Almanac Music: Stereo Stories In Concert 2023

 

I knew the moment I sat down I’d regret coming to Stereo Stories In Concert. And I was right.

 

Stereo Stories In Concert  has grown out of the Stereo Stories website, brainchild of the marvellous Vin Maskell, and has been a key part of the Willy Lit Fest for several years now.

 

The website’s motto gives a clue to what it’s all about: ‘A song. A place. A time’. It is a growing collection of stories from a diverse range of people, each about a particular song and its importance to the writer.

 

Stereo Stories can be ones of great joy or searing pain; of high hopes and devastating disappointment. Most of us will have a song that takes us back to a moment in time.

 

Smell, the basest of the senses apparently, is often cited as the most powerful trigger of emotional memories. I’m not so sure. As much as a scent from long ago might bring back long-forgotten feelings for me, I think songs have a greater effect on me.

 

Not all songs, of course. Just ones that tie me to a person, or a feeling. That’s the premise of Stereo Stories. And Stereo Stories In Concert takes it a step further, with the stories’ writers telling their tales before, after, and intersecting the song as it is played live by the Stereo Stories Band.

 

And what a band they are. The vocals and harmonies of Martina Medica and Chris Phillips are exquisite. Vin’s brother Peter Maskell handles his guitars with aplomb, as does bass player David Barton. Matt McGrath on drums and Laura Sheridan on cello serve to complete the band’s wonderfully full sound – almost.

 

I noted before the night’s proceedings began a lack of a keyboard. A slight pang of disappointment moved through me. Surely some of the songs they’d be playing would require a piano or organ to bring out the depth of the song’s emotion? Jools Holland’s lengthy piano solo on the album version of The The’s ‘Uncertain Smile’ springs to mind.

 

But then I spotted Julie Merritt walk onto the stage and I remembered something I’d once written. One of my Spotify playlists is titled ‘Squeezebox’. Its accompanying description is: ‘Because all the best songs feature the accordion’.

 

Seeing that accordion arriving onstage in the arms of Julie (who happens to be Vin’s partner) quelled my pre-emptive disappointment.

 

And as the songs unfolded, I saw the move as not an oversight but a stroke of genius. I was sold the moment Katherine Kovacic walked on stage and the band played the opening bars of her chosen song. That song was Foreigner’s ‘Cold as Ice’.

 

If you know the song, you’ll know its dramatic opening. The staccato piano and drum combination conveys an immediate sense of drama and anger. Could an accordion/drum combo capture that? Absolutely!

 

I loved that ‘Cold As Ice’ was a featured song. For Katherine, the song has a very different meaning than it does for me. I actually have that song on another one of my playlists. That list is titled ‘Visceral’ and it features all the songs that ‘get me right there’.

 

When ‘Cold As Ice’ was released in 1977, I was 12. My love of music had been unlocked three years earlier when my older brother bought the K-Tel compilation ‘Fantastic’.

 

Now, in 1977, I was keen to discover new music wherever I could. For me, that meant taking the tranny (that’s a transistor radio) to bed each night and twiddling the dial. That’s how I discovered ‘Cold As Ice’. I knew nothing of relationships as a 12-year-old but I could identify passion in music, and this was it.

 

Foreigner went quickly downhill from there (in my view) but that song remains one of my early icons of expressing passion through music.

 

Katherine’s brilliant story was both passionate and hilarious.

 

(That combination is something else I love in music but that’s another story. I’ll just give you four words: They Might Be Giants.)

 

And so was that of Jacinta Parsons, who presented her song and story next. Once again, the song’s opening featured Julie’s accordion in place of keyboards. Once again it worked beautifully.

 

And once again, it was the opening to another song on my ‘Visceral’ playlist: ‘Heavenly Pop Hit’ by The Chills. This was the first Chills song I ever heard and that opening gave me the band’s very name the very first time I heard it.

 

JP’s incredible and heartfelt memoir surrounding that song has added further dimensions to it for me now.

 

Not every song played on the night evokes as much emotion on me as it does to these writers, but their stories certainly did.

 

Nick Gadd turned Talking Heads’ ‘Once in a Lifetime’ into a brilliant story of his own musical awakening.

 

 

Nick Gadd dressed suspiciously like David Byrne

 

Martina’s journey of recovery aided by Leonard Cohen’s ‘Anthem’ had me and everyone around me in tears.

