Following on from my previous post about German language hits of the 1980s, I’ve been completely awash in the sounds of Italo Disco!
While German electronic music certainly had its allure, there was something undeniably fun, glamorous, and just a little bit camp about Italo Disco that absolutely captivated me in the 1980s. I was young, gay, and hitting the nightclub scene in Brisbane, Australia, and it was a great accompaniment.
Here are some of my favourites from the time.
Yes, yes, Laura Branigan’s version was huge, especially in the US, but for me, the original Italian version by Raf is where the magic truly began. It has that unmistakable Italo swagger and a slightly darker, more mysterious feel that I just adore.
You hear that iconic “oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh” and you know exactly what it is! Baltimora’s “Tarzan Boy” is one of those ridiculously catchy, instantly recognisable tracks that defines the era.
And even though he was an American, “Boom Boom (Let’s Go Back to My Room)” by Paul Lekakis (1987) was produced by the established Italo Disco production team of Miki Chieregato, Tom Hooker, and Roberto Turatti.
What a hunk!!
Somewhere in my collection I have quite a few Italo Disco records.
As we left dinner at the very charming and tasty tapas bar “Vida” in Paddington (Brisbane, not Sydney), I asked my friends “What was the name of that cafe/restaurant in Paddington”. Was it Scribbles or something?”.
“Scribbles”? No! Of course, I was confusing it with another favourite from the time, the legendary 1990s cafe in Wagga Wagga where you had crayons and butcher’s paper to delight you as you waited for your meal.
Vida does tapas in Paddington, Brisbane
My friend soon corrected that it was in fact “Puzzles” that I was thinking of. It’s closed now, though the building remains.
“And what was the name of that gourmet hamburger restaurant in the city?”, I further asked. “Parrots” I was reminded by one of my friends who added… “And you could have blue cheese on your burger. It was very sophisticated back then”.
As a university student in Brisbane in the mid-1980s, my tastes (and budget) didn’t go much beyond Puzzles and Parrots. I’m sure there were far more sophisticated places to dine, or perhaps not?
My friend – cropped – wearing a puffy shoulder dress, a sports girl bag, photographic timestamps and Parrots – Brisbane in the 80s.
It was a lovely trip down memory lane and a reminder for me that most of my cultural references to Brisbane date back to the 1980s when I lived here. I’d finished high school and soon after had moved to university to study, and then later to work in Brisbane. Lismore has always been “home”, but with the death of dad (in 1982) and mum (in 1984), I guess Brisbane was the place where I “grew up” in lots of ways. It was where I began to work out who I was in life, beyond that of son, grandson and so on.
“Every time I come back to Brisbane I wonder what my life would have been like if I’d stayed”, I told my friends over dinner. Of course, I don’t know the answer, and it’s a somewhat academic exercise to even contemplate how my life would have been different. But I certainly know it would have been different. I would have been closer to my family in Brisbane, I’m sure. (I’m renegotiating that relationship now). I may also have been doing a significantly different job to the one I am now. I may still be working at Coles. I may have found love. I may have had kids. I may have become a school teacher in Rockhampton. Who knows?
In many ways, I’m getting to know Brisbane again after a long, long break. For a long time, it was only an occasional visit to see family, though we would mostly catch up in Lismore, not Brisbane. But in the last year, I’ve been back a couple of times. First, sadly for Gloria’s funeral, and then this week for work.
For a bunch of reasons, I suspect I’ll be returning a bit more in the future. Or maybe not? Either way, the last few months have “updated” my connection with Brisbane, and I suspect my cultural references will eventually move beyond gourmet hamburger restaurants and long-closed cafes.
“Sure, why not? I’ll go too”, I thought to myself, when I saw my friend Kate invite me on Facebook to an event organised on by the Anglican Church at Gosford. Located about only eighty minutes by train from Sydney’s Central Station, the church has become an active national voice in the area of human rights, particularly refugees, thanks to the leadership of their priest, Father Rod, through clever, pithy and profound posts on social media. Father Rod also spoke at the recent refugee vigil in Sydney.
Gorgeous gum on NSW Central CoastLovely day overlooking the water at Gosford, NSWGosford Anglican Church
Today’s event was a talk by Julian Burnside QC AO (barrister and human rights advocate) and former Australian Of The Year, Professor Patrick McGorry AO (psychiatrist, researcher and mental health advocate). Though there was nothing either said which I hadn’t heard before – though Julian Burnside read out a letter about something which had occurred on Nauru only two days ago – it was really great to hear them speak. They’re both smart men who spoke with honesty and passion.
Julian Burnside at refugee talk at Gosford Anglican Church
Despite what you often read in the press (or in the comments columns of various blogs), those attending today’s meeting weren’t a bunch of inner-city lefties. Looking around the crowd, almost everyone was at least fifty years old. Overhearing conversations, almost everyone was a local. And judging by the moments of applause, I’d say more than half the audience was Christian. The common theme to the addresses, and to the questions was that Australia was once a leader in supporting refugees, but somehow we have “lost our way”.
Salar Hs at Gosford Anglican Church
And the world has noticed, too. Not just the United Nations. There was a stupid story in the paper the other day about an Australian woman refused backpacker accommodation in Scotland because “Australians were drunks and racists”. Total beat-up of a story, of course, and a really bad example of “cut and paste journalism”. But on a personal level I remember being in Stockholm a few years ago and got to talking with a guy from Norway.
