Paul Anka – It’s Time To Cry
The year is 1959. Rock and roll was still a visceral, slightly dangerous promise, but in the mainstream of American…
The year is 1959. Rock and roll was still a visceral, slightly dangerous promise, but in the mainstream of American…
The air in the apartment was thick with the scent of old paperbacks and stale coffee. It was late, perhaps…
The window of the night bus is a sheet of black glass, reflecting the fluorescent smear of the cabin lights.…
I remember the first time the needle found the groove. It was on a dusty, beige album platter in the…
The air hung thick and velvet-dark over the rolling hills of Lajatico. It was a summer night under an impossibly…
The winter of 1971 felt perpetually grey, even inside the warm glow of the studio monitors. I can visualize the…
It is an auditory experience, not a song. It begins in a space of monastic calm, the air thick and…
The lights dim just a fraction. There is a palpable hush, the kind of stillness that precedes a great intake…
The year is 1960, and the stage of the Grand Ole Opry—that weathered, glorious church of country music—is bathed in…
The radio hissed, the tubes still warming, throwing a faint, amber glow across the dashboard of my father’s old pickup…