Phil Everly
Before cable television, and its portal to the wider world (through Washington State's Inland Empire), arrived in northeast Edmonton in the 1970s, my connection to out there was my parents' LP record collection. They didn't mess around. Johnny Cash. The Beatles. The Beach Boys. So, while the neighbourhood cats were thrumming to Led Zep and Pink Floyd, I was listening to Johnny and June sing Jackson, John and Paul sing You Won't See Me, and to the Wilsons sing about the sand and the surf. And to Phil and Don dig into "Walk right back to me this minute/Give your love to me don't send it/I'm so lonesome every day." When the song finished, I would lift up the needle (scratch), bring it back to the groove that marked the beginning of Walk Right Back and drop it (scratch) and listen to it again. And again. It was the way Phil sang his "don't send it." It was the way they sounded together, so close. It was, still is, something I can...