 

Jock Serong’s story had me spellbound, and I discovered later I was not the only one. Chatting to Jock afterwards, he told me he had been taken aback by the silence during parts of his reading. That’s because we all had hearts in mouths, expecting the worst. The worst did not happen. I didn’t ask Jock, but I hope he heard our collective exhalation of relief.

 

 

Jock Serong has the audience – and guitarist Peter Maskell – in thrall

 

The night was just one song and story of humour, love, loss and more after another. Darren ‘Smokie’ Dawson’s story of Essendon Airport was ‘all-time’ (as the young kids would say), as was the reaction of his father the moment he realised it was a story about him. (Smokie put this up as an Instagram story. Track it down if you can.)

 

The second-last story was from Vin himself. As had all the writers, Vin proved to be a masterful storyteller. And as with all the other stories, it began with a short opening burst and then quickly stopped, allowing Vin to begin his yarn.

 

But as Vin’s story unfolded, I was being nagged by those opening bars. I knew the song. And I knew I loved the song. But I couldn’t work out what it was.

 

In the end, it came to me. The wonderful ‘Werewolves of London’ by Warren Zevon, another important song of my formative years.

 

As he told his story, Vin, referring to rowdy kids at a primary school crossing, used the phrase ‘excitable boys’. To those who know nothing of Zevon other than ‘Werewolves of London’ (and there are many; it was Zevon’s only Australian hit), this would have meant nothing.

 

But it did to me. ‘Excitable Boy’ is the name of the album on which the song appears. And that title track holds a particular significance for me.

 

When I was in Year 9 (Form 3) we were given a task for English: recite a poem in front of the class. It could be any one we chose, or one generically prescribed by our teacher, Mr Matthews.

 

At the time, I was a huge ELO fan, and ‘Mr Blue Sky’ had been a worldwide hit. Musically, ELO’s Jeff Lynne is a brilliant songwriter. Lyrically… well, let’s just say it wasn’t his forte (with a few exceptions) – especially when he was churning songs out continuously in the mid-’70s.

 

But I loved the pure happiness of ‘Mr Blue Sky’s’ lyrics.

 

Sun is shining in the sky
There ain’t a cloud in sight
It’s stopped raining, everybody’s in a play
And don’t you know, it’s a beautiful new day

 

A simple and soppy first verse, but perfect for this uber-upbeat tune.

 

And the lyrics read well as a poem, I thought. This would be a good choice for my English recital.

 

But, being the painfully shy boy I was at age 14, I chickened out. I opted for the generic work (which, for the life of me I cannot remember – it was probably Lawson or Paterson).

 

So up I went and recited that generic poem and then sat down as soon as I could.

 

I was just glad to get it over with and be back out of the spotlight.

 

That was until my classmate Paul G took his turn the front of the class and began his recital:

 

Well, he went down to dinner in his Sunday best
Excitable boy, they all said
And he rubbed the pot roast all over his chest
Excitable boy, they all said

 

“What the hell is this?” I thought. On he went. Third verse:

 

He took little Suzie to the Junior Prom
Excitable boy, they all said
And he raped her and killed her, then he took her home
Excitable boy, they all said

 

By the time Paul was done, I was equal parts annoyed at myself and relieved.

 

Paul’s delivery of those lyrics wasn’t fantastic. He was somewhat monotone as I recall. But he had picked out a song he loved and recited it. I could have done that; it would have been so much better!

 

Annoying.

 

But then I thought, what if I had done ‘Mr Blue Sky’ before Paul recited ‘Excitable Boy’? How lame would my recital have seemed?!

 

Relief.

 

These days, as a much more self-assured person, comfortable in my own very sentimental skin, I would not have worried.

 

And I’m so glad that these writers were not worried (or overcame any worries they had) about sharing their Stereo Stories.

 

What a brilliant, uplifting and rewarding show.

 

So why, then, did I regret going to Stereo Stories In Concert?

 

Because it made me realise what I’ve missed in the past. These Stereo Stories shows began in 2014 and I’ve had the chance to go to most.

 

Until now, I haven’t. And the brilliance of this year’s iteration means I will regret forevermore not going to the earlier ones.

 

I will not miss the next one.

 

 

Stereo Stories stars

 

 

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