Revolver, Allan Sherman & coffee nights

Possibly the best album ever released in 1966 was Revolver by The Beatles. The experimentation never stopped - Harrison and his Indian music influence portrayed, Macca's subtle chamber pop, songcraft and soul manifested, Ringo's empathic with child-like qualities jumping around in the record with consistent drum beats and Lennon's crawling nightmares and genious empowering the record to a different level. I am just amazed at the cohesiveness of this record. It's funny how we are easily bound to love a record so much.

It's 2:35 am and I smell the coffee that's brewing in the kitchen, while Allan Sherman's vinyl is spinning. The laughing crowds on the background empancipate the lighthearted and daydreaming child in me. It's not really soothing to give up a day to think too much about shit, but hey - at least the music is still playing and the wheels are still moving. It's a showdown. It's entertainment. Killing time? Killing my mind? Killing the me in the you and the know in the now. Blabbing about shit - that's all people do. Thelonious Monk's piano might save these nights of boredom. Had a heart attack or hoped I had - not that I want to not live but I want to feel a little more pain, just a tab.

Record is pressed. The music lover is ready to survive with this one record. Going through this turmoil of emotions and shapes and voices and colors reminds me of Miles Davis's Bitches Brew or maybe Lennon's Imagine. Yearning for elementary school. Falling on my face. Sticking around for another toast; this one goes to whimsy barbarellas. Invigorating. Trembling. Make it stop. Make it real. Allan Sherman's melodies are so so good...