...we took it down, we took it further up, further down, rolling on the energy, every time a bit more crazy and loose and loud, louder, quieter, louder, and seven minutes in...
That night I hung out down the back of the venue because the molten mosh pit at the foot the stage was simply terrifying.
Their own webpage describes them as a cross between Diamanda Galás and The Birthday Party. I tell a friend they are like Bikini Kill mixed with Joy Division. We’re both correct.
"What the hell kind of friends do you have? I’m paying twenty thousand dollars a year to send you to that private Catholic prep school, and I will not allow trash to come into my house whether literally or via social media."
To say that Stephen Andrew has been instrumental to Stereo Stories would be both an understatement and a poor pun. Writer, musician, sounding board, banner maker...
He tried his best to explain the finer parts of Spanish grammar, all of which I have forgotten. Such an unrewarding task. Even at 15 I could recognise this. But unlike other teachers he never raised his voice, or said threatening things, and he never gave any detentions. I could imagine him going home to his drab brown life, eating drab brown food and having to mark our very drab homework.
I’m exhausted and out of breath. I don’t even know where I am anymore. Have I missed my stop? I wouldn’t know.
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.
Stereo Stories published its 500th story this morning.
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.