‘I’m sitting here with my cup of coffee — which at this point is less a beverage and more a spiritual advisor and realizing — once again — I’ve got too many cover versions for one week. It’s like they breed when I’m not looking. So yes, August is getting another Cover Week, because apparently my life is now scheduled around rogue cover songs and less a programming choice and more a recurring geological event. No more marathon medleys, though; I’m retiring those before they retire me. Still, the mix will be good — eclectic, eccentric, and probably requiring a small emotional support beverage- might I suggest New Mexico Piñon Coffee.
Meanwhile, I’ve got a stack of 45s glaring at me from across the room like, “Buddy, you said you’d get to us.” I’m staring at the calendar, trying to sketch out a plan… a map to musical enlightenment… or at least a well organized cacophony of pleasantness. I’ll settle for pleasantness. Enlightenment feels like a stretch before 9 a.m.
Today’s offering is a 45 I picked up in Colorado Springs back in March — and of course there’s a backstory, because with me there’s always a backstory. Flashback to December 2024: we went to Colorado for Christmas to surprise Mom, and I hit a few record stores (as one does). This 45 was sitting in a bin, practically waving at me, and I… did not buy it. I told myself I’d come back later in the week, but time slipped away like a drummer who didn’t show up for rehearsal.
Fast‑forward to March: I return, dig through the bins, and it’s GONE. Missing. Abducted. Ascended. But then I notice the owner had moved some 45 bins, and there it was — waiting for me like a cosmic prank. This time I didn’t hesitate. I lunged. I pounced. I became the apex predator of the record store. I may have hissed. I cannot confirm.
Which brings me to today’s burning question: were the Beatles fashionable in 1974–75? Blue Ash apparently thought so. Sure, the solo Beatles were all over the radio, but I don’t remember hearing much actual Beatles. Then again, I was just discovering rock and roll from the school bus radio, and they were definitely not playing Blue Ash. Honestly, looking back I am not sure they were playing much cool music at all. Don’t get me wrong — plenty of fantastic stuff from that era still lives on my playlist — but music was already barreling down the disco highway, and that particular exit is not one I take unless forced by circumstance or hostage situation.
Blue Ash might make another appearance here someday, if the record cosmos decide to open up the cosmic causeways and drop a 45 from my want list directly into my hands. I’m ready, universe. I’ve got shelf space. Probably. Maybe. Let’s not check.
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