I have always been a Beatles fan. Just one of millions, I know. One of my first movie memories was Yellow Submarine, where I first learned that John, Paul, George and Ringo were even cooler than I’d ever known.
My earliest radio memories include The Long and Winding Road and Something, both from Abbey Road. The Beatles broke up when I was eight, but I remain a steadfast fan over 50 years later.
I would play Yellow Submarine over and over again, memorizing every word. I did that with all my albums, but not intentionally – I just didn’t have many albums. So, what I had, I played over and over.
Another example was Jesus Christ Superstar, a staple in our house for years. I reveled in singing all the parts, even though I didn’t understand all the references (I guess all those years of Catholic School indoctrination didn’t take). But I knew Jesus was a Superstar – and I loved rock superstars.
Elton John’s pivotal Goodbeye Yellow Brick Road was a staple for me at age 12; his Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy reigned when I was 14. Those two albums alone took up hundreds of hours of those formative years. And some albums transcended multiple periods of life, especially back in the day when LPs stayed on the charts for years at a time. Supertramp’s Breakfast in America was one such album: I loved it senior year in high school, through that next summer, and then all through freshman year at Drake. It’s still a prize in my musical lexicon.
Art work from David Borzo, circa 1976