23.1 C
Byron Shire
March 1, 2021

S Sorrensen’s Here & Now: There & Then

Latest News

Police looking for missing Pottsville woman

Police say they are seeking public assistance to locate a woman missing from Pottsville for almost a week.

Other News

Ready for Byron’s latest massive development on Jonson St?

The changing face of Byron as Gold Coast and Sydney developers move in to recreate the look and feel of the town with intense development proposals.

Editorial – Ewingsdale development creep rejected by residents

A petition of 294 signatures against rezoning Ewingsdale farmland to commercial use will be presented to councillors for their upcoming Thursday meeting.

Entertainment in the Byron Shire and beyond for the week beginning 24 February, 2021

Entertainment in the Byron Shire and beyond for the week beginning 24 February, 2021

Facebook fails

Adrian Gattenhof, Mullumbimby American spoilt brat Zuckerberg may have done adults around the world a great favour with his screamy...

Super swim challenge accepted

A group of mates from Brunswick Heads, Byron Bay and Lennox Head, recently formed a swim team known as the Anti Budgie Boardriders for the purpose of taking part in the Starlight Foundations Super Swim Challenge.  

Bringing down the heat in our ‘hood

How well we survive the future depends on our vision for our towns and suburbs – and on how we bring that vision about.

Image S Sorrensen

Byron Bay. Sunday, 7.50pm

I hear a guitar progression rise from the dull, but pervasive, din that is Jonson Street on Sunday night. The electric riff sounds familiar, but my mind doesn’t yet connect the melodic dots to give the song a name.

I’m distracted: A woman with the most brightly coloured tattoos I have ever seen is arguing with a woman with the second most colourful tattoos I have ever seen. Their faces are red with emotion. They stand boot to boot, screaming at each other, rainbow arms flashing about, a phone falling to ground.

I cross the road to avoid them. I’m sensitive at the moment – no arguments please – so I dodge a doofin’ Transporter, wait on the centre line until the Gold Coast airport shuttle has rumbled by, then sprint (yeah right, S) to the far shore.

Here, outside the bakery, two men and a woman are chattering in excited Spanish. A young Japanese couple strolls by hand in hand, she texting deftly with one hand, he looking across the road to the colourful argument.

Here, despite the rainbow storm, the doofin’ Transporter and the animated Spanish, I hear more clearly the guitar chords moving about: the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, the major lift…

It’s coming from up the street. I must find it.

This week, I went to a funeral and looked at a body. A dead body. I lingered by the coffin. The person I knew for many decades was gone. But there was his body, frozen in his last moment, empty now.

‘That’s it,’ I thought. ‘That’s what happens. To us all.’

Not exactly rocket science, I know, but not all epiphanies happen on drugs.

A crowd is gathered at the mouth of a lane that spikes off from the main drag. The sounds that call me spill like surf from that concrete canyon. I like electric guitars. I love to listen to them, especially when they’re in the hands of someone who understands them. I want to see those hands, so I push into the crowd.

A few days ago, at the funeral, when I saw my friend lying in a coffin instead of commanding a stage, it affected me. He’d been a powerful presence, imprinting himself on my life through his music. He’s dead now. The same fate awaits us all. All of us.

This realisation reached into me so deeply that an unacknowledged fear was acknowledged – and lifted from me with a sob. Along with that fear went denial and false hope. And gods and karma and rebirth and heaven and tunnels of light – all the desperate delusions. Life is what happens when you know you’re dying.

So, I’ve been empty for a few days – empty, but alive; numb, but awake. Now I find myself in Byron, walking around arguments, stepping past the man flaked out on the footpath, squinting into too-bright pizza joints, searching for the secret chord (that David played).

A young bloke leans against the laneway wall in an elegant slouch, one foot propped against the wall. He strokes the Gibson slung in front of him with a casual dexterity that only comes with youth.

He’s too young to know the reality of death, I reckon, but music whispers to him. It teaches him, as it taught my old friend. Music is eternal, if only for a moment, and fills our emptiness with beauty.

The young fella leans into the microphone:

I did my best, it wasn’t much,
I couldn’t feel, so I tried to touch,
I’ve told the truth, I didn’t come to fool you,
And even though it all went wrong
I’ll stand before the lord of song,
With nothing on my tongue but hallelujah.


Support The Echo

Keeping the community together and the community voice loud and clear is what The Echo is about. More than ever we need your help to keep this voice alive and thriving in the community.

Like all businesses we are struggling to keep food on the table of all our local and hard working journalists, artists, sales, delivery and drudges who keep the news coming out to you both in the newspaper and online. If you can spare a few dollars a week – or maybe more – we would appreciate all the support you are able to give to keep the voice of independent, local journalism alive.

2 COMMENTS

  1. After the sun had beat down on me all day, it was Sunday I went at night to Jonson Street to hear the beat of the music. At the back of a bar In the corner of a stage a guitar riff with electronic boost cut the air and filled it from a strung out man trying get as much sound as possible sprinting his fingers up and down the cords. The riff sounded familiar but my mind was not that attentive to recognise the tune. I took another sip of beer trying to focus on the name of the song. Dah, de dah, de dah, dah, dah, dah, de doo. The name wouldn’t come.

  2. On Wednesday night a bijoux arvo tea n barbie was held at SGB picnic area and hall. Two local musos played. Beyond the cattle crush of festivals,this was a blessed event.
    Later in the twilight one of your dear friend’s songs or two were played skilfully by his friend Luke. Margie n I remarked that we don’t leave much behind when we leave this mortal coil but songs live on n on. What a legacy to even leave one song or poem that continues to speak to others. Farewell dear man.

LEAVE A REPLY

Please enter your comment!
Please enter your name here

Truth

Dr Matt Landos, East Ballina There is the real news and then there is the fake news. The radio news announced recently new economic figures showing...

Monkey see

Daniel Brown, Byron Bay Back in my early youth growing up in Mt Eliza Victoria in the ‘90s I’d secretly look up to and admire...

Australia’s bastardry

Gareth W R Smith, Byron Bay Australia has a long string of racist and anti-humanitarian policies. These range from its treatment of Aboriginal people, complicity...

Mt Warning ban

Chris Gee, Byron Bay Indigenous readers be advised that the following letter contains references to persons deceased. I read with some interest and also, I am...