‘Big ups’. Until the moment these words were uttered, I’d been having a perfectly pleasant time. We were driving to Bittern, listening to a self-declared ‘youth orientated’ radio station. I’d been heartened by the fact that songs which, ostensibly, were written, performed and directed towards young people did not sound like something that made me want to hand my ears back on the grounds that they were clearly defective. Rather, these were songs that sounded like songs and not a computer malfunction. After the music stopped, a voice that sounded as if she may not yet be old enough to drive uttered the words that would cause my sense of wellbeing to instantly unravel.
‘Big ups’. Until the moment these words were uttered, I’d been having a perfectly pleasant time. We were driving to Bittern, listening to a self-declared ‘youth orientated’ radio station. I’d been heartened by the fact that songs which, ostensibly, were written, performed and directed towards young people did not sound like something that made me want to hand my ears back on the grounds that they were clearly defective. Rather, these were songs that sounded like songs and not a computer malfunction. After the music stopped, a voice that sounded as if she may not yet be old enough to drive uttered the words that would cause my sense of wellbeing to instantly unravel.
When the music stopped, I had no idea what to expect. It’s fair to say that I did not see it coming. Without hesitation, the announcer stated that before the next song, she wanted to offer ‘big ups’ to a listener who happened to driving back to Byron Bay. It was all I could do to not pull the car to the side of the road, get out of the car and shake my fists at the sky.
It was a statement of such overwhelming randomness, I could barely function and my mind was awash with questions. Did the listener call in and specifically request on-air ‘big ups’ or were they bestowed on him regardless? Will ‘big ups’ result in accelerated advancement through high school or University? Having received ‘big ups’, what do you do with them? Put them in a vase? Frame them? Once I might have known the answers to these questions. For there was a time not so long ago that I understood youth culture because I was part of it rather than, as I am now, a spectator from an ever-increasing distance.
Luckily, I had resisted the urge to pull over and we continued on along Coolart Road before taking the turnoff for Bittern. The last time I’d been there I’d been as young as the radio announcer. As we approached the town, there was a blue sign pointing to the right, indicating that this was the direction you took if you looking for the Bittern Recreation Centre. I remember it well.
Our band played there just the once. It was a school dance and it was the era before the DJ ruled supreme. There was a small stage and a PA we’d rented that might have been the right size if, in fact, we’d been playing Festival Hall and not Bittern. We’d used the afternoon to sound-check and waited anxiously for our schoolmates to begin arriving for what would, without doubt, be the greatest night of their lives.
Usually, school dances are incredibly uncool. If there’s a band, they’re usually only there to crank out approximate versions of songs from the radio. The mere act of recognition can often be enough to send the audience into a frenzy. We, however, were not that kind of band. Rather, we decided that the best way to entertain an audience of teenagers, teachers and the occasional parent was to unleash our catalog of original compositions on an unsuspecting crowd. Right away, it was clear that our music was having a profound effect.
So overwhelmed were our schoolmates, they immediately vacated the dance floor. Presumably, this was in order to fully appreciate every nuance of the set list. Given how long we’d worked on those tunes, I couldn’t blame them for feeling a little awestruck. Besides, it’s hard to really take in the lyrics if you’re dancing. You’re much better off crossing your arms and closing your eyes and letting the poetry of it all wash over you. When it was over, I can’t recall anyone saying that they thought they liked it. I certainly can’t recall anyone offering ‘big ups’.
For reasons I can’t quite put my finger on, I wanted to turn right and visit the Bittern Recreation Hall. I suspected it might be a lot smaller than I remembered, as that’s the way it is with most things these days, including the jeans that seemed to fit perfectly just two years ago. It in a more ideal world, there would be a plaque, if not a statue, commemorating if not the time 20/20 Vision played the school dance at the Bittern Recreation Hall, then at least celebrating the moment we finished and turned our amps off.
I didn’t turn. Rather, I kept on driving through Bittern. It might well have been the scene of one of my greatest musical triumphs, but there’s nothing left to indicate it. In a post ‘big ups’ universe, where praise can be heaped upon you for no more than sending a text message to a radio station, it’s too much to expect that our concert should be remembered other than for the tinnitus that some of the audience members no doubt still experience to this day. Later in the afternoon, we drove back through Bittern one more time and I turned the radio way up. Perhaps it’s enough for me to tell that story one more time to my wife, even if she’s heard it all before. For the past is a powerful thing. We reconstruct it to give ourselves comfort I think. And as we cruised on past the Bittern Recreational Hall, the thought of that night all those years made me happy. If nothing else, that deserves ‘big ups’.