Now that it was settled that I had no more to teach the dirty children, out of dirty books, lessons for which they had great disinclination, and no more to direct Lizer’s greasy fingers over the yellow keys of that demented piano in a vain endeavour to teach her “choones”, of which her mother expected her to learn on an average two daily, it seemed as though I had a mountain lifted off me, and I revived magically, got out of bed and packed my things.
An old radio voice-over asks him to describe the music he plays. “It’s like running water off thin white strips of aluminium,” he replies. Soundtrack: the first three notes of Cattle and Cane.
(Robert Forster, in Kriv Stenders’s Right Here, quoted by Andrew Stafford, ‛The Go-Betweens: Right Here doco shows old wounds remain close to the surface’, Sydney Morning Herald 20 Sep. 2017)
A posse of Dublin Metropolitan police superintended by the Chief Commissioner in person maintained order in the vast throng for whom the York Street brass and reed band whiled away the intervening time by admirably rendering on their blackdraped instruments the matchless melody endeared to us from the cradle by Speranza’s plaintive muse.
The audience was a mix of grey hair and green hair, the now-older kids who remember Thunders from back in the day, and the actual kids who (in some cases) weren’t even born yet when the record came out.
(Caryn Rose, ‘Revisiting Johnny Thunders and the Heartbreakers’ ‘L.A.M.F.” Live at Bowery Electric’, Noisey)
A tall, thin man with a serious demeanor, Dr Bainton resembled a boiled egg in an ill-fitting suit with a face like the back of a sandshoe verging on the color beetroot. When Miss Pope opened the door for me to walk into the death chamber, he glanced up from the lamp’s glow on the green baize felt of her card table where AMEB documents had been placed with geometric precision.
(Roger Woodward, Beyond Black and White 2)