“The Age of Consent”
2. It Ain’t Necessarily So
4. No More War
5. Love and Money
6. Smalltown Boy
9. Need a Man Blues
10. I Feel Love, Johnnie Remember Me
It was 1984, the town was winding down from its summer onslaught of chip-eaters; that familiar lull, sigh of relief, sense of anti-climax, that accompanied each seasonal transition into Autumn/Fall in this, once popular sea-side town.
For me, it was that year; the year; The Age of Consent.
“Can you tell me Why?” Echoes across the dance hall, from the DJ turntable across the floor, with the usual suspects painted, gelled, and robed doing the poseur roam, whilst others dance like there’s no-one home!
Yet, It ain’t necessarily so; one can’t judge a book by it’s cover, simply because it fits some form of societal conformity.
So what if she is the only one dressed in black, and yes the black lipstick and soaped hair is odd, but that doesn’t make her a freak; no; it ain’t necessarily so.
The wind Screaming through the trees, as she walks her way home, alone. The Autumn colours now begun; the sea brewing in response to the high North Sea winds and the chill factor, as she reminisces of the summer’s past, and this town’s cast.
“No More War; The War is Over; then there’s that LP by that weird group, uhh, well the LP is called War anyway”…answers Rob, as he tries to name as many tracks or LP’s with War in the title; as he sits outside the Eastcliffe, on a bench.
“For Love and Money, I’d give anything to be there, seriously, it’s simply not possible” she says upon hearing her favourite band are playing the Uni. Lorinda harps on and on, how it’s just the train fare, as she has tickets; “so just get your glam rags on and hurry up”! She yells down the receiver.
The middle aged couple walk into the venue, him covered in tattoos, yet dressed sharp as a button, in a black suit shirt, adorned with bolo tie, smart slacks and a pair of cowboy boots; naturally the first thing noticed however, is his ink, as it creeps out from under the cuffs of his shirt all the way down to his fingertips; the usher, unsure, looks down at the guest list, then ticks a name, as his eyes reabsorb the carefully drawn lines and shapes across the man’s hands; the accompanying Lady smiles and speaks up, “It’s alright, he’s just a Smalltown Boy at heart!”
“My God, we’re having some Heatwave over here, I look like a boiled ham!” Pam says half to herself, whilst spying herself in the bathroom mirror; though hot summers do reach the seaside town, as it’s situated on the sunny South-East coast; it was indeed undergoing a rare Heatwave.
“Clean up all this Junk, right now young lady, or you’ll be going nowhere, least of all the disco!” her Mother yelled, storming out of the vinyl LP’s and 45’s strewn lounge.
As they huddled together, this clique, at the back of the disco; the blonde dressed in Madonna’s clear image, is sniffling as tear’s drive down her cheeks; as the heavily made up, Goth clad holds her sobbing friend; “You know what you need don’t you?” she says in the blondes ear; as the blonde shakes her head, “You need to go with someone new, cause he ain’t worth those Need a Man Blues!”
“Most the time I’m filled with teenage angst, anger, rebelliousness; but somehow, when I am near him, I Feel Love” she writes in her diary, with large looped writing in a multi-coloured pen.
She pauses, thinking; then starts writing again, “I never thought for a moment I would ever get over the pain, you know, from him; but it’s like a distant memory now” she looks at some old scrawls on her wall, then writes more, “I wonder if, Johnnie Remember Me….” she sings in time with her writing, then ends in a laugh.