LAST KISS by PEARL JAM Story by Georgia Logan
Vivid flashbacks. The last time I saw him. The last time I walked in to the hospital room. The last time he looked at me.
Vivid flashbacks. The last time I saw him. The last time I walked in to the hospital room. The last time he looked at me.
Here in my city I’m fretting after my father, lost in the aftermath of a stroke and the creeping invasion of inoperable cancer.
With the exception of evening joggers and trend-spotters playing Pokemon Go, Rosalind Park laid dormant. Too exhausted to call home and too cold to trawl through the reservoirs of online music, I launched a playlist on Spotify.
This song sounds like Phil Spector has died and is rising to heaven. The track is a religious pop song offering deep gratitude for the divinity that can sometimes find its way into the Top 40. The rest of the album is an abomination.
I had better things to do than to listen to another song identified by my music-obsessed brother as worthy of listening to. Yet, I was polite, I was always polite. You see, I’d been through this process before.
By the time of the opening strains of Shipping Up To Boston (best known in these parts as the soundtrack to an Australian Rules football advertisement), the crowd is in raptures. It is the cue for my son John to enter the mosh-pit, and at his urging, I bravely follow.
The Scottish lads had all lost their front teeth [fighting, falling over drunk] and at some point they loved to flip out their plates so we could appreciate what proper hard men they were. This may or may not have been some form of Celtic foreplay.
Yes, folks, Stereo Stories now has its own postcard, courtesy of graphic designer Chris Rees.
The pokey terrace in Abbotsford didn't seem so dark when I played the Rickie Lee Jones albums; the trains not so loud, the Hoddle St traffic not so near, the ghostly factory not so empty.
In a clandestine operation my wife had left me and took everything but my beloved stereo system in the lounge room (including 500 or so records and a CD collection that was rapidly catching up) and, in the spare room, a single bed.