friend in the late Gold Coast hypnotist Frank Quinn, better known as the Great Franquin.
We arranged to meet at her hotel, the old Cosmopolitan in Double Bay, a few days after Michael’s body had been found. What struck me that afternoon, and it took even me somewhat by surprise, was the media. This wasn’t the usual Sydney pack—there were hundreds of them, many from the UK, and they brought with them a certain mongrel quality.
This tragic event was pure tabloid fodder. An internationally known rock star found dead in his hotel. Tick. Cause of death: well, the NSW Coroner would later call it suicide by hanging, but the big rumour swirling at the time was Hutchence died as a result of auto-erotic sexual asphyxiation gone wrong. Double tick. Add to that a grieving girlfriend in Paula Yates, the estranged wife of Geldof—or Saint Bob, the London tabloids’ ‘victim’ in this messy family break-up. Tick.
Harry M. Miller is pictured here with Charles, Prince of Wales and heir apparent to the British throne as the eldest child of Queen Elizabeth II
Supermodel Helena Christensen (L) is pictured with an unidentified friend after the funeral of Australian rock star Michael Hutchence at Sydney’s main Anglican Church November 27
Pall bearers carry the late INXS frontman’s cast from the cathedral following the November 27, 1997 funeral
And then there was Michael and Paula’s poor little sixteen month-old kid, Heavenly Hiraani Tiger Lily Hutchence, who would become the subject of a bitter custody battle. Tick.
Over coffee, Patricia and Kell—who clearly loathed one another—explained their predicament. As far as the media was concerned, things were out of control. I asked them my standard question: What would you like me to do?
They wanted someone to control the media and help organise the funeral. So I took a deep breath, stood still, and began to shut things down.
Back in those days, the Seven network was very much the bridesmaid in terms of market ratings share, always coming a distant second to Kerry Packer’s all-conquering Nine. For that reason, Seven tended to be more aggressive in chasing down a big news story, and more or less had the green light from owner Kerry Stokes to wield the biggest chequebook.
I had discovered that earlier in 1997 with Stuart Diver, and in the case of Michael Hutchence, Seven was breathing down the family’s neck, determined to come out with the exclusive.
Paula Yates (C) is assisted by friends out of church with her daughter Heavenly Hiraani Tiger Lily after the funeral service for her partner, INXS rock star Michael Hutchence
Michael Hutchence’s mother Patricia Glassop embraces friends at her son’s funeral
Peter Garrett of the Australian rock band ‘Midnight Oil’ attending the funeral of INXS lead singer Michael Hutchence in Sydney
The one thing Patricia and Kell were united on, with considerable encouragement from me, was that this event should not generate one cent. My brief to them was to get one network to supply a live feed in addition to providing rival networks with access to footage of the service.
To my and senior agent Suzanne Hannema’s horror, a member of Michael’s management team had other ideas, all but selling the rights and asking that I come in, up the ante and then close the deal.
Distinctly, I remember saying, ‘Listen, if I tell people that you have phoned me asking me to do a deal when the family has made it clear that they don’t want any money from the funeral, you are going to look very, very stupid. And I am not going to do it.’
The situation was incredible. I gave a press conference outside our office in Cathedral Street in Woolloomooloo and as the media barked their questions some local blackfellas— drunken and homeless—shouted from across the street: ‘Fucken give it to ’em, Harry!’
There were members of the media sniping that Harry M Miller was in it for his 20 per cent cut—but contrary to those accusations, I did not take a fee. What very few people knew was that I had my work cut out convincing others not to try to make a buck from a dead man. Michael Hutchence had been reduced to a bit player in his final appearance.
Kylie Minogue with Linda Evangelista walk arm in arm as they leave Michael Hutchence’s funeral
The funeral of INXS singer Michael Hutchence which was held at St. Andrews Cathedral (pictured)
With the live feed agreement secured with Seven, our next obstacle turned out to be Nick Cave. Now I have to be honest and admit I had never heard of him. But I was quickly assured he had rock credibility, whatever the hell that means. A good friend of Michael’s, Cave had accepted an invitation from Michael’s brother, Rhett Hutchence, to sing ‘Into My Arms’ during the service. Cave came with his own proviso—his performance was not to be part of the telecast. Cave obviously had a suspicion that the whole saga had the potential to dissolve into a sleazy mess of profiteering—and he wasn’t off the mark—so he and his people wouldn’t budge on that. In the end, we agreed to cut away to a shot of the coffin while he sang.
