Nearly all the bands are new to me. The Decembrists. Pond. Sons Of Bill. Natalie Prass. Africa Express. Most of the songs are kind to my ears. And then, the final track.
The long essays in the music editions were lessons in quality journalism. How to take your time, set a scene, evoke a place, draw a character, tell a fine story. And the CDs took me to places I’ll never see.
Reading Cohen on Christmas morning/Poems of love and loss and yearning
The former Monkee had played rather grander venues, but he seemed pretty comfortable up there on the graduation stage. I was just a few rows from the front. Stage right, near the guitarist, Al Perkins.
You see a heading on the Greek newspaper Neos Kosmos. ‘Death of a poet’ perhaps it says. You wonder who the poet is.
A piano is broken. Burnt, seemingly. A harp is stranded, unplayable. Chairs in a once lavish dining room are rotting.
We crossed the border this morning. Six hundred miles. Sorry. Six hundred stories. No-one there to check our licence, registration.
Stereo Stories performed at The Capital Theatre on Saturday 8 May as part of the Bendigo Writers Festival. Good to be back in action.
We’re three weeks away from our first show in 18 months, our first show at the Bendigo Writers Festival, in the lovely Capital Theatre. Saturday evening, 8 May. 8.30pm to 9.45pm.
Like a million fools before me, and a million more to come as sure as night follows day, I leave my virgin emotions unspoken, expecting osmosis to be a go-between.