When throwing on an iconic concert record I can’t help but imagine myself in the crowd.

Smoking in the back of Nirvana’s Unplugged In New York show, as Kurt Cobain introduces his cover of a cover of a strange Christian tune. Or shooting a game of pool at Blaze Foley’s final Live at the Austin Outhouse set in 1989, days before his murder. Or gnawing on a turkey leg in the Winterland Ballroom while Martin Scorsese trails The Band and Aretha and Van and Joni and Muddy and Bob and both Neils on stage with a film camera.

Or I’m locked up, sentenced for a dime, singing along in a canvas jumper to the Man in Black, the Undertaker, Old Golden Throat as he bellows a song about shooting a man in Reno, just to watch him die.

Imagine walking out of Folsom State Prison at the end of a decade, sometime in ‘75 as a semi-changed man headed to the nearest record store, seeking out a professionally pressed sample of your past — At Folsom Prison — forever preserved on wax.

Thankfully, with the recent purchase of a new album — King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard’s Live At Forest Hills ‘25 — I’m no longer reliant on my imagination; that dreamy post-show listening experience has become a tangible reality.

The release from the prolific Australian psych-rock-jazz-electro-metal-prog band contains three multicolored LPs with custom fluorescent dye jobs and grooves cut with sounds I had the ecstatic pleasure of experiencing live last August under the stars on a perfect summer night in Queens.

Peeling back the plastic wrap and opening up the record cover unveiled a triptych of the stadium. The stage and the crowd are photographed from the stands. It’s still light out. King Gizz is frozen in time. Ripping through their heavy-metal opener “Gaia,” with Stu McKenzie strumming his flying V in a bright pink onesie.

If you look closely at the triptych, you can even make out another universe hiding in the background. Forest Hills’ West Side Tennis Club, tucked back behind the stage, where tiny figures in tennis whites rally neon green specks across dozens of pristine grass courts.

Seeing the image now brings back memories of basking in the juxtaposition of that view: a grassy blue-blood wonderland bumping uglies with a rock show — tennis whites and dark metal; spin serves and double bass drum; sprinklers and smoke.

My friends and I were in awe, looking out from the stands at converging diverging atmospheres. Banging our oversized cans of Budweiser together like cartoon bar flies as the sun neared the horizon. I remember my thumb pressing into the side of the aluminum, making a dent in the can, and the crowd buzzing with anticipation.

On vinyl, Stu calls the Forest Hills stadium the bands’ “spiritual home” and the crowd (us) explodes with a 12-inch swirl of color spinning round and round.

I love knowing that somewhere in the mix are me and my friends. Dan, Kevin, Shoshi, Pat. Our screams and applause. Our drowned-out chatter. Our hearts thumping against our chests. The soles of our shoes shuffling and pounding against the concrete.

Then the band starts in on “Superbug,” a deathy doomtastic headbanger of a song and we roar.

“I’m gonna make this banana cry,” Joey Walker says from the stage, cheekily, into the mic, pulling Stu’s famed bright yellow guitar — the flying microtonal banana — over his head, readying his stance.

I don’t remember the band members’ commentary at all. It’s cool to hear it now, their words beckon other memories from the night.

Like the sun eventually disappearing as the band made their way through an unexpected electronic mini-set, ushering in the darkness while surrounding a chaotic analog rave module. The vocals were auto-tuned. The light show stretched out over thousands of heads, everyone was bathed in a heavenly pale blue.

This record is a product of King Gizzard’s “Official Bootlegger” program that launched in the final hours of 2020, taking a “for the people” approach to licensing music by inviting “indie labels, bootleggers, fans, [and] weirdos” to press and sell masters of the band’s live recordings and demos for free.

“If anyone wants to release these albums, you’re free to do so,” the band wrote on their website at the time. “Below you’ll find links to audio master files and cover art. Feel free to get creative with it if you like — it’s yours.”

“Only deal is you’ve gotta send us some of them to sell on GIZZVERSE.COM — whatever you feel is a fair trade is cool with us,” they add.

“With the Bootlegger program, the idea is that you can download all the assets,” Mackenzie told SPIN. “You can change the artwork if you want to. You can mix and match songs from different shows. You can press tapes or vinyl or CDs. You just have to send us some to sell in our store. It’s amazing to see how creative people have been with it”

And the bootleg cover art is fantastic, in the most literal sense.

My friends who were there with me that night have had similar reactions to the process of revisiting the shows we’ve attended together on vinyl.

