JUMP by BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN. Story by Louise Maskell
The first band were doing their first ever gig. But all three were very experienced musicians and two of them were people I had known for years.
MIS’RY IS MY MIDDLE NAME by WARREN ELLIS and JOHN ELLIS. Story by Louise Maskell
A few seconds pass. His gaze goes behind the counter. To a small ornate wooden frame. And an image inside. “Is that Mary?” “No. It’s Jesus. It’s a da Vinci. From a museum in Amsterdam.”
BEFORE THE DELUGE by JACKSON BROWNE. Story by Louise Maskell.
Sometimes travel includes gigs, when the planets align and you and your current crush (Ron Sexsmith) perhaps are in London at the same time. Or when Bob Dylan and Paul Simon do a show in an amphitheatre outside of Boston.
CHRISTMAS by PAUL KELLY. Story by Louise Maskell.
It was still plaintive and summery. It was by another St Kilda institution. A guy I first saw play at Deakin in the early 1980s. I tracked it down to a new double album of Christmas songs.
TENTH AVENUE FREEZEOUT by BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN AND THE E STREET BAND. Story by Louise Maskell.
If it wasn’t for the pandemic … I wouldn’t have started swimming in the sea at the ungodly hour of 6.30am. And making wonderful new friends in the process.
THAT SUMMER FEELING by JONATHAN RICHMAN. Story by Louise Maskell
After cassettes lost favour I bought Jonathan on CD. And Jonathan on vinyl. In Spanish, Italian, French and English.
THURSDAY. Reflection by Louise Maskell
I was still home reading Nina Simone.
JUNGLELAND by BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN. Story by Louise Maskell
The sweaty band tear up the New Jersey night, Clarence in all white and a sleeveless vest. The song lights a fire within.
FIRE by BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN. COVID-19 tip from Louise Maskell.
What the world needs now is more of this. More sultry men steaming up your computer screen as you scratch out a living in this Covid-19 world.
STRAWBERRY BLONDE by RON SEXSMITH Story by Louise Maskell
The idea of traipsing across London at night on my own was frankly daunting.