While I loved music and sat in class day-dreaming that the girl sitting in front of me in class was the girl Marc Bolan swooned over in Hot Love, I hated school, a situation reflected in my term reports.
Over fifteen years, brick by determined brick, we built a life out of thin air and intentions. When I first met you, my mother could not tell her friends her eldest daughter was a lesbian. Talking to her friends, she would shorten my girlfriends’ names to androgynous mysteries. Jo. Nic. Lou.
I’m standing at the end of a long queue talking to a complete stranger. We both agree we never do this sort of thing. Myself, I’ve generally abided that warning about meeting your heroes.
The immediacy of streaming could never quite replace the satisfaction of buying, owning, and holding music in my hands. And the streaming service’s omnipresent “Daily Mix” – chosen especially for me! – was not so much spookily playful as downright nefarious, with the accompanying emails bordering on harassment.
I’m driving my son to his mate’s house and he’s flicking through stations on the car radio, trying to find a decent pop song to listen to - something that doesn’t sound like it was composed using sampled microwave keypad beeps. Then he’s accidentally flicked onto a golden oldies station. He’s keen to flick off, but I tell him to wait a sec.
For a short time my astonishment about September 11 diluted my compassion. And I guess I wasn’t alone in my astonishment in those first few hours, days and months following the killing of so many people in a country where no one is supposed to die.
If we had hours rather than minutes, we would listen to music through the tinny TV speakers, tucked up together under blankets on the mattress, arguing over the best of British.
Was One Perfect Day by The Little Heroes a perfect pop song? The song's writer, Roger Wells, never thought so, as he told Stereo Stories two years ago.
It was a restless, fitful time. At one or two or three in the morning I’d carefully ease out of bed and head for the loungeroom, well away from the sleeping family.
Andrew Starkie reflects on friendship, growing up, and The River: Pat introduced me to Bruce Springsteen in the garage at Monash Avenue. We couldn’t have been older than 12 and 13.