“As soon as ‘Gaia’ started playing I had the stupidest smile on my face,” my friend Kevin told me after he received his own copy of the Forest Hills ‘25 recording. “Transported me right back.”

“When I listen to bootlegs of shows I’ve attended, it does genuinely bring me back to that exact time and place,” another friend, Dan, told me.

“My most cherished live bootleg vinyl is King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard at Forest Hills ’24. I remember the amazing weather and immaculate vibes at the stadium. The pit was a site to be seen with incredible coordination — at times I thought I was witnessing Game of Thronesesque reenactments.”

Dan says re-listening to these records only enriches his initial concert experience and helps inform his memory, “which is a hell of a drug in and of itself.”

In other words, if you’ve had the chance to attend any of the shows uploaded to King Gizz’s website, listening to these albums is like experiencing a welcome acid flashback.

Which is all too fitting, as the band’s Bootlegger program embraces a listening culture born from Deadheads in the 1960s, who were famously allowed to bring their own recording equipment to shows and capture entire tours on tape.

Over their 16-year career, King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard have amassed more than 25 studio albums, over 40 bootleg records, and a die-hard following. Like the Dead or Phish, King Gizz never plays the same show twice, pulling from a catalog of original tunes that span a multitude of genres.

So it’s no surprise that the band’s most devoted fans follow them around the world, from show to show, eagerly awaiting some new magic. Slurping up more memories from a piping hot bowl of Gumboot Soup, memories they can always return to.

Here’s a full video recording of the Forest Hills concert we attended and the full album!

Share

Leave a comment

The first time I heard Roy Buchanan was outside at the Grand Bazaar market in the Upper West Side. His Fender Telecaster (nicknamed “Nancy”) cried masterfully from a vintage stereo set up in a booth selling records.

It was sunny but near freezing. I watched the vendor — a hulking man with a slight hunchback and a thick wool blanket wrapped around his head like a cantankerous Sith Lord — blow smoke on a steaming cup of joe.

I was intimidated. But I was also desperately curious, so I moseyed over to the turntable and asked the big man what was playing. Without a word, he pulled out an empty record sleeve and flipped it onto a pile of worn jazz albums, like a burger on the griddle.

“I could do $20,” he grunted.

“$15?”

“Fine.”

Worried I’d regret my impulsive purchase, I put the record on as soon as I got home. I sat back on the couch and admired the blocky yellow font and the enchanting 70s aesthetic of Buchanan’s cover photo, turtlenecked and dialed into his instrument.

A fuzzy Zeppelinesque guitar tone kicks off the album but evolves into a bone-clean blues rock song, paving the way for a pristine and soulful cover of Jimi Hendrix’s classic “Hey Joe,” which starts moody but eventually soars into oblivion, another dimension, a colorless, soundless void overtaken only by Buchanan’s chaotic shredding.

“Please Don’t Turn Me Away” — another standout track — sounds less like a Buchanan original than an American Songbook classic. Lively and gentle piano arrangements, doo-wop backing vocals and fiery bursts of demented Hendrix-adjacent fretboard pulverization. It’s the type of tune that can lift the spirits and simultaneously plunge you deep into a well of heartbreak.

Roy Buchanan remains one of the most tragically overlooked guitarists of the blue rock movement. He inspired icons like Jeff Beck and Robbie Robertson, and was lauded by Eric Clapton, John Lennon, and Merle Haggard. And, as I learn more, his records seem to accumulate on my shelf. Like 1974’s In The Beginning, which features Buchanan’s powerful instrumental hit “Wayfaring Stranger.”

But while fusing into my couch on that cold day, allowing the music to introduce itself to my unknowing ears one track at a time, it became abundantly clear that I would never regret this purchase.

Share

Leave a comment

The morning after the Super Bowl was a groggy affair.

After rolling out of bed with a belly full of wings and pizza and about 400 Modelos, I was desperate to escape my bloat and generate some sense of focus while writing articles about tech industry oligarchs and their Trump-era policies (my day job). So I picked out a record I knew wouldn’t disappoint: On by Altın Gün.

On was born from the truest form of vinyl appreciation, a nod to psychedelic music recorded in Turkey throughout the late 1960s and early 1970s. Based in Amsterdam, the founding members of Altın Gün (“Gold Day” in English) were digging through record stores while touring through Turkey when they unearthed artists who once embodied and led the country’s original psychedelic rock movement.

Some of the music that inspired Altın Gün was recorded by Anatolian rock masters Barış Manço, Erkin Koray, and Selda Bağcan (pictured below).

