Rock on, Chrissy

Somehow, farewell doesn't seem the right word. Or Rest In Peace. She would have hated that. 

Rest In Chaos, more like. In Delight. In Noise. In Revelry. In Thrills.

In a Wild Rumpus.

Actually, no rest whatsoever would probably be more her style. No rest for the wicked, they say, and Chrissy Amphlett was wicked in the very best of ways.

As a kid, I idolised her. Her feisty attitude, her fire, her anarchy, her "I-don't-give-a-toss". I loved her stage outfits, sang along to her songs before I knew what the words meant (and with more fervour once I did).

She was a pioneer. A trailblazer. A visionary. The kind of woman I wanted to grow up to be.

I wanted to be a rock star too.

And of course, I didn't turn out anything like Chrissy Amphlett. I'm not a rock star. I'm a shy, hermit writer.

But in my head, I'm her. In my head I'm a warrior valkyrie, howling my lungs out at the night sky, dressed in fishnet stockings. 

And of course I hope Tiger finds her idols in scientists and writers and philosophers and charity workers and doctors and politicians (there are some good ones). 

But I hope just as much that she finds someone to look up to like Chrissy, who was a bit mad, a bit free, a bit boundless.

A real Wild Thing.

Don't rest in peace, Chrissy. Rock on. And I'll play Tiger a few of your songs, so you can live on in her and all the other children of women who loved you, and are secret valkyrie warriors inside their heads.

Have a fabulous time, where the wild things are.

~ Love, Miss Cackle x