DO YOU REALLY WANT TO HURT ME? By CULTURE CLUB Story by Rijn Collins
I hung out at punk squats with pet rats and drum kits. The black lipstick wasn’t a success, but then, is it ever?
PERFECT DAY by LOU REED Story by Wendy Meddings
Brinsley Road, Camberwell 1973 Fitzroy, 2018 Just a perfect day You made me forget myself I thought I was someone else Someone good It’s summer and I’m lying on the floor of the lounge at my school, headphones plugged into one of several sockets around the room that connect to the stereo system. Someone [...]
WHERE THE WILD ROSES GROW – KYLIE MINOGUE and NICK CAVE Story by Carmel Bird
He is a Kylie tragic, and the CD that’s playing in the car is a compilation.
Almanac Music 1: From Billy Elliot to Suedehead in six minutes
There is much conjecture and disagreement about the trajectory of Paul Weller and friends, the evolution of The Jam from punkish to mod to pop to pastiche, ending in the Style Council, of which I was never a fan (you can tell a Weller woman by the way she wears her hair etc).
That’s The Way It’s Gonna Be by Dave Graney with the Coral Snakes
I remember Sundays in the cold redbrick church, the smell of Mum's leather gloves and lipstick. During readings and sermons I would run imaginary horse races between the red, blue and green ribbons in my missal.
CATTLE AND CANE BY THE GO-BETWEENS Story by John Butler
It’s the middle of winter. Never mind, we’re wearing shorts and thongs. The sky is an unbroken plain of blue. Well, not entirely unbroken. Here and there, a pillar of white smoke plumes from a cane mill.
Between The Bars by Elliott Smith
Maria Majsa One bedroom apartment, Herne Bay, Auckland 2007 You can fall in love with songs just like you can fall in love with people and because I discovered Elliott Smith after he’d died, it was like falling in love and breaking up at the same time.
Beach house records – part 3
Vin Maskell Moggs Creek, Australia; 1983 to 2013 The third and final part of our series about family, a beach house and its record collection.
Seven Nation Army by The White Stripes
Nathan Johnson North Adelaide, Australia, January 2004 A mate of mine was saying something, but I heard none of it. My eyes were fixed on the screen; my ears taking in every drum beat, every distortion, every melodic ebb and flow.
When A Fire Starts To Burn by Disclosure
Shu-Ling Chua New York City, June 2014 As we slip through the inky night, from ferry to bus to my windowless hotel room, I think, I could stop this at any time. I could have stopped this hours ago.