Nearly all the bands are new to me. The Decembrists. Pond. Sons Of Bill. Natalie Prass. Africa Express. Most of the songs are kind to my ears. And then, the final track.
A Michael Leach limerick recalls a precious moment.
The waitress began to fuss over our beautiful dog before telling us us her husband, Mark, played banjo on a song called Bob The Kelpie.
At that time, I didn’t own a record player of my own, so we stopped at my grandparents’ house to pick up my dad’s old one from the attic: a Ferguson 3057. We carted it home and my dad installed it in my bedroom.
Ethan told me about/ the time he took Laura on vacation/to Miami after we first broke up
Sitting in the pew of a small, Mexican church and hearing the tears of a broken family while Mother Mary looked down upon them. Same pain, different name.
Which record could hold our story, and become the beating heart of our home, but never play its music again?
Grandpa never forgot what he saw. He told me years later that he thought the Mobil Refinery on Francis St must have exploded.
Love at first listen. My anthem. Just the call for sanctuary was enough to provide tranquility on some of those crazy mornings. I wasn’t alone.
before I left, I walked up to the boy and told him his music was divine; I was proud to have him with me.