When I’d be driving, and one of ‘our songs’ came on schmaltzy radio station 2CH, I’d crank it up, sing along and think of you. I’d flash back to moments in our childhood – just the good times – imagining you in the passenger seat, singing too.
The next time Razor’s Edge played he loudly sang the line about getting a letter from Davey. I usually shut up for a few minutes. It was that line that cut me up a bit, it still does.
The nurse had downloaded the lyrics to Downtown, probably in exasperation at our feeble yet frequent attempts. Finally, we sang the song in its entirety.
Intention often gets forgotten when it comes to art and all that remains are interpretations. How others remember our insides in music or words or pictures is what survives time.
No shaking shoulders and no audible sobs for this public crying needs to be invisible for the grief mask to be effective. "Don’t let the sun catch you crying", sings Gerry with his Pacemakers.
One of my fondest childhood memories is dancing with my father to Sammy Davis Jnr singing Rhythm Of Life from the soundtrack to the 1969 musical Sweet Charity.
Each near-miss is a reminder that I wouldn’t be so lucky next time. It does make me sad my friends are aging, though we learned all too well that age has little to do with mortality.
Music and mourning meet in our latest collection, The Grieving Stories. Twenty tributes to mothers, fathers, friends, siblings, teachers, colleagues.
Well before Took The Children Away by Archie Roach was the 1970 song Brown Skin Baby (They Took Me Away) by Bob Randall.
I peer into the rear-view mirror/ at my sister’s baby face/The tears brimming