(^Been listening to this one a lot lately^)

On was written, recorded and pressed to King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard’s label ATO Records and released in 2018.

The instant the needle hits the edge of On, it’s clear how influential the psychedelic sounds of these Anatolian rock icons was for Altın Gün. The music of the past — intricate fuzzed out guitar licks, thick bass lines, even traditional Turkish folk percussion and instrumentals — surge into a new dimension with a range of powerful synthesizers and modern day production elements.

I can’t remember when I bought this record, but the cover art always brings me a pang of joy when I pull it from the shelf — its bright colors paint a trippy tropical vision belonging somewhere beyond the past, present or future. And the music itself centers me; the fast tempos and tight groove-oriented songs weave into one another, inciting a strong internal rhythm.

A perfect record for transcending the daily grind. Enjoy.

Share

Leave a comment

Seasons, Pete Jolly (1970)

Like the change of seasons, this album embraces the demands of a new era.

Seasons is a living memento of musician Pete Jolly’s deviation from a career playing traditional jazz to lay down a kind of music you’ve never heard.

With Herb Alpert producing, Jolly and his band of sharp-shooting session guys use synthesizers, accordion, strange time signatures, and pulsating bass and drums to create a collection of compositions simulating the first deep inhale of summer’s end and fall’s beginning, the harshness of winter into the welcome bloom of spring into the heat of summer and on and on and on — it’s every angle of a changing natural atmosphere.

Pretend that the following records on this list exist within this world of Pete Jolly’s Seasons.

Albert’s House, Chet Baker (1969)

If anyone can set a mood, it’s Chet Baker. At his best, the man’s music is practically the pure essence of smooth. But at his worst, it’s also…incredible.

In the late 1960s, Baker was well into a personal downfall when his teeth were bashed in during a heroin deal gone wrong. Albert’s House is the product of his shaky return — the first songs Chet recorded after his assault. Despite his inability to play his trumpet as well as he always had, Baker takes Steve Allen’s compositions and, with the groove of an electric organ, he illicits a sound that’s melancholic, futuristic, and desperate in its beauty.

This record is flawed in the best ways; it slows the room down.

Tied To A Star, J Mascis (2014)

If you like Dinosaur Jr — a heavy grunge staple that effortlessly evolved into the 21st century — this record by the band’s main man J Mascis might shock you.

Tied To A Star forgoes a sludgy in-the-pit headbang for an assortment of impassioned lullabies. The album’s intricate web of acoustic riffs and unexpected structural twists make for a raw, heartfelt listen.

The fourth song, “Wide Awake,” is the standout — gentle and vehement, intensely intimate, and ideal in the dark.

Sylvie, Sylvie (2022)

The first time I heard “Falls on me” — the album opener — I was transported to a fuzz-warm analog world, a simpler sonic place gently buzzing with feedback, a floating cloud of yellow-gray smoke, and a crisp breeze to break it all up.

Reintroducing his father’s unreleased 1975 barn recordings to the world, Ben Schwab infused these vintage songs with an authentic, addictive 70s sound.

Sometimes I play this record while bartending, and like The Beta Band in High Fidelity, at least one customer always asks what’s on. The bar is full, the lights are low, and for the first time in a while, people are happy to be indoors.

Fleetwood Mac, Fleetwood Mac (1975)

This record will plunge you into a welcome pool of melancholy.

“Warm Ways,” “Rhiannon,” “Over My Head,” “Crystal,” “Landslide” — these songs all bring a fall chill to Fleetwood Mac’s prolific and diverse discography. And as a cherry on top, the record’s closer, “I’m So Afraid,” is an epic, heart-thumping nod to the season’s spooky side.

Welcome To Hell, Joseph Shabason (2023)

A bewitching concept album, Welcome To Hell encapsulates composer and saxophonist Joseph Shabason’s wild rescore to Toy Machine’s 1996 skate video of the same name and defies all expectations.

My roommate Fredo and I caught a live recreation of this album at Brooklyn’s Public Records last year and it became one of the most impressive shows I’ve seen to date. Shabason, an unfettered band leader, assembled a circle of expert players at the center of the wood-encased room, and we watched on, dazzled by the odd time stamps, in awe of the ghost-like vocals and the seamless transitions between songs.

Welcome To Hell is an ode to the art of skateboarding, but for me, it’s also become a portal into fall, a time when my mind naturally accepts the urge to settle into a darker, stranger version of reality.

