Where I went to school, boys – men – didn’t dance. Not unless they were full of whisky bluster or beer bravado, anyway, and certainly not the way he was, his lithe body a study in confident, soft, expressive masculinity.
After cassettes lost favour I bought Jonathan on CD. And Jonathan on vinyl. In Spanish, Italian, French and English.
Greensleeves is the sound of anticipation. The sound of promise and summer. The sound of hot days. The sound of ice-cream on your tongue, melting over your fingers, dripping onto your toes.
We’ve never emailed each other. We don’t need Facebook to be friends. We hardly text each other. And then, on the eve of another summer, you tap into your phone...
The songs met us in hope and in despair in 'the middle of the air'. There was a space of yearning there. That space is where the artists, songwriters and psalmists send us. That is the place we can be met.
Dive into our collection of summer stories. The local pool, the beach, the river, romance, summer jobs...Powderfinger, Skyhooks, Kate Bush, Joy Division...
My mate Tommy had a licence and a car; the only one in our gang with a birthdate old enough to drive.
Summer Love is a glorious example of perfect power pop. This is what a breaking ocean wave sounds like when represented musically.
Mum would dutifully wrap the can in crepe paper to cover the rust and make it decorative.
Surfers don’t overthink names: Right Point, Left Point, Surfies Point and Express. But sometimes the old names held true: Woolamai, Kitty Miller Bay, Flynn’s Reef and Forrest Caves. We knew exactly where to head on what wind.