That's What Friends Are For

I’m captivated by the Channel 10 series Puberty Blues. There are many reasons -  most based on nostalgia - but especially because the friendship between the two main characters reminds me so very much of the friendships of my teen years, particularly the one formed with my first high school ‘bestie.’  The hair styles and wardrobe matches are scarily close:  Staggers jeans, snug little "Tommy" (the rock opera) tee shirt, Converse hi-tops and Sportsgirl tote, anyone?

Teen friendship is in a class of its own.  ("Puberty Blues" Photo courtesy Network 10)

Lesley and I began secondary school in the same class, still ‘hanging’ with girls we knew from our previous schools.  Yet just a week into Year 8, following a series of exchanged glances and smiles, we claimed a double desk for ourselves, and sat together in class for the next three years (not including the brief teacher-enforced separations familiar to any such twosome).

Our homes were several kilometres apart, in opposite directions, so sometimes when we arrived home, we’d phone each other (back in the days when nobody had a mobile, let alone Facebook) to continue a chat we began at the school gates.  Our mothers muttered in the background “You were with her all day! Whatever do you find to talk about?” 

These were our 'text messages,' kiddies.

It’s intriguing how an earlier generation forgets the depth of a teen girl friendship – unless perhaps, such attachments weren’t as deep in ‘their day?’  Yet literature from earlier eras suggests that teen years friendships are perennially meaningful; their depth seems almost a rite of passage

In truth, we always had something to talk about: everything and nothing.  Even in class, matters that couldn’t wait until lunchtime, would be dealt with via Secret Notes. 

 
In an all-girls school, friendships were probably less complicated, since there were no boys to distract or divide us.  Others may argue the all-female hormonal vibe was gossip fuel in itself.  A fond memory is the simple pleasure of sitting on the school oval at recess or lunch time, uniforms tucked into our knickers as we slathered baby oil on our legs and tried to get a tan happening.  (Side note: The 1970s was pre-sun awareness, a time when radio stations sent dune buggies to beaches to provide free sprays of coconut oil for sunbathers.  On hot days, they'd helpfully broadcast half-hourly reminders to ‘turn over’ to ensure you got an even tan.)

NOT on my turntable. *adds horns*.

Our shared love of music also began as a thing of joy.  In the end, it drove a wedge between us.  The specific culprit, in my eyes, was 1970s popstar John Paul Young.  To quote a lyric from his 1976 hit song I Hate The Music - “the music tore us apart.”

Lesley liked Donny Osmond; my heart belonged to David Cassidy.  She was into Sonny & Cher; I preferred the Jackson Five.  That was fine for a long time, because we both loved Sherbet.   By age 15, when I was into Glam Rock, Lesley became obsessed with John Paul Young - deeply obsessed, for several years to come.  At times, my observations on her fandom were  undiplomatic.  I wondered how anyone could compare “Squeak” (as JPY was known) to Queen, T-Rex, The Sweet or Elton John.

I know ... I know ... but I was 13

Recognise my rage?

  

  

Our music tastes became disparate.  Neither of us cared for the other’s opinion, so of course, began spending more time with friends who had similar musical leanings.  There was no explosive moment and we remained on speaking terms, but I sometimes felt sad that things were never the same, because we had some wonderful times and a lot of great laughs.
 

Perhaps music was simply an allegory for other wants and needs in our lives.

Other friendships come and go, and if you’re lucky, you find even stronger ones as life goes on.  Yet there’s something about the teen years – perhaps puberty combined with the ‘hothouse’ of the classroom and schoolyard – that burns those friendships into your memory.
                                                           

Sherbet .. well, "Garth" as I called it.  Guys with girl hair

Can't Stop The Music

Who remembers learning these songs at school in the 1970s?

