From the crackle of our kitchen’s Philco to the sleek screens today, music’s been my constant companion. Growing up, Dad would sing along to Sinatra while tinkering with the Model T, and I caught the bug bad. From the blues of Howlin’ Wolf to the twang of Hank Williams, they spoke to my soul.
At the mill, we’d gather round the AM, trading jokes between songs. Those moments, shared with brothers in rust, brought light to the grit. Then came Elvis, the Beatles, changing the game. We laughed, called them freaks, yet secretly admired their fire.
These days, streaming services offer endless treasure troves, but something’s missing. There’s no anticipation, no waiting for the needle drop. No chance encounters, no serendipity. Still, every now and then, I stumble onto a gem, and the magic returns.
So, whether it’s vinyl spinning on my turntable or a podcast rekindling old memories, the rhythm flows deep within. For me, it’s always been less about the medium, more about the melodies, the stories, and the friends who shared them.
>Soulkyn