Carl Butler 1962- Don’t Let Me Cross Over
The air in the listening room is thick, not with smoke or dust, but with the palpable sorrow of a…
The air in the listening room is thick, not with smoke or dust, but with the palpable sorrow of a…
The night was cold, slick with a fine Portland rain. It was April 6, 1963. Inside a converted movie theater…
The first time I really heard it—not just as background noise in a dim cafe, but truly heard it—I was…
The year is 1964. The British Invasion is in full swing, but across the Atlantic, the American airwaves are still…
The needle drops. A cymbal crash, sharp and almost violently upfront, gives way to a quick, syncopated two-bar blast of…
The air in the studio was thick with expectation, the low-frequency hum of the tape machine a silent promise of…
The needle drops, and the air thickens with a knowing, martini-dry cool. You can almost smell the cigarette smoke mingling…
The first time I really heard “Hurt So Bad,” it wasn’t on a crackling vinyl 45 or a classic radio…
The Southern California sun is a fickle thing in a pop song. It promises endless summer, but in 1965, The…
The late hour had always belonged to Johnny Mathis. I remember those nights, the kind where the streetlights outside my…