Mangy Love, Cass McCombs (2016)

For an hour straight, Cass McCombs defines the autumn groove. These are expertly crafted anthems for spontaneous discovery, on a day when you're out on your own, following your inner compass, wandering willy-nilly.

Chulahoma: The Songs Of Junior Kimbrough, The Black Keys (2006)

The Black Keys’ reimagining of a slice of juke joint blues legend Junior Kimbrough’s iconic grit-sensual catalog is a low-key hot whiskey-cider slightly overcrowded midday party in a stuffy, sweat-fueled second story apartment. Jackets on the bed, friends and foes circling the turntable, gulping from mugs, leaning too close, laughing too hard, and heavy-headed, folding in half at the drop of “Meet Me In The City.”

I’m In Your Mind Fuzz, King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard (2014)

Originally released on Halloween, this record summons a psychedelic seance.

Plunge into a pile of dying leaves and melt through the earth like a bloody stag in quicksand, bellowing and hyena-laughing while the worms and creepy-crawlers gnaw at your flesh, leaving you naked and howling, sinking deeper and deeper, past caskets disintegrating in rich soil and decaying bodies dressed in starched suits from way back, their owners stretching strained faces in the pitch dark, the creases of their animal smiles flickering in the otherworldly glow of the planet’s molten core. Then, for just a second, you rise again.

Cherry Tree, The National (2004)

To this day, I’ve never heard a violin solo as devastating or unexpected as the one on Cherry Tree’s closing track, “A Reasonable Man.” Unlike other indie-folk/rock records I purchased as a teenager, this EP by The National has maintained its allure and ingenuity over the years.

Presenting at times an overwhelmingly bleak atmosphere, this collection of songs is visceral, gorgeous, haunting and complex — a transfixing feat in the early stages of a band’s sonic evolution.

The occasional crackle on the vinyl only adds to the LP’s charm. Absolutely perfect for the influx of fall.

Valley Hi, Ian Matthews (1973)

Take a brisk stroll, play Ian Matthews, and gently ponder your place in the world.

Summer In Abaddon, Pinback (2004)

One of the first records I bought as a teenager. I can still feel the cold leather seats in my mom’s car, on the way to piano practice, my school-tired brain fixated on the sunroof, spacing out on falling leaves and the early darkness of the evening sky.

Pinback was having a real moment on Sirius XM radio, and their sound always calmed me on drives. I’m grateful for that version of life, when most of my freedom was internal and magically expanded by songs like “Fortress” and “Non Photo-Blue,” with the moody gray sky, and its imminent promise of winter.

Moondance, Van Morrison (1970)

As a teenager, on my way home from work, I used to cut through the Powder Forest, a strange wooded office park in my suburban town. The trees would burn red and yellow, and in my dad’s hammy-down Saab, devoid of heat, I’d take turns too fast, blasting “Into The Mystic” until the doors rattled. Like a sparking electrical grid, chills would ricochet from my head down to my foot and the pedal pressed to the floor.

Later, in my first semester of college, the song “And It Stoned Me” became an anthem that bonded my new group of friends — a warm, bombastic tune that reminded us all of the comfort of our homes, scattered across the country.

Harvest Moon, Neil Young (1992)

Duh.

This Girl’s In Love With You, Aretha Franklin (1970)

This one’s for the cozy fireside festivities. Nothing soothes the soul quite like Aretha’s thundering voice. My favorite all-around Aretha record, This Girl’s In Love With You hits every vibe a person needs when cold weather descends. Like Aretha’s vocals, the musicianship on this record is unmatched, and the arrangements on every track swell in giant warm waves, filling any chilly space with an undeniable sense of bone-deep comfort.

All Things Must Pass, George Harrison (1970)

An album that quite literally embodies the inevitable beauty of death and change. Like foliage, we burn bright because we are consistently nearing our end. The first triple album ever released by a solo artist, All Things Must Pass showcases the innate genius of George Harrison; his spirit soars across the wax, over the fields and into the dirt.

Leave a comment

Share

FEATURING…

“Sexy Dancer” — Prince, Prince (1979)

Prince’s discography can be a bit intimidating for anyone who didn’t grow up listening to his music, but this self-titled release from ‘79 keeps me coming back.

The vibes are jazzy, funky, pop-y, sexy; the cover is alluring in its unique blend of emotional and physical nakedness.

