About five minutes into the program I heard a slither of music that sent a shiver up my body. It sounded perfect. It touched a nerve of sadness. And also gave rise to joy.
The song reached in hard and touched me. That night I have a fan moment and purchase three of Corin's CDs during the interval.
As we walked to the frozen yoghurt shop we saw a tall slim guy and two happy teenagers with him, walking towards us. I thought, I know him. Something in his body language. I was sure I’d seen him before.
Our next concert is Saturday 8 September at the delightful Write Around The Murray Festival in Albury.
The crooning chant you hear in the background pings and pangs as you slump on the floor, hands in your head.
They listened to the radio for hours sprawled out in the meadow under the shade of the Buckeye tree, well out of range of the Amish homestead. An everlasting friendship forged.
OMG! WTF? OTT! There are not enough three-letter abbreviations in the English language to describe just how deranged this song is. Once heard, never forgotten.
I wish I could tell you that it was our differences that eventually tore us apart. Her love of big hair and the power ballad, my love of The Residents and holding my mohawk in place with airplane glue.
Though you'll never admit it to anyone and always bemoan the fact that the song is being played in your club, you somehow enjoyed it.
As mom and my older sister played The Carpenters on the car stereo I listened to MxPx, Face to Face, Suicide Machines, or Bouncing Souls on my discman.