This love felt frightening. This love felt dangerous, even. And gambling everything for it – including my own life – felt reckless. But still.
We hit the road. I press play on the album Baby Caught The Bus by Clairy Browne and the Bangin' Rackettes. I lose count of how many times I replay Love Letter.
For the first time in years, after hearing a song for the first time I had to listen to it again, and again, and yet again.
As I pulled up to the Astor cinema and circled around for a park the band’s Everyday Formula reverberated through the tinny stereo system: My whole world's cheap and phony/ Dear hearts get lost and lonely/ I'll get what's coming to me soon.
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.