In the last two days I have heard the song "Dream Police" THREE times on the radio! I like it, but I am bewildered by the frequency (both meanings of the word frequency may be applied here).
I don't know what the significance of these encounters are -- probably just that late seventies rock is making a resurgence. I may have been wearing my checkered vans one of those days I heard Cheap Trick on the radio, just like in Jr. High when I first heard the band.
'Cause the're waiting for me.
The're looking for me.
Ev'ry single night the're driving me insane.
Those men inside my brain.
Am I embarrassed to admit that I still sometimes wear checkered vans while cranking "Dream Police" on the radio as though it were 1979? Maybe a little. But I have moved on, however, without forgetting to rock on.
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5 comments:
Don't tell me you love me
Don't tell me you love me
Cause ba-by I don't want to know!
The seventies was our nursery of Rock-n-Roll, and Cheap Trick was the nanny. Led Zeppelin was the crazy older brother, and Queen was the doting sister. Keep on Rockin' in the free world, baby.
I wrote that blog as a tribute, not only to our surrogate family of rock-n-roll, but also to you DMO.
And I will tell you I love, I hope you want to know.
Strange to say, the only 70's rock in my house came by way of my loverly wife. She brought in Zepplin and Fleetwood Mac.
But she has consented to join with me in hating the Eagles.
Nobody calls me the space cowboy. Nobody calls me the gangster of love.
skn
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