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.
It’s not a mistake to transpose your own experiences onto a song (or a poem or a novel or a painting…). It’s inevitable. It’s part of art. But it can be a trap if you’re not careful.
Favel Parrett Copenhagen, July 1987 from the novel When The Night Comes (Hachette Australia, 2014) I sit in a bar, a nice place with candlelight and dark wood and people. The night is coming down outside. Feet walk fast above where I sit, the streetlight there – the shopping bags, dinner, home. Heart Of [...]
It’s the middle of winter. Never mind, we’re wearing shorts and thongs. The sky is an unbroken plain of blue. Well, not entirely unbroken. Here and there, a pillar of white smoke plumes from a cane mill.
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?
Stereo Stories' first concert for 2017 was a 90-minute show at The Stage Door Studio, an intimate performance space tucked away in a corner of the Wangaratta Showgrounds. The night kicked off with the starkness of State Trooper and finished with a rousing blues jam.
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 Melbourne, Midnight, November 29, 1982 On a piece of foolscap paper, at my desk in my single-bed bedroom or maybe at the small table in the little kitchen at the end of the long hallway, I wrote a little poem. Nothing special.
Hazel Wood Yeovil, England, November 2010 At 3am, alone in the alien landscape of medically-induced fear, I reach for the only comfort available: my iPod. With its unnerving intuition, ‘shuffle’ offers up a song I have, up to now, entirely misunderstood.