Andy Williams – Danny Boy
The memory is a monochrome photograph: a late-autumn evening, the hiss of a turntable, and a single, flawless baritone voice…
The memory is a monochrome photograph: a late-autumn evening, the hiss of a turntable, and a single, flawless baritone voice…
It’s a sound I first remember hearing on a road trip, late at night, the car windows down, the radio…
The clock has struck midnight. The air is thick with the scent of stale coffee and something like woodsmoke, even…
The world of 1967 was a blur of paisley and feedback. The British Invasion, once a unified, monochrome force, had…
The scene is simple, yet indelible: a television screen bathed in the warm, flickering glow of the late 1950s, projecting…
The needle drops. Not on the familiar, bubblegum-pink world of the early sixties, but somewhere deeper, wider. It’s late 1966,…
The air in the café was thick and sweet, smelling of old paperbacks and chicory coffee. It was late, maybe…
The needle drops, and before the bassline can even suggest a rhythm, the mind is elsewhere. It’s 1965, the air…
The cassette deck of my beat-up car always seemed to know when I needed a sermon in soul. It wasn’t…
The glamour of the ’70s country-pop machine could often feel blinding. Picture the man—Glen Campbell—the television host, the golden-voiced conduit…