Stephen Andrew recalls the night of Bob Hawke's 1983 election triumph, via - of all things - a song called Too Shy by a band called - of of all things - Kajagoogoo.
The song still belts my heart like defibrillator paddles.
Tchaikovsky: Serenade for Strings in C, Op. 48 – III. Elégie: Larghetto elegiaco. Poem by Stephen Andrew
Staring at nothing/But sleep’s petulant absence./Most nights were like this/Toward the end.
Listen to Stephen Andrew as he recalls errant high-school days and a taciturn teacher.
The lyrics of Rattlin’ Bones were apocalyptic and disorienting but somehow strangely comforting after our deeply personal experiences of the Black Saturday fires.
Kerouac’s bebop fills my body. His mellifluous slurring cha-cha-cha’s itself into a new instrument, floating notes like his beloved Charlie Parker saxophone...
Unhinged, unwieldy, (apparently) uncoordinated and maybe even unlistenable. Despite or because of this, I pressed on. I'd read somewhere that this was supposed to be An Important Album.
It was a big deal in my heart when my brother responded enthusiastically to my studiously low key suggestion that he and I form a scratch band to play at the St Andrews Festival in 2007.
This song goes off like a nail bomb. It carries, not an earworm, but an ear leech, that latches on and will not be silenced.
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.