The Power of Music

I'm sitting at work today, with a shitload of stuff to do. I've got quotes to type up, print jobs to follow up on, urgent deliveries to organize, but I've been stopped dead in my tracks by a song on the radio.

It's Don Henley's 'Boys Of Summer'.

I'm instantly transported to the arse-end of 1984. My family are all asleep, in a two bedroom flat, on the third floor of a block of flats in East St Kilda, not far from Carlisle Street. I share a room with my little brother, my baby sister is asleep next door in mum and dad's room. There are white venetians on the window, which I've just opened slightly, and I can see the moon outside. It is high summer, almost Christmas, and for the first time in my life, it's not snowing. The view is breathtaking, amazing. Orange smears in the jet-black sky as the sun disappears over the horizon, stars peppering the vista as far as the eye can see. An unexpected plus of living in this cheap flat on the third floor. I think I can almost imagine where the beach is from here. There is a little transistor radio on the table between mine and my brother's beds. It's a huge upshot from the dingy room at the Springvale Hostel for Migrants where we were initially deposited.

Mum, my brother and baby sister, near the Springvale Enterprise Hostel for Migrants

Don Henley is singing... and i can see you, your brown skin shining in the sun, you got your hair combed back, sunglasses on baby, and i can tell you my love for you will still be strong after the boys of summer have gone...

My brother and grandfather, who manager to come out to visit in the late 80's. In the background is the trusty Kingswood Station Wagon, which endured many indignities, including having Dad remove rust with a grinder and filling the holes with slopped-on bog (as you can see). We endured being taken to school in it for many years, until some kind hearted thieves finally stole it out of the driveway one night and set fire to it out the back of Laverton.

Even though I can't understand the words, the music is so evocative, especially as I haven't really heard any popular music until now. I've grown up listening to partisan music, nationalistic hymns and patriotic songs about young men who died for their country. Communist Poland is not a pop-music type of place in the 1980s. My neighbour had Beatles records, and I still remember the thrill of listening to John Lennon singing about a girl, a bath, a Norwegian Wood. I didn't understand those words either, but I will always remember the impression the music made on me.

A 1985 piece by the The Grand Sorcerer Thirty-Eight (GS38), the original Hip Hop graffitist in Melbourne. Active from 1984 to 1986. Does it help set the scene, or what?

Don Henley keeps singing as I look out the window. I should be asleep but I'm so curious about this hot, dry place we've moved to. It's scary and exciting, new and confusing. There's a milkbar down the road, and it sells ice-cream. Chocolate Paddle Pops. And you don't need food stamps. The weather is so different, I don't think I will ever get over the Summer Christmas deal. We've left all our family and friends behind, but the people here are pretty friendly. At the Noble Park English Language School, all the Migrant Hostel kids are learning basic English together. There are some boys from San Salvador, kids from Africa - I don't know which country - who make a huge impression on me as I've never seen black skin before. I win a drawing competition there, the prize is a plastic Swatch watch, which I wish I still had - I'm sure it would be worth a fortune. I'm only 12, but I feel so much older, like I've got some sort of responsibility to excel, to please my parents. I feel strongly that they gave up everything for me, so I could have a better life. I've heard this said to me many times and I don't want to ever disappoint them. I'm scared of starting real school next year but also looking forward to making new friends. Little did I know that I would be spending my lunchtimes by myself, reading. My 'new friends' think that my anti-English is hilarious, and I learn lots of new words like 'stupid' and 'wog'. I've learned really important things, such as; toast made in the morning and taken to school for lunch is cold, dry and hard. Since I never had toasted bread before, now is as good a time to find out as any.

Dad, learning about the BBQ tradition, sporting a fetching mid-80's Mo

All this is in the near future. For now, I'm 12, and listening to pop music on the radio, really quietly, at night, in 1984.

The next song comes on. I can sing Tina Turner's 'Private Dancer' too, improvising phonetically, not understanding a word. These songs will stay with me forever, I think, and always take me back to that third-floor room, and to memories like my mum in the bathtub, crying, not able to comprehend the 40C+ heat of summer, or to my sister taking her first steps in a baby-walker, my brother watching Inspector Gadget while lying in front of the TV, to my Dad working night-shift at various petrol stations around Melbourne.

A view of Kings Way, South Melbourne, Solo Service Station.

Dad worked here 7 nights a week until they went out of business.

Back in the office now, and back to 2009. I know the words now, and poor Pete is enduring me singing them out loud. I love this song ! Join in any time 80's lovers :) and if you want to see Don Henley mime it on Top of the Pops in 1985, click here:

Nobody on the road, nobody on the beach

I feel it in the air, the summer's out of reach

Empty lake, empty streets, the sun goes down alone

I'm driving by your house, though i know you're not home

And I can see you, your brown skin shining in the sun

You've got your hair combed back, sunglasses on baby

I can tell you my love for you will still be strong

After the boy of summer have gone