The Drifters, Every Night’s A Saturday Night
The needle drops, and immediately, the room shifts. It’s not the bright, tinny sound of 1960s AM radio, nor the…
The needle drops, and immediately, the room shifts. It’s not the bright, tinny sound of 1960s AM radio, nor the…
The vinyl lands with a soft, final thud on the platter. The needle drops. A low, subterranean growl of bass…
I remember exactly where I was when the true, untethered nature of this recording hit me. It wasn’t a sleek,…
The lights are low, the room is thick with smoke and anticipation. You’re not in a stadium in 1970, nor…
I often find myself staring at the chrome grille of an old, analog jukebox—the kind lit by fading neon and…
I remember the first time I heard it, not on some dusty jukebox in a forgotten diner, but late one…
The air in the garage was thick with the scent of old gasoline and mildewed cardboard. It was a Saturday…
The air in the studio was thick, a palpable mix of cigarette smoke, hot vacuum tubes, and the faint, metallic…
There are certain records that don’t just mark time, they are time—a crystalline sample of a moment when disparate musical…
The needle drops, and immediately, everything changes. The lush, weeping melodrama of a classic Shangri-Las ballad—the mournful piano chords, the…