It was the lyric and the lilt that hooked me in. The metaphor about the airstrip, the plane and hope. And I’d never heard a song that referred to Casablanca, the movie.
Tt was an enjoyment I kept to myself because sometimes that’s just the way it is. I did wonder if I was the only person in Melbourne, in Australia, listening to Steve Forbert. A one-man fan club. A secret society. A lone, solo follower.
My friend Gina sends an email with the subject line ‘Resident Rogues’, inviting me to see a swing/country/gypsy music band from the US in a little bar called the Merri Creek Tavern. She tells me a story as we wait to see the band.
There are many ways to meet a song for the first time. I didn’t meet Angelina until I read a novel called The Best Of Adam Sharp, by Graeme Simsion.
Take a peek inside the Stereo Stories photo albums, including our recent photo shoot.
One singer is 77 years old. Greying curly hair. One singer is in his early 20s. Flowing ginger locks. Both are sitting at a keyboard, backed by a four piece band.
At The Palais Theatre, most of the audience of 3000 would have known Your Bright Baby Blues. At The Railway Hotel, probably only two brothers.
“Is that all the man sings? ‘How does it feel?’” Hannah, five years old, is making a play-dough birthday cake. Jesse, nearly three, is drawing a map of the world. I’m podding peas.
I thanked her for taking the trouble to find me and silently wondered if her seeking me out was a country-town courtesy, a form of hospitality that may not happen in the hustle and bustle and traffic of a city. I did not flatter myself to think she may have seen more in me all those years ago than I’d realised.
“The White Album,” my son said one night. “Fair bit of filler on it. But I’m keen to learn more about George Harrison.”