I was thrown out of Melbourne’s signature university at the end of 1976, having accumulated an impressive collection of ‘F’ grades. That’s not ‘F for Fail’ – though it certainly is well below the plimsoll line of the good ship Pass Mark – but the F at the end of the series A – B – C – D – E – F. It doesn’t go any lower.

It’s worth noting that most of those fails were not surprises. One exam I spent the first fifteen minutes (the ‘lock-down’ phase when no-one is allowed out) writing out Lou Reed song lyrics in the exam booklet. If the subject had been 20th Century Literature I might have got a few marks but in fact it was a Maths exam and the examiners were evidently not fans. For a later exam I apologetically signed my name at the bottom of a blank page. It was a Monty Python reference but again, the audience was unmoved.

The real crunch came at the half-way point of the final exam: Ocular Anatomy. Part one of this test was a series of microscopes set up around the benches of the lab. Each scope had a slide containing a section of some part of the eye. The sixteen students in my Optometry cohort sat around the benches writing about what they saw down the microscope and moving themselves and their exam script to the next slide when a bell rang.

Ding! Move to the next microscope. Scribble scribble… Ding!

Next slide… More frantic scribbling.

All very Pavlovian.


Now I referred to sixteen students a moment ago and indeed that was our number. But only fifteen were scribbling. One was moving from station to station with a blank exam booklet and a slightly worried frown, wondering what all the pink squiggly things were. And do you know, even then it did not really dawn on me that I was in trouble. It was more a nagging sensation that all was not well.

The light-globe moment – and it was a 150 Watt flashlight – occurred during the break, as the Professor explained to us how the second part of the examination would proceed. The oral part of the exam. The exam where you walk, on your own, into a room with three Professors and they ask you questions about Ocular Anatomy. Out loud.

They are going to ask me questions.

I will not have any answers.

At all.

Crackling sounds of neural pathways closing.

Houston, we have a problem.

I cleared my throat somewhat nervously.

“Excuse me Professor, but I won’t be participating.”

I glanced around the group. Puzzlement was the dominant emotion; several mouths were ajar.

My smile was tight and unconvincing.

“Good luck.”

And I walked out of The University of Melbourne, never seeing those young would-be Optometrists again.



Wandering down Swanston Street, through the city bustle of a late Spring morning, there was a dazed sense of relief. It didn’t entirely obscure the yawning pit of terror in my stomach, but it signified freedom of some kind. The future was swirling with nauseous uncertainty but today a decision had been made. The higher education meter had, for the time being at least, fully expired.

I stopped off at Pipé records, the very same record stall that had relocated from Goesunder Flea Market to a cupboard-sized space in a tiny arcade off Flinders Lane. Leafing through records is always soothing to the troubled soul. When the albums are exotic imports from Germany, the experience can be transporting.

Due to financial constraints my browsing\buying pendulum usually swung towards the former so it is not very likely that I purchased anything that day. Though it was certainly around this time that I stumped up for the second Thirsty Moon LP, adorned with another startling Gil Funcius cover and promising more of the progressive jazz rock I loved so much. I want it to be true that on the day I walked away from university I went home and played a new album called You’ll Never Come Back.

Thirsty Moon - You'll never come back 

It has been playing as I write and still engages and delights. Perhaps not quite as captivating as their debut, but still full of invention and surprise. When the rhythm section set up the twisted tango of “I see you”, you know that this is about as far from blues-based rock ’n’ roll as you can get. Sax bursts in through a squally whorl and electric piano swirls. Fantastisch!

“Trash man” lurches between time signatures in a way that disconcerts in the best possible way across its fourteen minutes.

Jumping like a frog – Dying like a dog

Sitting on a rock – Rocking on a seat

The lyrics are scarcely Peter Hammill but they are simple, direct and brief. The vocalists have stayed within their capacities and it works. This is primarily instrumental music, inventive and well-played.

Thirsty Moon You'll Never (back)

On the second side there are no lyrics at all. “Tune in” is a sax vehicle with a fast fusion groove. Then the pace throttles right back for the atmospheric title track; flute and sustained electric piano set the scene before the piano builds to something of a climax – if you love electric keyboards as Vinyl Connection does you will love this. Then after a bit of a breakdown, the percussion beats its way back in along with a catchy sax riff. A long coda takes us towards “Das Fest der Völker”, the pretty and meditative final track, though this also builds and embraces some odd textures. This is a unique LP; I loved it then and I love it still.



