One of my most epiphanous moments in music, I remember it clearly, was reading the then-new and revolutionary rock music tabloid Rolling Stone, sometime in the late summer or fall of 1968. So you can imagine my pleasure when by some fluke of nature or warp in history I’m able to hear a piece of near and dear, great music from 1968-9. Judy Collins & Stephen Stills (Photo: Graham Nash) But usually, if I want to experience a Beatles song, I just close my ears and play it in my brain. If I really, really focus, while lying on a bed of nails, with two prison guards dashing me with a bucket of freezing water after each track, I can summon enough concentration to probe the music just a bit. I used to try tricks like listening to only one channel with the bass cranked up while standing on my head. They’ve been inaudible to me for decades. I listened to every cut of theirs several bejillion times, from the day they were released. Strangers are in clearer focus than your parent, your child, your spouse. That which you see every day for decades becomes so imbedded in your processor that the nerve endings are dulled to them. The people and things closest to you eventually become invisible to you.