• Blowin’ in the Wind   
• The Marvelous Toy
• La Cucaracha  
• The Ash Grove       
• Tzena Tzena                   
• Cileto Lindo                
• Moon of Silver White 
• Flash Jack from Gundagai
• I've been Working on the Railroad    
• The Happy Wanderer

In 1970s Australia, school music programmes included lessons via radio from the national broadcaster (ABC).   The lessons were piped through the PA system to each classroom.  The large wooden box speaker above the blackboard was as much a fixture as the framed portrait of Queen Elizabeth 2^nd and the useless ceiling-fan.   We’d lean forward, elbows on the desk, gazing into space or doodling on the songbook as presenters with quasi-English accents walked us through music basics.

We were taught songs from around the world, including quaint English ditties, European folks songs, the occasional mysterious "Oriental" number and slightly grandiose Italian songs.  "Negro spirituals" were especially common, the lyrics written in a vernacular now likely be considered racist.

Other songs questionable by today’s standards included those about:

• Sick and dying childen (luckily, they could be cured with Shortnin’ Bread)

• Miserable working conditions (Drill, Ye Tarriers)

• Mocking someone as "cock-eyed" (The Drummer and the Cook - “with her one eye on the pot and the other up the chimney”

• The lazy, useless wife of a Scotsman (The Wee Cooper of Fife)

• An old woman who died after swallowing a variety of animals  (There Was an Old Lady … )

• A monster being run over by a tram  (The Ombly Gombly)
  

There was a never-ending song (Chuffa-Luffa Steam Train) and a ridiculously short song which I will write here in its entirety:

“There was on old crow / Sat upon a clod / 

That’s the end of my song /  That’s odd”

Certainly it gave us a sense of mastery ("Mum, I learned a whole song in 15 seconds!").   Songs sung 'in rounds' were popular, such as Row Row Row the Boat and Kookaburra Sits in the Old Gum Tree.**    

Nonsense songs were included to encourage those who weren't musically inclined.  The nonsense reached tremendous and very 1970-ish heights one year when the ABC ran with the theme of space travel, apparently inventing songs especially for the occasion.  

If anybody else remembers trippy tunes about the “astronautical ship” on which Zolt the Third took us to the “Gracious Star of Zap”  then by all means help me relive the horror.

Please do share memories you have about any primary/elementary school music programmes.

  

**  Australian pop group Men at Work worked a distinctive riff from  Kookaburra Sits in the Old Gum Tree  into their anthemic hit  The Land Down Under  and made it more enjoyable than I EVER remember it being at school.

Music in the Sky with Diamonds

Is it just my bias, or was I incredibly fortunate to be a “child of the 70s,” thus immersed in the best music era of all time?  I can’t even begin to blog on how much Glam Rock, Disco, 70s Pop and Rock brought pleasure to my life.

But I was born in the sixties, so, thanks to my parents, some of that music imprinted my psyche as well. 

Certainly, the 1960s was a decade that produced some amazing hits.  Unfortunately, my parents weren’t listening to those.  Their middle-of-the-road tastes leaned more towards Burt Bacharach, Henry Mancini, Herb Alpert, Percy Faith and *passes around anti-nausea tablets*  Max Bygraves.

I can still see Dad, sucking on a can of Tab Diet Cola, as he tapped his foot to Acker Bilk and James Galway.  His funk factor stopped at Herman’s Hermits.  If only someone had airlifted me ahead to the ‘70s, to those joyful days of saving up to buy a vinyl single (45rpm) in a paper sleeve. 

Every decade has its musical duds, but I’d argue the 1960s had more than most. My ‘most loathed’ instrumental was Swinging Safari and the worst schlagermuzak of all time was Days of Wine and Roses and The Shadow of Your Smile.

Best ‘60s instrumental was easily Mason Williams’ Classical Gas.

Not until adulthood was I exposed to the finest music of the ‘60s, from artists like The Beatles, Elvis Presley, Simon & Garfunkel, James Taylor, Mamas & The Papas, The Who, Marvin Gaye and Aretha Franklin.

Here's what happens next: I post this blog, and realize I’ve overlooked a seminal artist/band of the sixties.  Apart from The Stones (not a fan, though I respect their work), The Doors, Jimi Hendrix, Joni Mitchell … perhaps you can think of another that genuinely deserves a mention?