Our mutual love of The Weeknd brought me just a little bit closer to my daughter. So, thanks, Abel Tesfaye. I’m pretty sure I am The Weeknd’s oldest fan. I wear the title proudly.
I didn’t really want to leave this city. But I like going somewhere, and I like leaving a place behind.
Urgency is dictating that we move more quickly now, so we forge on past rave tents full of writhing, scantily dressed youngsters, many with glazed eyes.
This is big sky music, languid yet powerful, like a wedge tail cruising on an updraft. The spirit of the sound echoes the spirit of the land.
I know I’m uncomfortable but can’t feel it. Jokes. Laughter. Blood pressure tests.
It’s a close-knit community and there’s lots of crossover in band members from one group to another. The kids are always welcoming and delighted to see me.
Stereo Stories is building a growing catalogue of of stories based on contemporary songs. Recently we have runs stories about songs by Baker Boy, Tones & I, Rufus du Sol, Jason Mraz, and Boats & Birds.
Before I moved South, the young people I often worked with in remote communities in Central Australia would listen to local Indigenous musos singing in the many languages of the Territory over whitefella stuff any day.
Here he is on the telly. Careering about in a golf buggy. Dancing. Having a ball. I find the song on the interweb and YouTube tells me it’s had 593,254,616 views. So far. Incomprehensible.
The euphoria of midnight at a festival is unique in its camaraderie.