We ended up in a pub. There was a country-rock band in a back room. They played with a certain honesty. Lap-steel guitar can do that.
Life on the river, people rarely understood me. Transistor radio, Rod and Imagine. In just a few short years I could be doing something I don’t believe in.
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...
Here he is on the telly. Careering about in a golf buggy. Dancing. Having a ball. I find the song on the interweb and YouTube tells me it’s had 593,254,616 views. So far. Incomprehensible.
I have a vivid memory from that time of watching this wonderful film near the end of its run in Mid-City’s main cinema, which seated close to a thousand people, with only a couple of others in attendance.
I’m hoping there are no latecomers, no stragglers, because I want to hear as much of this song as I can. The chorus, though, catches me off-guard.
Chris Phillips had a secret motive when she wrote her Stereo Story based on Van Morrison’s Into The Mystic.
While I can't remember being read The Very Hungry Caterpillar when I was a child, I do remember Sympathy For The Devil blaring in the car while I was still in a booster seat.
My mate Tommy had a licence and a car; the only one in our gang with a birthdate old enough to drive.