Finally a post has struck a nerve. It was 1960 - that's right, 1960 - and a car full of my buddies and I were barreling down Pacific Coast Highway singing (actually screaming) along to Alley Oop by the Hollywood Argyles at the top of our lungs. Truly a prime moment in my musical memory.
About that time I had a record player installed in my '54 Chevy Bel Air. It was an option, I think, on the 1960 Chrysler. It held about 10 45's and played them with the tone arm under the records. Oh my God. Imagine all the 50's rock and roll played, what seemed to us, flawlessly and at a deafening volume. It also played Johnny Mathis equally well, which served me beyond measure in my post-adolescent dating activities. I kept the 45's in a plastic trash can; I had about a 100. One night my friend, Jerry (last name withheld) barfed in that bucket. Recriminations ensued.
Things took a turn when my grad school girlfriend acquired a '56 Mustang with an 8 track player. "The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll" moved me like no music I had ever heard before. Even now, over 50 years later, I still get chills when I listen to it in comfort of my own living room. But no esoteric stereo ever conceived will equal that thrilling 4 minutes on a rainy day in 1967 when I heard it the very first time on that lowly 8 track player
