Given so many Stereo Stories (or stories in general ) are about rites of passage, and formative years, it’s no surprise we have a collection of short music-memoirs about schooldays. Just over 20 stories, including contributions from noted authors Tony Birch and Melanie Cheng, and our RocKwiz colleague Brian Nankervis.
At weekends they hung around the eastern beaches, working on their tans, the warm bleed of Fleetwood Mac or The Eagles seeping from car radios. I imagined they’d all marry each other and never leave.
I went with my mum, Bonnie, to Chaddy (the shopping centre) to the record shop, trying to look cool with Amco jeans, granny shirt and hair as long as it would stretch and browsed ... seriously.
My brother Paul was into the Minneapolis/St. Paul punk scene at the time, complete with ripped jeans, jack boots and spiked hair. He loaned me his album Rocket To Russia.
Outside when the Grade 6 party was in full swing, the song that stands out in my memory was not the A side of the 45 vinyl, but the B side.
He was short and stocky and sexy. He had a killer smile and his dark almond eyes had eyelashes way longer than any boy should have. I liked him and he liked me.
As the circular crowd of angular, awkward teenagers missed the timing, we spotted Harriet and Mr Reynolds in the middle of the throng.
I was dressed in my rust-colored corduroy 3-piece suit, and she in a conservative, Catholic school girl skirt and blouse. She was tall and attractive, in a girl-next-door sort of way. Overall she appeared to be a suitable match for this first foray into my dating life.
As a teenager, I harboured completely delusional fantasies about becoming a classical musician. I mean. Completely. Delusional
I can’t stop gazing at the album cover. There’s Suzi in black and white, in the middle: tight jeans and leather jacket, hands on her hips, body facing sideways but her face turned front, eyes staring straight at the camera.