Firsts (Seconds)

Bruce Springsteen:
The Columbia House Record Club used to advertise on television. One afternoon, a commercial came on highlighting three records that were made available through the club. It was here that I heard Bruce Springsteen for the first time. His first two records were nowhere on my radar and so I thought this record being advertised, “Born To Run,” was his first. A medley of the music being advertised was playing in the background, along with Robin Trower’s “Bridge Of Sighs,” and a third record I can’t recall, while the announcer talked about the club and its benefits, and just as the final pitch was made, the music swelled and I heard “And I can’t gooo on!” As clear as a bell, almost 50 years later, I can still see that television and hear the bridge from “Tenth Avenue Freeze Out '' coming out of that tiny TV speaker in my living room. That one line haunted me for weeks until I was able to purchase “Born To Run.” The rest is history.

STEELY DAN:

Steely Dan had released five albums before I associated their hit singles with their name. Songs like “Reelin’ In the Years,” “Do It Again,” and “Rikki Don’t Lose That Number” were AM radio staples, and while I loved all three, they’d often just get lost in the shuffle with other favorites like “Amie” by Pure Prairie League” or “Love Grows” by Edison Lighthouse. I knew of Steely Dan but I didn’t really get to know Steely Dan until one weekend at my cousin Al’s house, when he played “Kid Charlemagne,” the first track off the band’s just released album, “The Royal Scam.” Every song that followed knocked me out. And like so many other bands, I started going backwards. I bought the record before it, “Katy Lied,” and then the one before that, “Pretzel Logic.” That’s when I heard “Rikki” again, but in a different context. This was no AM radio, one hit wonder band. This was sophisticated pop music played with precision. So my first real memory of Steely Dan is sitting on the floor in my cousin’s bedroom, holding “The Royal Scam” cover and thinking, “My new favorite song is ‘Caves Of Altamira.”

MOTT THE HOOPLE:
It wasn’t “All The Young Dudes.” And it certainly wasn’t a song from the four Atlantic Records flops before it. As a matter of fact, it wasn’t any music at all. It was the “Mott” album cover. Ian Hunter’s hair and sunglasses. The Klieg lights. This album spoke to me from behind a wall of plexiglass housing hundreds of 8-tracks at the Happy Tunes record shop on West 8th Street in Greenwich Village. I recognized it from a review in Circus Magazine and based on nothing else, I knew I needed it. My Uncle’s then fiance Patricia bought it for me and I fell in love with the band from the opening piano chords of “All The Way From Memphis.” Then, hearing that song blasting out of Alfred Lutter’s speakers in “Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore” validated the whole purchase.

ELVIS COSTELLO:
We all long for the “good old days,” though that could mean many different things, depending on who you are. So I will be very specific. I long for the good old days of WNEW-FM and the staff of DJs that included Richard Neer, Pete Fornatele, Meg Griffin, Scott Muni and of course, “The Nightbird,” Alison Steele. My radio was on every minute I was near it and WNEW-FM rarely disappointed. It was where I first heard Queen’s “A Night At The Opera” and Led Zeppelin’s “In Through The Out Door” played in their entirety. And it was also where I heard this unbelievable ballad that I thought was called “My Aim Is True.” I was lying in bed, stereo off, but my clock radio timer on so I could fall asleep to Alison Steele, and she played Elvis Costello’s “Alison.” I knew who he was from the photos in Trouser Press, but I expected the music to be as jarring as his looks, with those oversized black frames and that spastic stance. “Alison” was not that. When I went to Golden Disc records on Bleecker Street the next day, I asked for “My Aim Is True” by Elvis Costello and Michael, one of the clerks handed it to me, but I saw no title cut. After singing a few bars, he promised me it was the song called “Alison” on Side One. He was right, of course.

TOM PETTY & THE HEARTBREAKERS:
I had a Friday evening ritual. Get my $10 allowance and hop on the E train to Chambers Street. I’d run across City Hall Park and make it to J&R Music World right before they closed at 6:30. Records in 1976 cost $3.69. J&R also had a cut out bin with records priced at $1.69, making two new releases and one cut out a few pennies under $10.00 after taxes. One of the managers was a guy named Al, who was friendly enough, if a bit abrasive. He got a kick out of this 12 year old kid who knew what I knew about music. He also teased me relentlessly about my purchases, not being a fan of Yes or Queen or Thin Lizzy, though he minded Lizzy less than the other two. On one early evening visit, I rushed down the flight of stairs, taking two or three steps at a time, and came face to face with Al, holding the first Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers album over his head, and marching around the tight quarters of the shop, shouting, “This is the greatest rock and roll band in the world! This is the greatest rock and roll band in the world!” My first thought was, “You’re saying that because it’s your band.” Al looked just like Petty, and at the time, I hadn’t heard of Tom Petty, so for a few minutes, I believed Al was Tom Petty. Wanting to impress this adult clerk, I asked to see the record.
“Is this you?” He gave me a crooked, “Go away kid, you bother me” look, but handed me the record and said, “Buy this. You won’t regret it.” I realized soon enough Al wasn’t Tom. Al was right. No regrets.