The story everyone loves to tell about rock 'n' roll is one of hedonism, debauchery, money and fame.

And if you were kicking around the charts in the latter part of the 20th Century — if you were an INXS, or a Red Hot Chilli Peppers or a Led Zeppelin, for example — that's probably pretty accurate.

But it ignores a very different reality for a lot of the people who made that world possible, often at great expense to themselves.

"You'd never hear the word roadie without the word just before it," says Stuart Coupe, a writer and former manager of the Hoodoo Gurus and Paul Kelly.

"With road crews, the better they are, the more invisible they are."

Road crew Mark Keegan and Gerry Georgettis, singer Jimmy Barnes, roadie Graham 'Scrooge' Madigan, keyboardist Don Walker, and Skyhooks singer Shirley Strachan. ( Supplied: Stuart Coupe )

Coupe has put a spotlight on the workhorses of the touring circuit with his new book, Roadies: The Secret History of Australian Rock 'n' Roll.

The book explores the lives — and hardscrabble lifestyles — of the people who lift the amplifiers, run the lighting rigs and drive the trucks full of gear.

Coupe recalls getting a first-hand insight to the "strange existence" of the professional road crew during a recent Elton John show in Wollongong.

"A hundred people were involved in basically creating this huge structure of sound and lighting and staging from the ground up," he told The Music Show.

"And then it was used by Elton John for two hours."

Sorry, this audio has expired Stuart Coupe reveals the secret life of roadies

After the show, Elton got a chopper back to Sydney, and the roadies got back to work.

"They had to fill up five out of 25 semi trailers that night," he says.

"They had three hours to get them on the road — and everything had to be packed meticulously — to get to Melbourne to meet the Spirit of Tasmania, so that Elton's show in two days could go ahead in Hobart."

Looking on, a member of the crew told Coupe: "We build pyramids and then we take them down and we move them on."

To be a roadie in the Australian music scene in 1960s, 70s and 80s was to exist on a diet of cheap food, bad drugs and no sleep.

The distances between cities meant driving through the night, which meant amphetamines.

Tana Douglas with Francis Rossi of Status Quo. ( Supplied: Stuart Coupe )

"There was no talk of flying in those days," says Ross Ferguson, who worked as a roadie for INXS, Crowded House, Beastie Boys and many others.

"Do a gig in Melbourne, get out at three in the morning, get in a truck, drive to Sydney, load in at two in the afternoon, do another show."

That workload — together with the physicality of carrying gear up staircases, and the "cocoon"-like nature of the social environment — made it a tough lifestyle.

"That's what people call the bubble," says Tana Douglas, who began her career with AC/DC before working with Status Quo, Ozzy Osborne, Iggy Pop and others.

"All of a sudden you figure out that you can't actually talk to a regular human being.

"It's a bit like Stockholm syndrome — the band's the captor and we're the victims."

Australian roadie Tana Douglas, who has worked with Red Hot Chilli Peppers, AC/DC and others, is now based in LA. ( Supplied )

Both Douglas and Ferguson struggled to make relationships gel with a job that kept them away for months at a time.

Ferguson likened his role in his family to "the divorced father". He would swoop in with gifts and trips to Dreamworld, while his wife was forced to take carriage of actually raising the children day-to-day.

The relentless — and, to hear Douglass and Ferguson tell it, addictive — lifestyle was not just disruptive to normality. It acted as a barrier to seeking help.

"A lot of the road crew equate it with being like returning soldiers," says Coupe, who has been told anecdotally of a suicide rate among roadies four times the national average.

"They head off at 16, 17 and 18; they will give 20 years of their life to a very regimented lifestyle, a very nomadic lifestyle, where it's very hard to keep relationships together.

Sorry, this audio has expired Tana Douglas and Ross Ferguson speak with Michael Mackenzie

"It's not good for people who may have some psychological things that they need to work out."

The culture does seem to have changed from the old days, and not just through a shift away from drug and alcohol use.

For a long time it was known as a "blokey business", Coupe says, with Douglas recognised as the only working female roadie when she started with AC/DC as a teenager.

"First I couldn't get on the stage because I was a female; security was having none of it," Douglas says.

"It took two really established people, crew members, to come over and have a word with security and say 'No, she is meant to be here'."

Australia roadie Sophie Kirov (left) and artist K Flay. ( Supplied: Stuart Coupe/Jordan Galvan )

Now, Coupe mentions people like Sophie Kirov, who has worked with Flume, as evidence of a change in attitudes.

"I actually see now there's girls out there that are married, some of them are starting families," Douglas says.

"Thank God. They should be able to do this job and have a family."

Coupe says the work of groups like Support Act, which runs a 24/7 helpline for those working in music, and the Australia Road Crew Association (ARCA) has opened up the discussion about what a healthy life on the road looks like.

"It does function as a strong emotional place for those that are travelling the world to have some support," he says of those organisations.

"Since ARCA was formed four years ago, I think that the death toll has reduced dramatically."

Roadies for Cold Chisel hard at work. ( Supplied: Stuart Coupe )

Roadies: The Secret History of Australian Rock'n'Roll, by Stuart Coupe, is published by Hachette Australia.