In 1978 I was living in North Fitzroy on the bottom flat of this horrible plain ugly block of flats. Big wide windows overlooked the car park. So the venetian blinds stayed drawn most of the time. And upstairs would have kids come over on Sunday mornings and bang about above me. Which was painful. I didn't have a phone but I had plenty of pubs where we you could catch up and install beer filled lines of communication. God knows how we organised anything. But we did.
So coming to this cramped spot from the leafy Eastern suburbs was quite a culture shock. And it was good to get out of there. And get to the parties that were going on in big houses in Carlton where the Uni students gathered. These houses were amazing places. Long hallways. Rooms just for dancing. Sometimes with a window into another room where you could pass drinks through. Floorboards that bounced. Plenty of quiet corners for a snog if you got lucky.
It was one of these parties I got my first real taste of Aretha Franklin. Someone had put Save Me by the Saints on the record player. They covered it on Prehistoric Sounds. It must have been the guy who lived there who came running down the corridor jumping over outstretched legs and empty VB cans. A few seconds fumbling with the record player and The Saints came off and then the real version came on. The sound went up. And it was majestic. Like I was in another world. It was like I woke up. And it didn't stop there. He put Green Onions on next. It was just so good. Then somebody else got themselves on the record player. But for the next few days we talked about those soul records and where we could find a place to play more of the stuff.
No comments:
Post a Comment