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…
The radio dial clicks. It’s late, the air outside heavy with the static hum of a quiet town. The sound…
The vinyl drops with a soft, analog thud, the needle finding its groove with a scratch of anticipation. I’m back…
The air was different in 1981. Country music was moving, as it always does, toward the slicker edges of pop…
It’s two in the morning. The highway unfurls like a black, wet ribbon beneath the tires, the air thick with…
It’s late spring in 1981. Country music is in a curious state—the ‘Urban Cowboy’ boom is peaking, and Nashville is…