Eight hours of sonic brimstone, arranged in a downward spiral. Familiarity breeds contempt, and in my case, familiarity with these continuous soft blows to the head came twice daily, five times a week, on the bus to and from school in Cooperstown.

From 1970 to 1977, I marinated in this same unchanging set of songs provided by the tinny AM radio station (WGY – Schenectady) blaring at us the entire way. Is it any wonder that when I hit Boston in ’77, my world’s axis tilted slightly?

Spotify only lets me embed the first 100 tracks here. They want you to visit them to hear the rest.