Fleetwood Mac 1969 – Man Of The World
The memory is not of a stadium, nor even a smoky, post-gig London club. It is a quiet Sunday afternoon,…
The memory is not of a stadium, nor even a smoky, post-gig London club. It is a quiet Sunday afternoon,…
The first time I heard the song, I was in a room bathed in the blue-grey glow of a late…
The studio air in the early sixties was thick with change, an anxious hum beneath the bright sheen of pop.…
It’s an image burned into the collective memory of British pop: a tiny, fiercely coiffed Liverpudlian with a voice that…
There is a moment in the history of British pop—a flashpoint in the mid-sixties—when the raw, driving energy of the…
I remember the first time I heard it. It wasn’t on a crackling transistor radio in 1968, nor was it…
The year is 1971. The airwaves are thick with the scent of patchouli and the shimmer of lurex. Glam Rock…
The year is 1967. London is aflame with paisley and incense, San Francisco is vibrating with counterculture, and The Beatles…
The year 1965 should have been a time of reckoning, a slow, painful slide toward irrelevance for The Four Seasons.…
It’s late, maybe 3 a.m., the kind of silence-after-the-storm quiet that settles over a sleeping city. The air in my…