There are DJ's but no commercials.
There are countdowns from this week in whatever decade I pick or guest DJ's like Bob Dylan or Bernie Taupin spinning their favorite wax.
I listen to the Sixties and flip to the Eighties then back to the Sixties.
My son Jeremy loves music as much as I do and the only time we ever had an argument was over the music of the Sixties as opposed to that of the Eighties.
The Eighties had Michael Jackson, Madonna, Prince and Run D.M.C.
The Sixties had the Doors, Marvin Gaye, the Who, the Grateful Dead, and the Rolling Stones.
"Jeremy," I said. "They may still write their songs, but they don't play on their recordings, use drum machines and the concerts are Madonna rolling the floor in a wedding dress with no really good guitar solo."
"That's crap Dad," he fires back.
"The Sixties had real music son," I reply. "It was about real stuff. It charged the course of history. That decade of music beats the 70s, 80's and the 90s combined.""Come on Old Man, 'Love grows where my Rosemary goes? ... seriously?"
He had me for a moment.
"Lady in Red," I counter feeling my confidence restored.
"Yummy Yummy Yummy I got love in my tummy," he shoots. "For Christ's sake!"
"Oh Mickey I love you," I laugh. M-I-C-K-E-Y!"
"TINY TIM," he yells, again painting me in a corner.
So I have to throw the Ace card that I'd been holding back. I savor the moment because I know I have him.
"Beatles," I calmly reply.
He knows that I know that he's got nothing to counter with.
We're more mellow about it these days. We share music with each other often and enjoy going to shows together. Whenever we're together we bring a play list. Music hovers in most everything we do. Both of us think in lyrics.
But I'm missing him today.
I want him to Don't Worry, be happy.
I want him to say Rock Me Amadeus.
I want him to stand with men without hats.
That's enough.
It's time to light my fire.
