I like to start my mornings the same way any reasonable person would: wandering the neighborhood with Cooper while listening to Coast to Coast AM on my headphones like some kind of suburban conspiracy monk. Thanks to Sirius FM, I get to restart the show just as it’s ending — which feels a little like cheating time, but I’ll allow it.
If you’ve ever listened to that show, you know it’s basically a rotating buffet of conspiracies, supernatural, health topics and all things Space. Aliens, UFOs, interdimensional cousins, cosmic hitchhikers, crop circles (last night's show) — the whole celestial cast. And bless their hearts, some of these guests truly believe the government is sloooowly “disclosing” alien contact. As in: any day now, the folks who can’t even disclose what’s in a budget report are going to hand us the cosmic truth on a silver platter. Sure. Right after they alphabetize Area 51.
Disclosure? Please. It’s Deception with a capital D, and they’ve been running that program since Roswell was just a twinkle in someone’s classified file. If there is an Area 51 — or Area 52, or Area 867‑5309 — they’re not sharing squat. But we keep trying, because humans are nothing if not persistent little space‑groupies.
Do I believe there’s life elsewhere in the universe? Absolutely. The universe is massive — absurdly massive — and I refuse to believe God looked at billions of galaxies and said, “Nah, one species is enough.” Especially when we humans have spent thousands of years being… well, predictable. And obviously embarrassing.
We’ve always been obsessed with space. Stars guided our travel, our calendars, our myths — basically everything except our ability to stop losing socks in the dryer. WWII kicked technology into overdrive, and suddenly we were flinging ourselves off the planet like, “Let’s see what’s out there!” Naturally, music followed. Because if humans are going to explore the cosmos, we’re bringing a soundtrack.
Enter the Allen Bradley Quintet in the late ’50s, capitalizing on the Space Race and the birth of rock. But honestly? My favorite part of this disc isn’t even the music — it’s the label. Specifically, the fact that Jose Duarte demanded credit for the sound effects. You just know he said, “I’ll help, but my name better be on that label. Don’t play with me.”
And then — the cherry on top — I managed to dig up an old Okeh sleeve from my boxes. Nothing like matching a space‑themed 45 with a vintage sleeve to make the universe wink at you.
So buckle up, strap on your helmet, and race to the moon with me. Take me to your "leader" but try to do it voluntarily and not via abduction on the way. And if we do meet an Alien Leader out there, fingers crossed they’re smarter and more peaceful than the ones we’ve currently got running the show.
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