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.
James Reyne was unable to mask his concern, yelling into the microphone: “We are not coming back on until you have all stopped fighting!” And with that, the band hurriedly disappeared from the stage.
Past the age of 30 everyone has collected at least one shameful secret. From international war crimes to embarrassing crushes, we all have things we’d rather keep hidden. But hiding can be tiresome.
OMG! WTF? OTT! There are not enough three-letter abbreviations in the English language to describe just how deranged this song is. Once heard, never forgotten.
I’m driving my son to his mate’s house and he’s flicking through stations on the car radio, trying to find a decent pop song to listen to - something that doesn’t sound like it was composed using sampled microwave keypad beeps. Then he’s accidentally flicked onto a golden oldies station. He’s keen to flick off, but I tell him to wait a sec.
Wichita Lineman means a lot to me. I used to play it for my beloved when we first met: I was trying to impress her with my guitar skills because she didn't seem too impressed by my conversation, my sexual prowess, or my recipe for spicy peanut satay sauce. A tough one to break.
Chisel got in the groove and just after the ninth repetition of ‘Saturday Night’ I yelled out the famous line: “Well if you don’t like it what are you doing standing there for twenty minutes for?” You should have seen the stares I got.
We designed our album covers, our costumes and our amazing stage shows. Not only would we have a full-size movie screen behind us but Andrew would have a drum kit so large that he would need to get extendable robot arms to be able to reach them all. We also planned out the itinerary for our world tour.
All around me was this rubble, the toaster was over the road – my book was blown to bits – but somehow the oven and my headphones were still intact, and Neil Young (ever the unfuckingkillable – the rock n roll cockroach if ever there was one), was STILL singing…and I still hadn’t got to the best bit
...Jacek Koman owned that studio. He snarled, sang, and sneered. I had never before watched a character of mine brought to life, off the page and into the room. The experience was intoxicating....