Leroy Van Dyke The Auctioneer Song 1962
The air is thick with the dust of the sales barn, the smell of oiled machinery, and nervous expectation. You…
The air is thick with the dust of the sales barn, the smell of oiled machinery, and nervous expectation. You…
The Atlantic always sounds different at night. Maybe it’s the way the darkness swallows the high frequencies, leaving only the…
The record drops. A collective grin washes over the room—always. It’s a late, rain-streaked night in some forgotten town, the…
The vinyl clicks and hisses, a warm, almost nostalgic curtain rising on a performance so startlingly vibrant it feels like…
It’s late, the kind of midnight hour where the city outside softens to a watercolor blur, and the only true…
The year is 1958. The air in the recording studio, we can imagine, was thick with the scent of acetate…
The room is dark. The air smells vaguely of stale popcorn and cheap hairspray. A single, exposed microphone hangs in…
I remember the chill of that first listen. Not the chill of a New York winter, though the film paints…
The velvet drape of night falls, and in the amber glow of a lonely bar, the song begins. It never…
The needle drops, and immediately the room changes temperature. It’s not the raw, garage-band heat of early rock and roll,…