I AM convinced I have gone to the wrong place as I walk up to the Milk! Records door.

The exterior of this small warehouse – in Coburg, Melbourne – looks just like the one near my studio where the occupants had allegedly faked their relatives’ deaths and had been on the run for months. Run down, and locked up.

After checking the address a couple of times, I gave the door a cautious knock. To my relief, inside were two smiley, young women standing at the desk in a warmly lit studio space. After talking for a little while, they alerted me to the fact that Courtney was in fact sitting behind me the whole time.

She started getting up from her desk. And just when I thought she had finished standing, she kept going. Aren’t well-known people supposed to be shorter than you had imagined? She was towering over me as we shook hands.

We walked to the next room, separated by a large sheet sporting the wobbly Milk! Records logo, and took a seat at the desk, right next to the performance space brightened by fairy lights.

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