My favorite track on the record, “It’s Gonna Be Lonely,” is deeply tender, whereas “Sexy Dancer” kicks off with an Earth, Wind & Fire-esque falsetto and levels out into a breathy funk-forward instrumentally-genius hedonistic heaven:

Sexy dancer, you got my body screaming
Sexy dancer, you got me just-a-creaming

“I’m The Man That Will Find You” — Caramel, Conan Mockasin (2013)

In an early episode of stoner-drama High Maintenance, a hip Brooklyn writer spends his afternoons smoking weed from a small golden bowl and wearing his wife’s clothes, all the while listening to this unbelievably sexy song by New Zealander-weirdo Conan Mockasin.

I’d be lying if the show’s aesthetic didn’t enhance the track for me (or was it the other way around?), but this song has passed the test of time.

For a decade, “I’m The Man That Will Find You” — which, due to Mockasin’s vocal inflection, sounds more like “I’m The Man That Will Fuck You” — has remained a personally favored party starter. The strange tinny guitar drops, the highly distorted vocals and airy overdubbed harmonies all make for a truly sultry sonic experience.

Be my medal and I
Will wear you all night
Wear you all night long

“Inside My Love” — Adventures In Paradise, Minnie Riperton (1975)

This whole album is horny.

Whether it’s the standout opener, “Baby, This Love I Have,” or Minnie singing “It came all over me” on “Feelin’ That The Feeling’s Good,” Adventures In Paradise is a perfect record for seducing the one you love.

But in terms of pure horniness, the song “Inside My Love” takes the Boston Cream Pie. Minnie takes one step further into the depths of eroticism here, hitting her iconic high note and getting explicit about what goes down behind closed doors:

You can see inside me
Will you come inside me?
Do you wanna ride inside, my love?
You can see inside me
Will you come inside me?

“Gigantic” — Surfer Rosa, Pixies (1988)

This Pixies song is about an older white lady making love to a younger Black man day after day in the midst of a heated affair.

According to the interweb, Kim Deal, who co-wrote the track, didn’t intend any phallic imagery with the title. Although that’s hard to believe, the suggestive lyrics portray a vivid sex-fueled rendezvous.

Also, fun fact: Before he died, Kurt Cobain actually told music mag Melody Maker that this was his all-time favorite Pixies song.

Lovely legs there are

What a big black mass,
What a hunk of love

He’ll walk her every
day into a shady place

He’s like the dark but I want him

“Me and Mrs. Jones” — 360 Degrees Of Billy Paul, Billy Paul (1972)

Speaking of affairs, “Me and Mrs. Jones” — R&B legend Billy Paul’s seminal hit — is gleefully straightforward in its description of a man’s involvement with a married woman.

At times, the lyrics read as a clear-cut confessional: “We meet everyday / at the same cafe / Six-thirty.” As if Paul is desperate for someone to find out. That desperation in his vocals, in the lyrics, in the orchestration’s sharp rises and falls, is what gives this track its timeless power.

But it’s much too
strong to let it go now

Share

Leave a comment

Featuring…

“These Drugs Aren’t Working Anymore” — The Freelancer’s Blues, Dougie Poole

With his tongue pressed hard against his cheek, Dougie Poole crafts heartfelt Millennial country tunes about the mundanity of modern American life — blowing vape clouds, dabbling in meditation, and driving U-Hauls through Jersey. A personal favorite for years, this record helped persuade me toward embracing country music and the genre’s vast possibilities.

“A Song For You” — GP, Gram Parsons

“So take me down to your dance floor / And I won’t mind the people when they stare.” A gentle, achingly intimate track on the most infamous Flying Burrito Bro’s legendary debut. Reminds me of sitting out on the back porch as the first chill of autumn rides a perfect evening breeze.

“It Wasn’t God Who Made Honky Tonk Angels” — Kitty Wells’ Country Hit Parade, Kitty Wells

“Too many times married men think they’re still single / That has caused many a good girl to go wrong” — the Nashville-native, and proclaimed Queen of Country Music, sang this one well before its time. Thanks to my bud Harry for showing me this brazen gem.

“Lonely Entertainer” — Wayfaring Strangers: Cosmic American Music (Compilation), Mike and Pam Martin

Numero Group has made an industry out of reintroducing songs lost to time. This compilation of small label releases dusts off forgotten ingots from the American West — the kind of soulful cosmic country defined by the work of Gram Parsons, his love of a steel guitar sound, and an unfiltered heartbreak embodied in his quaking voice.

“I Can’t Stop Loving You” — Modern Sounds In Country And Western Music, Ray Charles

One of many hit singles on Ray Charles’ landmark record, this track highlights how The Father of Soul brought gospel, jazz and R&B to country music, creating an entirely new and infectious American sound.