Julian Cope summarily dismisses all the ‘kraut’ jazz-rock in his seminal book but he is just plain wrong. If you are feeling adventurous, grab some headphones and have a listen to side one of this brilliant 1973 album.

Thirsty Moon Inner gatefold


Strange though it might seem, this is part one of a longer memoir piece that concludes in a few days with, of all things, Santa Claus.


  1. An impressive collection of F grades? I assumed momentarily they were an Aussie jazz prog combo I’d not heard of before.


    1. An easy mistake to make. As a matter of interest, which is your favourite Aussie jazz prog combo?

      Liked by 1 person

      1. The Chunder & Lightning Express, their 1972 debut ‘Talking To God On The Great White Xylophone’ (released on Racial Stereotypes Records, Perth), is a real classic.


        1. Wise choice. Is your copy the famous ‘Derek and Clive’ splatter vinyl?

          Liked by 1 person

  2. Fun post – and a brilliant album of KrautJass too. Ran into this albums not so many years ago, Very diffrent form the well knows American Fusion Stars of the time.


    1. You are on the money there! It is a unique progressive fusion blend.
      Glad you enjoyed the post and thanks for your comments.


  3. What a los alamos of a dummy spit. Puts my attempts to critique Eysenck on IQ under a cloud. (Psychology at Monash in the seventies was all but run by rat-people). I’m glad you decided to write about Thirsty Moon – yet another disc that slipped through to my keeper.

    How good is it to love an LP damn near 40 years on?



    1. As was observed, the German take on jazz-rock was quite different from that in the US. Kraan were another band who worked that seam.
      And, yes it is lovely to dig out an oldie and be delighted!


    2. Maths fail : Nearly 50 years since 1973.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Observation fail: the piece was posted in 2014! 🤣


  4. […] [9 minutes] taps into krautrock of a different texture and hue, evoking the European jazz-rock of Thirsty Moon in a very enjoyable way. Looser and trippier than the 70s inspiration, this is still a […]


  5. […] (he was doubtless correct but I was suitably wounded at the time) one further consequence of this Road to Optometry College conversion was getting into Christian music. But even my desperate attempts to adapt to the group […]


  6. […] Melbourne University and I parted company – not on speaking terms – I needed to plug the gap left by going to uni and not studying (more […]


  7. […] English is traditionally first off the blocks in the ‘This Is It!’ series of examinations that decide an Aussie teenager’s next phase of life. Will it be work, something in the technical or trade area, or perhaps university? […]


  8. You lived my recurring nightmares, and came out the other end ok (from what I can gather through the ether). Now, if I can just find posts here about surviving unexpected pants-less work briefings and finding your way out of endless, circular shouting arguments with dearly-loved ones over unexplained slights, I may never bad dream again.

    “I See You” / “Trash Man” play as I type. *** Sitting on a rock, rocking on a seat *** Someday I shall retire, my worldly worries will dissolve, and my duty will be only to self. Then, I will finally be able to explore, learn, and do all the things I wish to explore, learn, and do… Oh Thirsty Moon above, please let it be so…


    1. Impressed that you found Thirsty Moon on the inter-thing.
      Ah, duty. It and income are a potent tag-team in the ring of life. I hope we can both make it out of the ring intact and find a quiet place to read, listen, sip a beer and dream of baked potatoes with exotic toppings.
      As today is one of those when the gulf between the on-line persona and lived experience is rather too large for comfort, I’ll keep my response brief. Other than to express thanks for your visit and engagement.


  9. […] * A story on the ultimate result of this approach to university life was related in the piece You’ll Never Come Back. […]


  10. […] thieves and hung out together a lot, I had probably parted company (not on speaking terms) with the Optometry Department of the University of Melbourne by this point, with a resultant loss of daily contact. Being […]


  11. […] band Kollektiv. This prized 1973 LP was purchased from Pipé Records in Melbourne back in the uni dropout days of the mid-70s. The music is fabulous: complex, creative, engaging, timeless. But anyone who […]


  12. […] say I was a little nervous about returning to higher education a mere three years after having been shown the door. Trepidation notwithstanding, back I toddled for another crack, this time via the Creative Arts […]


  13. […] I recall the place and the time of the scene—I know that this was my first tentative excursion out of the world of modern jazz in terms of actually buying an album—but I do not recall the exact year. Probably 1975; a time of much lone wolf browsing of Melbourne’s record shops while pretending there was nowhere else I needed to be (such as Optometry lectures). […]


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