Jeannie C. Riley 1968 – Harper Valley P.T.A
It’s an image burned into the collective consciousness of American music: the widowed Mrs. Johnson, clad in her defiant miniskirt,…
It’s an image burned into the collective consciousness of American music: the widowed Mrs. Johnson, clad in her defiant miniskirt,…
There are certain records, specific sides of 45s tucked away in the forgotten corners of the British Invasion, that don’t…
The late 1960s were less a decade than an explosion, a kaleidoscope of sonic debris scattering in every possible direction.…
The late 1960s were less a decade than an explosion, a kaleidoscope of sonic debris scattering in every possible direction.…
The memory is as sharp as the chill air of a New England autumn morning. I was perhaps seven, slumped…
The sound hits like a sudden, unexpected swell of warmth on a cold afternoon. A rush of strings, not timid,…
The year is 1968. The Summer of Love’s paisley haze is just beginning to dissipate, giving way to an era…
It’s two o’clock in the morning, the kind of hour where a deep-cut classic truly earns its keep. The air…
The sound of it hits you like a sudden flash of light in a dim, crowded gymnasium: a three-count drum…
There is a moment in the first few seconds of Eddie Cochran’s 1959 single, “C’mon Everybody,” that feels less like…