A conversation. A connection. A phone call. A visit. More chat.
The house lights dimmed, the curtain rose, a hush fell and the assault began. Proximity of screen plus technicolour panavision multiplied by gigantic singing heads equals nausea.
SJ Rowland Suburban Auckland, mid-1980s Most of the time I didn’t know what to think or how to act. I was always grateful when musicians or anyone else I looked up to could provide a few pointers. Or better yet, provide some strong opinions I could pass off as my own.