I'm a product of the sixties. My generation certainly won't challenge Tom Brokaw's as the greatest as my disco-dancing peers have no masterworks such as the invention of the wheel or the defeat of facism. Instead history will show us having done not much above average except for one thing. We're fortunate to have been part of the true golden age of rock and roll.
I grew up in era of quality music. It was the climax of the vinyl album and spectacularly unique bands like Uriah Heep and Average White Band. My early years were (fortunately) devoid of cell phones and headline news, and the eleventh of September was just a pleasant autumn day. We lived in a mystical time of clean water, safe bridges and saturday baseball while mercifully void of such things as portable hand sanitizers. Hazardous materials, for all we knew, was only the tempting aroma of the school's mimiograph machine. Shorts were what you ended up with when you cut the legs off your old jeans (and jeans were all you needed). It was perfectly acceptable to hitchike or walk around in bare feet, thank you for asking.
Ah, the music of those years has aged like a fine wine...
I slide the dark disc out of it's sheath (handling it only by the edges as if it were sactosanct). Then I carefully clear the dust and remove any static. "Go slowly", I tell myself. "Your patience will be rewarded." When everything is set, the turntable comes to speed and slowly applies the diamond needle. I pass the dangerous speed bump of sound and am rewarded by the tempting silent crackles of audio anticipation. Volume up.
Oh, my friends...Humble Pie is Rockin' the Filmore and I'm back in Michigan again.
