We listened to heartbreaking stories of his parents beating up each other and other people (''a Glaswegian can start a fight at his own funeral''), of fear, of being so scared of living that he wanted to die, of drinking . . . there was a lot of drinking. He got drunk for the first time when he was about nine.
In the 1960s the family moved to Elizabeth, a suburb near Adelaide, Australia, as part of the ten-pound-per-family emigration push to find a ''better life''. Different, much hotter country, same problems.
It was difficult listening to the story of the little immigrant boy who sat by the funnel on top of a train in that suburb, looking down at the horror going on over the fence while his parents just kept on fighting.
Barnesy poured his heart out on a stage which looked like a set from a play (complete with a delightful old orange dining table and chairs), with personal photographs displayed on a big screen behind him.
Sometimes a recorded narrative played while the man caught his breath - but he certainly had a lot to say. At the end he stood proudly on his soapbox encouraging us all to speak out about domestic violence.
''There comes a time,'' he said, ''when you have to stop running and face your fears.''
Despite the many bad times, he loved his parents. ''They were good people - they were just shit parents.'' He loved them in spite of his mother leaving the family home for three years and then not seeing his father for 14 years.
Throughout the evening we were treated to that famous Jimmy Barnes voice - he sang songs that held special meaning for him, saying ''songs are like signposts in time''.
His use of profanity hasn't waned over the years, either. It doesn't matter if you've paid big bucks for a front-row seat: if you annoy him, he won't hesitate to use strong language to tell you to sit down.
The evening could have been overwhelmingly depressing due to the subject matter but there were some bright spots, too, such as when a kind man by the name of Reg Barnes came into the lives of the family and ''saved'' them.
''Jim Swan was my father, Reg Barnes was my dad.''
This tour has been a family affair. Daughter Mahalia (named after Mahalia Jackson) was on background vocals and she has an impressive set of pipes. Son-in-law Ben Rodgers was on electric guitar (a little loud for the monologue at times) and double bass, and son Jackie Barnes was on piano. I would have liked to have seen Jackie facing the audience but the effect was dramatic.
I have a copy of the book this tour is all about and I recommend it. Its pages contain many dark moments but also many shining ones.
Oh, and the now 60-year-old, sober ''screamer'' can still shake the rafters with those unmistakable vocals - the high notes ripped right through me and it was magical listening to When The War Is Over - my favourite Cold Chisel song.
He thoroughly deserved the standing ovation we gave him and we were rewarded with a long encore.
He promises to return, once his next book is finished. I'm looking forward to that.