The wash of sea set a score, emanating from the base of high cliffs. I hoisted a pack and travel guitar, and made my way toward town.
Although mine was a record and dad’s was a tape, there was no mistaking a shift in the axis that staked our two worlds.
There are four different versions of Red River Shore on the Fragments boxed set, and they are all absolute classics.
When my age reached a suffix of teen, I worked after school. Had disposable income. Or rather, had income, and disposed of it. Spent it on records, then cassettes and a Walkman.
We are two writers and performers of verse born in regional Victoria back in ’83, two people who are now pushing 40, who are now moving even further from youth radio station Triple J’s target demographic.
Which record could hold our story, and become the beating heart of our home, but never play its music again?
Our excitement aligned with the rebellious lyrics and feverish tempo. We were soaring over suburbia on a raised cable bridge freeway. Over eager and full of adrenaline we had no idea where we were or how to navigate the dense city thoroughfare.
There were only so many times you could listen to Hurricane, Just Like a Woman, Lay Lady Lay and lots of other songs before the tape ended, was turned over and you get it all again. This went on for about three days.
As we made our way north through Rajasthan to Delhi the song was everywhere. There was no escape. Sometimes I would shudder to consciousness late at night, sweat drenched and hysterical, as Disco Deewane played endlessly in my head.
Listen to Cher Finver of Nevada narrate her story about Innocent Man, backed by The Stereo Stories Band.