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.
I was on the verge of adolescence without sports or hobbies to keep me busy. All I had was my old anxious self and this new secret love.
Sometimes it’s only when you see a girl for the second or third time that you realise how beautiful she is. A song is a bit like that.
I’d drive all night with my brother if I could. It would be escapism of a sort but also a rare chance to spend time, a long time, together. We’d pack sandwiches and snacks and drinks. Chocolate. A football. Some of Peter’s surfboards.
All I could think of , as she stood just a metre or two away, unflustered by betting deadlines, was her voice, her laugh, her brown eyes, her cascading hair, her full figure. And the inexperience of my heart (plus anoher vital organ).