Share

Leave a comment

Instrumentals for illuminations, revelations and more FEATURING…

“Slabo Day” — In The Skies, Peter Green

An irresistibly transfixing groove from Fleetwood Mac’s original bandleader.

“Silver Pools” — The Means of Production, The Means of Production

A Brooklyn-based super group’s experimental-psychedelic output from days spent improvising in a shared studio space.

“Smile Happy” — Why Can’t We Be Friends?, War

If the horn swells at the start sound familiar, Shaggy is to thank for that (“Wasn’t me!”)

“Love Is Love” — Flying Start, The Blackbyrds

A synth-forward feel-good gem from legendary trumpeter/composer Donald Byrd’s band of Howard University music students

“Cosmic Love” — Asia, Kitaro

Imagine Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon reinvented with traditional Japanese textures of the electronic variety — a true sonic journey.

Leave a comment

Share

Just bees and things and flowers FEATURING…

“Down By The Seaside” — Physical Graffiti, Led Zeppelin

“Baja” — Quiet Music For Young People, Dana & Alden

“Sun” — Traces of Illusion, Gregory Paul

“Water Slide” — Exotic Worlds and Masterful Treasures, Stimulator Jones

“Summer Breeze” — Love in the Wind, The Sha La Das

Leave a comment

Before you listen, check out the story from which this playlist was born (if you’d like).

Do You Feel Like We Do?

A Sad Angel inching down the ladder, shaky at your core, making Footsteps In The Dark?

Muscles atrophied, and whispers scratching against the insides of your mind?

Screeching, “Go Away Dream.” Screeching, “Let The Sky Fall.”

If so, we understand.

You must Drive — do not Stay. Not here.

You: “But How Can Anything Be Beautiful (After You)?”

Us: Please go — and Rise.

Hell, Stopover Bombay. Direct your gaze to the ground.

You will land. You Will Survive. We promise.

God bless,

The Georgy Porgy Cave Dwellers.

Share

Leave a comment

Or not. Whatever floots yer boot.

Enjoy the tunes!

Hey You,

I don’t know your name, but I like to call you Josie.

But it won’t matter much until I See You Again — and you tell me it’s actually Prudence, or Althea, or Madison...

For now, the Days Go By, and all you can offer me are Traces of Illusion.

Do you Hear Me Calling?

When I See You Again, maybe you’ll invite me in for some tea. I expect to see crows feet on the edges of your Emerald Eyes.

I Want To Talk To You, Woman Of The World — about What The Years Have Done.

Between 1979 and now, from the blurred field and “The Wall” and those things that Only You Know.

Maybe you’re already gone — Tomorrow’s Dust, The Woman Who Got Away.

Alas, for now I’m Helplessly Hoping that this isn’t true.

Sincerely,

The Man, That Will Find You

P.S.

If your aunt or cousin or dad is a private investigator, or you have unfettered access to Ancestry.com, let me know, I’m readying my search for this lady I found in the back of my copy of a Pink Floyd rock-opera.

Clues are welcome.

P.P.S.

Next week The JamJar will be featuring a little interview with a local vinyl extraordinaire, and the first record they ever needed.

Share

Leave a comment

Dear Tweenage Me,

This Time Tomorrow, if pressure builds, please: Sing Child! an eruption uncanny and everlasting.

You’re still just an Excitable Boy, a Young American, but don’t forget: Time Is Movin’ toward Childhood’s End, so store your Salad Days — the French Kissing, the Summertime Blues, the Disney Girls, the Rock & Roll. One day, you’ll sit with your Fluorescent Adolescence, way up on Sugar Mountain.

Step into those Houses of the Holy and repeat a universal mantra: “Sometimes I Don’t Know What To Feel.”

When it hits you, that Those Years Are Over, return to the teenage wasteland inside you, still churning like a surprise Sex Dream, a late night Beach Comber roving the coasts of your mind.

Face It Boy — you’re Almost Grown. Sooner or later, you’ll see that only Change is here to stay.

Love,

You

P.S.

This mix emerged from every whitehead I ever popped in My Little Town’s middle school bathroom.

P.P.S.

This mix is SFTS (“songs from the shelf”) because it’s made up of tracks pulled directly from my vinyl collection. But my records actually live in cubbies, or on the floor leaned up against the couch like weird thin dominoes — no shelves are involved.

P.P.P.S.

So, hm, maybe I should call them “songs from the STASH” instead…

Share

Leave a comment