It was only as the band members sloped off that they looked a little senior for all this excitement, ready for bed and a Horlicks. The mood in the audience was not just ecstatic but validated.
Punk? We've got gobfuls of it. Twenty-odd stories.
Maria Majsa Back bedroom, Pakuranga, Auckland 1978 I held the popsicle to my left ear while my brother stabbed away at my right. It was a warm day and I could feel the popsicle oozing down my neck. Blood and raspberry, an indistinguishable mess.
Earl O’Neill Leichardt, Sydney, 1985 What if something happened and I was at home watching telly? That’d never do. Sex, drugs and rock and roll were too important for a young fellow.
Nick Cowling Driving in Hoppers Crossing, a Thursday afternoon. August 2011 That day I realised that I can still listen to metal and that I don’t need to be a music fascist and devote myself to only one genre.
Stephen Andrew Student hostel, West Geelong 1982 I didn’t get a Mohawk, nor cut up and safety pin my clothes. I kept my phlegm to myself. I was a part-time punk.