Like a million fools before me, and a million more to come as sure as night follows day, I leave my virgin emotions unspoken, expecting osmosis to be a go-between.
In that final hour, I felt compelled to dance. I’ve never been a dancer, nor have I ever truly felt the inclination, but suddenly, I felt the desperate need to stand up and flail around my bedroom like a madman.
I couldn't escape the crush (in both senses of the word) the first time I heard it. I was dumped, pulled under and dragged disoriented across the sandy sediment of my adolescent existence. See My Baby Jive was excoriating.
If this music was represented in colour, the canopies of the African jungle would be peeled back, revealing the beauty of the sweaty noise.
We’re on a bare mattress on the floor. The living room is strewn with sleeping bodies, toppled bottles, and sauce-smeared paper plates. I can’t look at him. I can hardly move or breathe. I’m still, concentrating on the TV.
As soon as the credits rose I would stalk back to the car and play Low on my way home, through the city and immigrant ghettoes, past still clattering factories and silent housing estates, then back onto the dark of the fen to park at a small humpback bridge just outside my village.
Andy Griffiths Heathmont, 1976It was a sleepy Sunday afternoon in Heathmont sometime in 1976 when I disappeared down the rabbit hole of Alice Cooper’s dark and twisted nightmare. All appeared—on the surface, at least—to be well with the world.
SJ Rowland Suburban Auckland, mid-1980sMost 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.
Lorraine Pink The Netherlands, 1974Bowie had opened my eyes to the world of art and creativity and the possibility that I could be anything I wanted to be. I could reinvent myself. Suddenly the world was an exciting place.
Vin Maskell Gertrude St, Geelong West, Victoria. 1976Sometimes Bill’s quiet voice would quicken with enthusiasm as he suggested we listen to a particular song. And we’d sit there and not interrupt the song. I wouldn’t even reach for another shortbread, there on the spotless glass coffee table.