In a lifetime of buying singles and playing them a hundred times in a row, I bought my last 45 on a day in the ’70s. Tower Records at 14th Street was crowded with kids. I walked over to the counter and in a clear, grown-up voice said: “Do you have ‘Please Go All the Way’ by the Raspberries?” In the silence that fell over the store, my words rang in my ear. One of the clerks, shocked into immobility, said, “Huh?”
I really wanted that song, with its crunchy guitars and luscious, athletic harmonies and suggestive lyrics. But now I was seeing myself in a movie: adult woman, dressed for the office; power rock in the air; young people stopping and staring. I couldn’t repeat the words. I turned and walked out.
marthaspencil.wordpress.com 