In the annals of rock'n'roll history, I suppose we all have our high points. Me, I have plenty. I had already been curious about what an Elvis Presley was and then my mom brought me home an EEP of his first album. You know, the tonsil shot. The mystique was solidified. It would be years before I learned that the photo was taken in Tampa.
Over the next six or seven years I learned to play guitar, a disputable claim.
I remember my first guitar but not my first slow dance. Both changed everything forever. My mother took me to see shows with Big Joe Turner. Bill Haley & The Comets. The Teen Queens. The Platters. Clyde McPhatter. LaVern Baker. Bo Diddley. The Drifters. Frankie Lymon and the Teenagers. Sam Cooke. Little Willie John. Brenda Lee. Duane Eddy. Marv Johnson. Hank Ballard & the Midnighters.
Oh, I know I'm leaving out plenty of my heroes but I've filled in too many of the wrinkles with trivia.
If Elvis was the first chapter for me, then the Beatles make up the second.
Maybe I'm still on that one. I'll never forget my first band. My first show. My first record. My first radio airplay. My first autograph. My first trip overseas.
I wouldn't trade my memories for anything. I surely wish I remembered more about that slow dance.
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