I had always imagined myself with tattoos. I saw myself covered in blackwork ink, beautiful artwork, and lyrics that meant something – but I was scared about getting one. With your first tattoo, you don't know what to expect. Is it painful? What if it gets infected? What if it turns out terribly?
The girls signed up for hula lessons, learning the sacred moves of the kanaka. Moves of a gentle, spiritual sway where the hands told the story, sweeping and waving to talk story with each movement signifying a deeper resonance with the past and the people.
The bedroom wall had hundreds of small articles about music, cut out from newspapers. Album reviews. Profiles. Gig reviews.
There was one song that stood out. Hometown: a beautiful melody with evocative lyrics, concluding with a delightful guitar lick by Vinnie Zummo.
I peer into the rear-view mirror/ at my sister’s baby face/The tears brimming
Get to know your neighbours, I thought, stepping back. ‘Grab a chair,’ I said before remembering I didn’t have any yet.
This is Dylan and Hank at their finest; Old Testament moral code made poetic by the phrase, stones in my mouth.
The lovely chauffeur called the number on the wedding voucher and had a long gesticulating phone conversation in rapid-fire Italian. He hung up, turned to us and said, ‘Documents, she no arrive.’
At this time of the year the Stereo Stories ensemble is usually deep in rehearsals for what has become a cherished annual concert since 2016: our appearance at Write Around The Murray in Albury each September. Alas, this year is different.
The sweaty band tear up the New Jersey night, Clarence in all white and a sleeveless vest. The song lights a fire within.