When it came time during the service for Cave to sing, Suzanne and I were at the back of the cathedral when suddenly I heard this noise.
‘Who on earth is that?’ I asked Suzanne.
‘It’s Nick Cave, Harry.’
‘Jesus Christ,’ I said, ‘with all that fuss, you’d think he could have sung in tune.’
At least Cave had his principles. What surprised me most was the behaviour of those from the Anglican Church, many of them seeing the funeral as an opportunity—what type of opportunity I’m still not sure. But there’s no doubt the media circus that came with poor Michael’s passing had gone to some of the Church folks’ collective heads. One major bone of contention with the Very Reverend Boak Jobbins, Dean of St Andrew’s Cathedral, was who should get in. He was adamant that his church be open to all.
The Hutchence family, the Seven network and I felt entry should be restricted, as otherwise the funeral would become a free-for-all. A compromise was reached and we all agreed, some of us reluctantly, to have a section reserved for the general public. I knew that decision
would bite us on the arse in one way or another.
The service was interrupted by none other than Peter Hoare, the poor unfortunate often described as a serial pest whose most infamous public nuisances have included invading the pitch during a football World Cup qualifier and running towards the horses in the final stretch of the Melbourne Cup.
Now as much as I didn’t like Nick Cave’s singing, it was not part of the plan to have it rudely interrupted by Hoare, whom we suspect entered the cathedral and hid somewhere at least a day before the service.
Midway through ‘Into My Arms’, Hoare yelled, ‘I am the Second Coming!’ before screaming,
‘This is how he did it, Paula! This is how he died!’ revealing a cord connected to a dog collar as he jumped from the balcony.
Fans of the late rockstar lined the streets in Sydney as Michael Hutchence’s coffin was driven to the cathedral
I blame the Anglican Church for this. We later found out someone handling PR for the Church had allowed uninvited media into the funeral when it was agreed that I would handle all media entries. One photographer got in and took unauthorised photos.
What I recall most was the funeral had become the Dean’s fifteen minutes of fame—and in my opinion he was not going to deny himself a second in the spotlight. His was the biggest ego in the whole sorry saga. Worse than the behaviour leading up to and during the service was what happened afterwards.
Only a few days later, we discovered the Church had little old ladies selling videotapes of the service.
All things considered, the Seven network and the Hutchence family were easy to deal with.
As much as I would like to think they were united in their grief, I really don’t believe Kell or Patricia could overcome their mutual and intense dislike. And that was sad, as they both loved their son dearly. There was no better example of their loathing of one another than when we all sat in the limousine as it left St Andrew’s and headed to the Northern Suburbs Crematorium.
Kell made a remark criticising some part of the service— shit, there was plenty to criticise—but his remark was aimed at Patricia, not me.
Harry M. Miller is pictured in 2007, two years before he retired and four years before he was diagnosed with dementia
Tom Jones shields his face with dark sunglasses at his friend Michael Hutchence’s funeral in 1997
She really took offence and leaned across and extended her arm. It looked to me as if she punched him but it all happened so quickly. Suddenly, with a gobsmacked look on his face, blood trickling out of his mouth, and looking down at the tooth sitting in the palm of his hand, Kell said:
‘For fuck’s sake, Pat, that’s my new crown!’
I thought to myself, ‘What in the hell is going on here?’
What a sad old circus it was. When it was all over, Suzanne and I ended up back at St Andrew’s Cathedral and from there we made our way on foot to the office in Woolloomooloo. So drained were we by the experience, we stopped for a drink and debrief at almost every pub along the way.
Paula Yates (C) is assisted by friends out of church with her daughter Heavenly Hiraani Tiger Lily after the funeral service for her partner, INXS rock star Michael Hutchence November 27
Not all that long ago, I was quoted as saying that taking on Michael Hutchence’s funeral was a blunder. I’m not so sure about that now. I was doing a job, being a foot soldier for a client requesting my help. When you accept a job like that, or any job for that matter, you don’t have time to evaluate the impact it will have on you and your team. But it was awful, irritating and annoying to cop so much strife from the media.
Again, despite what some sections of the media implied, I did not get a red cent for that job. Don’t get me wrong, having my name attached to an international event like that only reinforced the message that Harry M Miller was the person to turn to in a crisis.
As I say, if you are going to have a dog at the door, make sure it’s an Alsatian.
Book: Confessions of a Not-so secret Agent, By Harry M Miller and Peter Holder
Published in Australia and New Zealand in 2009 /// by Hachette Australia
Copyright © Harry M Miller and Peter Holder 2009