“We go to Stockholm, Copenhagen and Helsinki Pride”, a young Norwegian bloke called Kristian told me. He was maybe mid-20s, with an interest in politics, and so we chatted for quite some time about politics in Scandinavia and Australia. “You treat refugees very badly”, he told me. “They travel thousands of kilometres on boats and then you put them on islands”, he added, demonstrating more of an awareness of the Australian political scene than I thought may have existed in this part of the world.
Also on a personal level, at today’s talk, Father Rod introduced us to Salar Hs, a refugee from Iran. A young guy, he works hard as an Uber driver, and plays violin. A local orchestra played a work he composed in collaboration with Caitlin Yeo which was very moving and gained a standing ovation.
Refugee talk at Gosford Anglican Church
Today’s event was filmed for the television documentary “The Shadowland”, an independent production that has been commissioned by the ABC as a “Compass” special for 2016, so keep an eye out, you might see me in the background.
After the talk, Kate and I wandered around Gosford, before finally settling at restaurant/bar on the waterfront. Compared with so many people who come to Australia in such difficult circumstances, we both agreed we feel truly lucky and privileged.
The Swedes really love their Christmas albums. In this week’s Top 60 albums there are seven “Christmas” themed albums, including the #1 CD by Sanna, Shirley and Sonja.
You know how at the end of “The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy”, the meaning of life is famously revealed as “forty-two”? Reading the book as a child, I thought it was just a nonsense way of saying there is no universal meaning of life.
Many years later, and having interviewed Douglas Adams, I now think he was probably saying forty-two was about the age at which you discover your own meaning of life. Deep eh?
Forty-two is also about the number of beers I drank last night for my birthday drinks at “The Evening Star”.
Although I’ve been anticipating it for a while, and unlike most years, had actually given some thought to a drinks celebration, turning forty-two kinda surprised me when it arrived. I’ve been really busy at work lately, and so have been reasonably distracted until, all of a sudden, it happened.
Birthday Beers at The Evening Star
I’ve always been fairly conscious of the multiples of seven birthdays though. Long before new-age thinking, I remember, as a child, my dad telling me life life goes through seven year cycles. I still remember the conversation vividly, as it just seemed to come out of nowhere, though it was obviously something my dad believed.
The forty-second year brings a major change because it is the polarity of the twenty-eighth year. Here, the integration of the whole self occurs. The view is not, “World, what can you give me?” as in the twenty-eighth year, but, “World what have I got to give you?” It is the realization of all the growth that has occurred and the ability to use it in its most productive way.
At forty-two, you may begin to have doubts about your life. These doubts are not negative. They are based on the growth gained in the interim years between thirty-five and forty-two. This creates an ability to question whether you wish to maintain your life as it is or whether new changes are imminent. Doubt can be positive if it is leading you to be suspect of something in your life that is not good for you.
If past experience is anything to go by, I suspect changes in my life may also be imminent. Aged twenty-two, I quit my job at Coles and left Brisbane for Bourke in Western NSW (a big change) to follow my career dream. Aged twenty-nine, I fulfilled another long-term career goal, and also moved to Sydney. Aged thirty-six, I became single again, ending a reasonably long-relationship, and soon-after started on a new direction in my career. So strictly speaking, the changes in my life occur about twelve months after one of those multiple of seven birthdays.
And now, aged forty-two, like the hippies say, I find myself questioning my life again and wondering what’s next. I’m planning overseas travel next year, of maybe two or three months duration, so maybe that will be an opening to the next part of my life.
But in the meantime, it was great last night to get together and have a few drinks with mates. As previously noted, I have a broad cross-section of friends, and it was very nice to see them getting to meet each other last night. I loved hearing from workmates comments like “Your friends are VERY nice”, and hearing from friends comments like, “The people you work with are VERY interesting”. Maybe that’s what the meaning of life is – being surrounded by interesting, lovely people.
“I’m not your first customer, am I?”, I said to one of the bar staff at the pub in Lismore. It was 11.45am, and even by my standards that was a little early. But I figured after five weeks lockdown in Lismore, I was doing my bit for the local economy by popping in for a ginger beer. “Oh no”, she said, “We’ve had plenty of customers, already”.
Though the lockdown here hasn’t been anywhere near as severe as in other parts of Australia, and in many parts of the world, there was still a sense of relief/elation as I walked around town this morning. You could feel it too, in the the general vibe of the place. The streets were reasonably busy, there was tai chi in The Quad, and there were also people in the pubs and restaurants.
On the radio this morning, ABC North Coast, Angela Catterns interviewed someone from a nail salon who declared she had taken her first customer at midnight, only minutes/seconds after the lockdown lifted. As I walked around town, I noticed most of the hairdressers were booked out. As you’ll see in the video, my beard is looking very scrappy, to say the least.
Though there’s part of me which feels the lockdown has been lifted too early, there’s also a feeling of elation.
“Hopefully we won’t have some idiot come up from Sydney and force us back into lockdown again”, Pat said to me earlier. “We’ve got plenty of our own idiots up here”, I said to her in reply.
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You are quite right. He is a hunk, from back in the day when male performers were real men. No?
You are quite right. He is a hunk, from back in the day when male performers were real men. No?
And quite tight fitting pants!