Vin Maskell Geelong, 1971, Melbourne 1974 My eldest brother didn’t own many records. If my memory serves me well, the albums he listened to were by The Beatles, a rebel country songwriter, some Dylan and Clapton, a little art rock, and some English pop by a red-headed protégé of Elton John.
In April this year Rijn Collins won the New York-based Sarah Award For Audio Fiction, for her story Almost Flamboyant. The piece, inspired by Tom Waits and a stuffed flamingo, is not a Stereo Story but here she tells how she came to write and record Almost Flamboyant. Congratulations, Rijn on winning the inaugural Sarah Award. ...Jacek Koman owned that studio. He snarled, sang, and sneered. I had never before watched a character of mine brought to life, off the page and into the room. The experience was intoxicating....
Vin Maskell Moggs Creek, Australia; 1983 to 2013 The third and final part of our series about family, a beach house and its record collection.
Chris Johnston Christchurch , New Zealand, 1983 Last weekend, my older brother handed me a letter I had written to him in 1983 when I was 17. It was strange and lonely to read it; handwritten, large lettering, blue biro, a schoolboy.
Nick Gadd Wakefield, Yorkshire. February 1981 You may ask yourself, Who is this skinny, nervous guy in a suit, twitching like a puppet, a crazed suburban salesman having a meltdown?
Mickey Randall A laundry in Kimba, September, 1993 (a Tuesday) Stripping precious bushels from the wheat, our voices pranged out across the paddocks. The adult in charge was Coopers Sparkling Ale.
Mark ‘Swish’ Schwerdt Elizabeth High School 1975 Dave, Neil, Hammo and Bucko crowded around, ears straining to work out why I was hopping about to to the best 2 minutes and 57 seconds of my life so far.
Fiction by Alicia Sometimes A beach. Aberdare Mountain Ranges, Kenya. Mt Hakone-yama, Japan. Together they spent weeks lifting a woofer on top of the Aberdare Mountain Ranges in Kenya.
Dmetri Kakmi Northcote, Australia, 1981. I remember dancing, or more accurately posing, to Walking In The Rain in my shiny Armani suit, black gloves and sunglasses.
Stephen Andrew Lounge room, Warrandyte 1975 My inner ear quivered like a Jack Russell on heat as I rode home on the bus. I slid out the disc, looked at the warm, mustard-coloured Reprise record label and lowered the needle onto the outside groove.