Bare Foot Days by Smacka Fitzgibbon. Story by Colin Ritchie
Colin Ritchie Thomas St Noble Park circa 1955 / 1956 At some stage I was taught how to operate the radiogram. From then on I was designated the DJ.
Rocktober special: Riding High by Freeway
Stephen Andrew Royal Exhibition Building, Melbourne, Rocktober, circa 1975 Sometime after that Rocktober gig I upgraded my tennis racquet guitar for a battered old five string acoustic guitar from a jumble sale. I picked out a few tunes, added the missing sixth string.
Move It On Over by Hank Williams. Story by Chris
Chris The family home, mid-1970s. We used to have a radiogram until it got hit by lightning. We did not have a TV until 1978.
PROTECTION by MASSIVE ATTACK Story by Nick Gadd
Nick Gadd Lounge room, Yarraville. One a.m. February 1996 Unlike the nurses in the maternity ward, who handle babies with the dexterity of waiters carrying plates in busy restaurants (two babies asleep on one arm, another on the shoulder for burping) new parents are tentative and full of doubts.
Skin by Boy
Cassandra Atkinson Melbourne, October 2012. The morning after a wedding themed house party. Then the lights go up, and you stand like a rabbit in headlights, momentarily lost. The sweat on your skin cools.
She Bop by Cyndi Lauper. Story by Fiona Price
Fiona Price Traffic lights, Glen Waverley, 1984 No-one does scorn like a teenage girl. At fourteen, Swagata deployed hers regularly, with rolling eyes and tossing black plait.
Paint It Black by The Rolling Stones
Debbie Lee A nursing home in Koroit, April to July 2009 Grandma’s strong farmer's hands disappear into paper-thin veins.
LAST KIND WORDS BLUES BY GEESHIE WILEY Story by Alice Bishop
The cotton fields lie fallow. Awash. I watch the swirls and eddies and the floating debris.
We Can Work It Out by The Beatles. Story by Brian Nankervis
Brian Nankervis 8.55am. Driving to school, Elsternwick. July 2003. After the first verse Rosie remembers my story about being tied to a goal post at State School and asks me to tell it again.
Lili Marlene by Salvatore Romita/Marlene Dietrich
Lucia Nardo A recording studio in Altona North. March 2007 I spend the session at the mixing desk, watching Dad in the recording booth, reflecting on the importance of his music to our family’s identity. It’s been the soundtrack to my entire life.