THIS TOWN AIN’T BIG ENOUGH FOR BOTH OF US by SPARKS. Poem by Gray Lightfoot.
Who were they – this Sparks? No internet back then/No instant information. You remained agog before Google.
MACARTHUR PARK by JIMMY WEBB. Poem by Doug Jacquier.
They rode a flying carpet together and travelled with birds.
BUS STOP by THE HOLLIES. Poem by Doug Jacquier.
On the train/we ran through fields of wildflowers/as if in slow motion...
LUCKY STAR by MADONNA. Story by Monique Holton
Sue was 1980s confidence personified, with the sweetness of Kylie and the style of Cyndi. “I always wanted a daughter,” she would say, “want to hear some Madonna?”.
BUILD ME UP BUTTERCUP by THE FOUNDATIONS. Story by Victoria Wells
I could see the bright lights of the Barracuda Fish and Chip Shop as a cheery spot in front of me. The door opened; smell and music spilled out. Fish and chips and doner kebabs and Build me Up Buttercup with all its warm yellowness. I sang along. I would be home soon.
DOWNTOWN. Story by Jacinta Harper
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.
MOTHERS TALK by TEARS FOR FEARS. Story by Lauren Pearce
In the spirit of moving on, I looked up and streamed the album that gave us Everybody: Songs from the Big Chair. Over the next few days of my respiratory virus and associated insomnia, I became intimately familiar with it.
TRILOGY by MARCIA HINES Story by Luke Davies
Getting my driving licence back was tedious and a bit of an exercise in hoop jumping. But the Marcia Hines tape in the old car was a treat.
IN THE SUMMERTIME by MUNGO JERRY. Fiction by Niles Reddick
"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."
RUN by SNOW PATROL Reflection by Lucia Nardo
At home and still in my funereal black, I do the obligatory YouTube search for the track. The internet soon shepherds me away from The King’s back-catalogue to a tear-invoking power-ballad from a band I’d followed since the 1990s.