I remember Sundays in the cold redbrick church, the smell of Mum's leather gloves and lipstick. During readings and sermons I would run imaginary horse races between the red, blue and green ribbons in my missal.
I’d smuggled in a small cassette player and bootlegged the show. The resulting tape (now long lost) was rarely played. It sounded like a Chuck Berry cover band rehearsing in an aircraft hangar. Which I guess it was.
As a teenage boy in a dark suburban room, I was a long way from the turnpikes of New Jersey. I didn't have a job, a car or a girl, just an Apollo 10-speed bicycle and a dungeon I called my own. What on earth was I connecting with here?
Nathan Johnson Edinburgh, Scotland; September 1997 Chumbawamba was in my face. Far from being a pop band that sang only about pissing the night away, they were, above all else, anarchists with a deep suspicion of government, politicians, the Church, landlords, bosses, union leaders and other forms and figures of authority. While I didn’t share all of their extreme views, their music and lyrics awakened something inside of me.
A medley of romantic stories to mark Valentine's Day: The Eels, Vince Jones, Bon Iver, The Church, The Beatles.
Jesse Maskell Montana, June 2015 A race across the country skipping everything I want to see, farmland from a car window always hungry to go into them, down those roads, further in, fleetingly small towns not even, I'm strapped in with Chris a rideshare stranger on this wild ride...
Vin Maskell Wellington St, St Kilda, 1982 Five songs in and I was wrung out. No light, no shade on this album. Black rivers. Serial killers.
Vin Maskell Moggs Creek, Australia, 1983 to 2013 A three-part Stereo Story about family, a beach house, and its records. Part 1: from Glen Miller's Chattanooga Choo Choo to Roxy Music's Love Is The Drug.
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.
Maria Majsa 21 Swan Crescent, Pakuranga 1974 Under all the fairy floss, trouble is lurking. There are wrong turns, regrets, situations that are easier to run from than face. Goodbye Yellow Brick Road is about escape and it wasn’t lost on me that the first place I heard it was my favourite place to escape to