Isley Brothers - Take Some Time Out For Love/Just Ain't Enough Love

I think it is important to take a moment on this date — Friday, September 11th — to sit with the weight of what happened twenty‑five years ago. Hard to believe it’s been that long, because the memory still feels sharp enough to cut. I was a Case Manager then, heading out for a home visit with one of my more… let’s say “character‑building” families. NPR was on in the car, and I remember the broadcast shifting from routine morning chatter into something jagged and unreal. Confusion, chaos, disbelief — all of it hitting at once.

By the time I got back to the office, we were glued to the TV like it was the only anchor left in the room. The whole day felt suspended, like time had stopped but somehow kept hurting anyway.

And yet — because life insists on being strange and layered — I can go from that somber memory straight into talking about how a promo 60s Tamla/Motown 45 can jolt my bloodstream before the needle even touches the groove. There’s something electric about those labels, those fonts, that era. I’ll be the first to admit I’m not the world’s biggest Motown/Tamla collector, but I think it’s because my brain can’t help comparing the giants to the overlooked gems.

You look at the Supremes racking up hit after hit, and then you think about the songs that slipped through the cracks — like that Vala Reegan 45 I posted, which is still one of my all‑time favorites. It’s wild how something so good can be ignored while the spotlight blasts elsewhere.

And then there are the Isley Brothers, who just kept cranking out classics like it was a bodily function. They’re in that Hall of Shame — the one where legendary artists get overshadowed while lesser acts somehow skate by with more recognition. It’s maddening, but also part of the charm of digging: finding the brilliance history forgot to underline. This time the Hall got it right!

So on this day, let the emotional weight of those tragic events twenty‑five years ago settle where it needs to — and be comforted, even if only slightly, by the spirit, the soul, and the strange healing properties of music. Because if anything has ever known how to hold grief without dropping it, it’s a record spinning in a quiet room.