My mind drifts away with the sublime guitars and complementary vocals. The song unfolds gradually but confidently, like the highway I’m driving on...past Tutye, Boinka, Linga, Underbool...
This isn’t a song for Grafton, or Australia, it’s a song for the human condition. The sublime execution is what sets it apart.
With every parting handshake Brendon would tilt his head slightly, lift an eyebrow and advise me to "stick to the shadows".
Like footy fans at finals time, we queued at the local Bass outlet for tickets. Revelling in the early morning banter with the diehards, who were lucky enough to have witnessed the band at full tilt in the ‘early days’ of the late 1970’s. Other standout gigs were re-lived: Astor Theatre ’82, Kooyong ’85, Venue ’86 and Festival Hall ’87.
The next few minutes were life-changing. Well not really, but they did change the direction of my musical life. My friend's cassette got thrashed that weekend and I knew the lyrics to most of the songs by the next day.
We’d run out of petrol returning from Mildura. Mobile phones were an invention of the future. We couldn’t even see a house light in the distance, let alone a public phone.
Clawing for the echoes of what was; an ode to imperfect romance...a short film by Jesse Maskell
I’m standing at the end of a long queue talking to a complete stranger. We both agree we never do this sort of thing. Myself, I’ve generally abided that warning about meeting your heroes.
You mention Stevie. ‘Did you know,’ you begin, ‘that Stevie was addicted to Klonopin?’ How random this statement is. How randomly cool. How swiftly the ice melts.
We’re on a bare mattress on the floor. The living room is strewn with sleeping bodies, toppled bottles, and sauce-smeared paper plates. I can’t look at him. I can hardly move or breathe. I’m still, concentrating on the TV.