Jersey Boys

Thirteen years before the amazing David Lindley was hitting my sweet spot with his vocals on the Jackson Brown rendition of “Stay”. (Little did 15 year old Maurice Williams know what a monster he was creating in 1953) Frankie Valli was getting high with The Four Seasons. I wasn’t much of a fan but they were certainly as big a part of my life as…well, the family dog. Now I love dogs but that nasty Dashound was a bitch of a bitch. Anyway, I had little regard for Frankie and his peeps, or for the blue collar greasers in stovepipe pants in general. You know, Jersey boys. But, of course, I was a Jersey boy too. But I was from a white collar suburb not…Newark or something. We all have our prejudices. Trovolta’s “Danny” was foreign to me. I wanted to go sit in Washington Square and listen for whispers of Dylan or Sebastian sightings. You’ll find no Four Seasons vinyl or CDs in my collection, some 1,000 strong. But after watching a PBS fundraiser that featured the “Jersey Boys” material and realizing how well I knew the music, every word, every note... I caved. Amazon was nice enough to sell me a greatest hits collection. For over a week now, I’ve been listening to nothing else in my truck. These guys were huge, one monster hit after another, and this time I don’t have to listen to Cousin Brucie yelling at me in-between cuts. Every single song takes me back. I was so programmed by this stuff. Some things don't change, but how we feel about them may. Now it’s as if the family dog came back after all these years to ride shotgun with me. I didn't realize how much I loved that little bitch, and yes, this music too. I do keep my windows rolled up though, I don’t want anyone to hear us howl.