“Turn down that music!” That was the battle cry of my mother when she deemed my music loud enough to wake the dead. It was early 1964. I was 17 and at the age where I could spend hours in my bedroom, just listening to my favorite rock groups. Mom’s musical preference ran in the direction of Nat King Cole or maybe some of that music from the Big Band era. Dad was more into Irish drinking songs!  But they both listened to Classical music on occasion and while it wasn’t my cup of tea, I learned to distinguish Beethoven from Tchaikovsky which totally impressed my music appreciation teacher in high school. I made it quite clear to him, however, that my preference leaned toward rock music and more specifically the Beatles, or the Rolling Stones or other groups associated with the recent English invasion. He told me that they would just be “flashes in the pan.” Here today, gone tomorrow. He said he would give the Beatles three months and then he figured we’d forget all about them. Huh! A lot he knew! As I recall, I made a bet with him that they’d be around “forever and a day.” I shouldn’t have made it quite so open ended because, even tho’ I think he lost that bet, he never paid up. Where is that guy anyway? He owes me big time. Continue reading