- Truman Capote, 'Other Voices, Other Rooms'The true beloveds of this world are in their lover's eyes lilacs opening, ship lights, school bells, a landscape, remembered conversations, friends, a child's Sunday, lost voices, one's favorite suit, autumn and all seasons, memory, yes, it being the earth and water of existence, memory.
Tuesday afternoon at work was accompanied by the second disc of the latest Eskimo Joe album, a collection of live recordings, when iTunes ticked over to 'From The Sea' - Live at Enmore Theatre.
For a few seconds I tried to place the opening guitar chords, those distinctive riffs over the sound of a live audience. There was a place where I'd heard this once, and it seemed important to know where and what that was.
Like old blinds being drawn in a deserted house on a sunny afteroon, the revelation of that memory brings flooding light over old furniture in a room that was long ago deserted.
The date is January 30th, 2005. I'm in the lower tiers of the grandstand at the Royal Melbourne Showgrounds, in front of me is the main stage decked out under blue and orange canopies. It's almost 1pm and a crowd of thousands are gathered standing.
I remember this moment because of a photo, probably one of the least interesting and meaningful photos in my huge collection from those days, but I know from the memory of it that this is the moment that Eskimo Joe are about to begin playing - what was then - their biggest single.
A warm and knowing smile breaks across my face as the song begins. From near the front I can see a beach ball being punched around and hands going into the air after it. I'm smiling like a fool because my first Big Day Out has just started... and also because I'm madly in love with the girl sitting next to me... she is probably laughing because I'm taking a photo of nothing.
Hello hello oh hello
The world repeats itself some how
She knows she knows oh she knows
The weather that day was perfect, as was the Red Russian I consumed which led to the rest of the day being not so well remembered. I know at one point I was making grass-angels on the lawn of that same main stage during Powderfinger, caught the first part of the Beastie Boys and a spine-tingling set by the Chemical Brothers to finish.
I don't understand why I should so strongly associate with that one moment at the start, captured in a photo, that would otherwise be meaningless. As if I were to know, even before 1pm, that it would be one of the best days of my life.
Back in 2009, I turn to stare out the window, tears welling up in my eyes. It takes almost thirty minutes before I can compose myself enough to start working again, the time index on the song stopped at 2.15... I tell iTunes to skip ahead.
