Tag Archives: childhood

Hands in My Pockets

In 1995, I felt it was very important to start establishing some sense of a music taste. Though growing up in quite the conservative household, I didn’t know where to turn or what was actually cool.

My main music influences included my parent’s old collection of LPs in a cupboard such as “Come On, Ring those Bells” by Evie (which I actually performed an interpretive dance to and made my family watch multiple times, not even at Christmas time). Here is the album cover art, just to set the scene:

Come on ring those bells Evie

 

Another favourite of mine was Patch the Pirate, a series of cassette tapes that told the stories of a fun Christian Pirate (oxymoron?) called Patch the Pirate. Plenty of jovial tunes and catchy numbers, including, The Friendship Mutiny. I have come across better naratives:

patch_the_pirate

Though a friend of mine, Dan, who was 10 at the time, had a copy of a little album called “Jagged Little Pill”. I knew nothing about it other than it was cool. So I asked him if I could borrow it,to then naturally do what you did back then, copy it to your own cassette tape via a duo cassette player. Ms Alanis was everything that I knew nothing about, Canadian. And angry. Some guy did bad things to her it seemed, but then at same time, she loved him/them.

I played the album constantly and secretly, in my room. I wrote out all the lyrics (well what I thought the Canadian was saying), it was first time I ever did that.  I wanted to ensure that I knew every song, and could pretend to be angry just like her. And Canadian.

Though the one thing missing in the whole thing, her swearing. My friend Dan had taped over every swear word in the entire album (remember when you could tape over the tabs to re-record over the top?). He was a good Christian boy who had been made to tape over the bad bits, and obviously he was really sucky at doing this (in his defence, he was 1o). It allowed about 3-5 seconds of silence in middle of songs, many times. I would have to say it killed the rhythm of the song. It also stuffed up my lyric sheets.

But that began my first proud moment of telling people I liked something hip. And when I mean I told people, mostly my teddy, as he kept secrets.

Now I leave you with this classic video, oh Alanis…

 

 

 

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Hymns – Chapter Two

Chapter Two

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The word “HI” was wiped into the fog of the window, condensation trickling down, weeping. The cold outside kissed the glass while the suffocating and muggy smell of children tried to escape inside.

He sat there, head against the window, feeling the bite from outside. The world around him screamed.

A “Where’s Wally” book flipped constantly beside him, as two kids slapped the pages enough to give a librarian a headache. If only she knew. Another two kids sat in front, bags on their backs, prepared to go off to the warground/playground. Their hands gripping the bar of the seat in front .The aisle of the bus, covered in the morning dew and random pieces of grass, that snuck in from leather shoes outside.

He couldn’t be bothered even trying to describe to his senses what occurred outside. He saw it everyday. He was shutting his eyes again. There was a lot of contrast between the skin of his eyelids. Two worlds.

The other world came into view as his imagination flew up the screen and turned on the projector of his mind.

The bus lay on its side, wedged between a giant lump of rock covered in moss and a few proud and strong gum trees. The stillness hung heavy from such a dramatic scar in the landscape, with the muffled screams of children.  He was outside the bus. The hero. Well he was about to become the hero. His hand through a shattered window, pulling out the pathetic children inside. “Where’s Wally” lay flat against the window, no one was looking for him now. Flash forward, he stood proud at school assembly, commended for his bravery.

There was a jerk. He was there. The border of the worlds slid open. The real day begins.

The monotone air hit his nostrils once again. Its cool quench was the official and familiar smell of the last eight years of his life.

School.

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