You're not the Boss of me...now

In the late 70's when I was waking up to the emotional power of good music I was provided with a fantastic opportunity for a crash course in Rock history courtesy of the fact that my oldest brother had moved out of the family home and his digs were not big enough to allow him to take his beloved record collection with him. My brother has always been a music addict who has been known to buy records on the basis of an overheard conversation on the 33 Bus and although his record collection in the late 70's was tiny in comparison to the truly humongous catalogue of vinyl, tapes, CD's and MP3's he now owns, to my young eyes it was a treasure trove of exciting, colourful, dangerous, sinful, adult pleasures.

I was warned on pain of death that I should never touch the vinyl and if for any reason I would want to read the sleeve notes on an album I was to ask him and he would hold it out for me to look at. Under no circumstances was I ever to attempt to actually play any of the records although from time to time he would allow me in to hear the latest release by Lee"Scratch" Perry, The Fall or some other equally cool sounding madmen. These rules were rigorously enforced while he was in residence but as soon as he moved out (despite the threat of future violence) I was free touch, read and play to my hearts content. My Mum was given the task of keeping me away from his records but unfortunately (for him) she never truly understood the bond between a man and his Vinyl and turned a blind eye to my turntable twirlings. This after all was the Woman who gave his entire Beatles singles collection to the local bring and buy sale because she "thought he had already heard them".

I look back on this brief period of my life as one of the most exciting I have ever experienced. In among the Stones, Beatles (lots of Beatles), Dylan (lots and lots of Dylan), Hendrix, Captain Beefheart, Neil Young, Reggae (Shedloads), Talking Heads, The Clash, Van Morrison, Velvet Underground, The Beach boys, Elvis Costello, Weather Report etc etc etc there was one album that defines the period for me and truly changed the way I thought about music forever. That album was:


For starters, to a 12 year old boy the shabby, skinny, leather clad guy with the beat up guitar on the cover looked unfeasibly cool, and the fact that he was clearly sharing a joke with an even cooler black guy made it doubly attractive. Now I know as well as anybody that an album cover is no indicator of the quality of the music (see any Yes album) but this fabulous cover gave but a small hint as to the delights that were to follow when the needle hit the vinyl. From the opening bars of Thunder Road to the plaintive Sax on Jungleland I was transported to the sleazy, sexy, violent, tender, raw and beautiful streets of New Jersey. I could feel the late evening summer sun on my neck as I slowly drove my roaring hot rod down to the turnpike (whatever that was !), rival gang members eyeing me warily and sexy girls calling my name. This was an album that talked about life, not rock and roll life but small town, dirty, no prospects life that spoke to me more than the Stones or the Pistols ever could.


I played the album 2 or 3 times a day for about 6 months before moving on (or back) to "The Wild the Innocent and the E Street Shuffle" which is also a fantastic album. Shortly after finding Springsteen for the first time he issued the "Darkness on the edge of town" album which was one of the first records I ever bought (candy's room still gives me the shivers) and then came the patchy but magnificent "the River". Unfortunately the River remains the point at which my love affair with the Boss ended as his subsequent records never really connected with me in the way that Rosalita, Night or Fade Away did. The true low point must be "dancing in the dark" and that excruciating video (what in Gods name was he thinking of!!!). Despite this the Boss will always remain an important figure for me as the thrill of listening to Born To Run for the first time (and second time and third time etc etc) will stay with me forever. Thanks for that big man.

P.S I would just like to apologise to my brother for the large scratch on side 2 of Blonde on Blonde, the dried marmalade that makes tracks 3 and 4 of Trout Mask replica unplayable (it could be argued that it was always unplayable !!) and the slight tear in the (very rare) picture sleeve of the Strawberry fields forever single.