The Platters – My Dream
The memory is not of a dance floor or a teenage sock hop, but a stretch of lonely, dark highway,…
The memory is not of a dance floor or a teenage sock hop, but a stretch of lonely, dark highway,…
The needle drops—or perhaps, in the modern age, the stream initializes—and a moment of perfect, minor-key melancholy floods the air.…
A classic is only classic because of its adaptability—its core melody and lyric capable of shedding one skin for another,…
The sound of rain on a pane of glass. That is the texture that comes to mind when the opening…
The world of 1969 was fractured, spinning on an axis of change that was both exhilarating and terrifying. In the…
The memory is not of a stadium, not at first. It is of a garage in the humid summer of…
It starts in the dark. Not the absence of sound, but a sonic midnight, thick and aqueous, where a single…
The air in the Executive Room—the California piano bar that inspired this song—must have been thick with the clatter of…
The air in the room is heavy and dark, not with despair, but with the quiet, expectant warmth of a…
The year is 1975. The sound of American music is splitting down a seam. On one side, the plush, expansive…