It doesn’t matter if you were born in the 1960s, 1980s or 2000s. The Summer Of Love, in all its hazy, romantic, euphoric, bittersweet, insecure, hopeful, joyful glory, is for everyone. My brothers G, I and M had all that and more. The music, the nights, the sweat, the dancing, the camaraderie. G, in particular, was always up for it. He had so much rocking, romance and lust in him, it poured out of his soul and enveloped all of us and the nights we were together.

At the height of our Summer Of Love, we were often at Zouk, a club we frequented most because the music was ace, and we knew people there and felt cool because we did. On so many Friday nights on Zouk’s dance floor, G would develop crushes so hard and so often, it was funny to watch. One time, though, it looked as if things were getting real. (It wasn’t.) But the depths of despair that young and careless love can inflict shouldn’t be taken lightly. Usually one to pick himself up the next moment he saw another girl he fancied, G had fallen into a big stink with this one who had strung and dropped him. Of course, we were bad at giving advice. But of course, we were always there for him.

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KEEP ON CRYING

Please my darling comfort me
I get emotional sometimes easily
My eyes are red and my days are blue
When my only one lady ain’t coming through

My baby doesn’t call my name
And this time I’m the one who put us to shame

And I got this funny old screw
That keeps turning loose
Like a cat, tap dancing
On a hot tin roof

So I keep on crying
Though that won’t do
These tears start keeping me away from you
And I keep on pining
What else can I do
My baby’s not listening to me or you

Walk this way now won’t you please
It’s not that difficult to catch me on the street
Something’s dying and I can’t go to sleep
When the sun comes up, still looks so bleak

My baby doesn’t call my name
And this time I’m the one who put us to shame