Dave's Side One

For me, the most exciting thing isn't necessarily new albums. It's the idea of hearing those songs performed live again by the musicians who helped create them.

The late 70s produced a lot of great reflective songs—tracks by Ambrosia, England Dan & John Ford Coley, Orleans, and Christopher Cross all captured a similar mood. But "Baby Come Back" occupies a special place among them

Streaming has made music more convenient than ever, but it's also made us more impatient. We hear ten seconds, decide whether we like it, and move on

The people who run record stores matter too. The best store owners aren't just selling records. They're curating experiences. They're introducing customers to artists and albums they might never discover otherwise

When you pull an album off the shelf, clean it, and lower the needle, you're making a commitment. You're choosing to spend time with that record. Streaming often encourages us to jump around. Vinyl encourages us to stay put

For pure visual impact, though, it's hard to beat the custom labels. Led Zeppelin's Swan Song records. The palm-tree labels on many Island Records releases. The whimsical artwork on some Warner Brothers pressings

These albums crossed boundaries. They weren't just owned by rock fans or pop fans. They were owned by music fans

The streaming world gives us instant access to millions of songs. That's wonderful. But it doesn't give us the thrill of the hunt. It doesn't give us that feeling of spotting something special buried in a stack of ordinary records

Other great driving songs from the era like “Take It Easy” by The Eagles or “Ventura Highway” by America have similar qualities, but “Ride Like the Wind” stands out with its perfect blend of momentum and calm. It moves forward while making you feel peaceful — a difficult balance that few songs achieve

The best concerts were the ones where you left with ringing ears, a sore throat from singing, and a story to tell. Giant screens made concerts more convenient for the people in the back, but they took away some of the magic that made live music special in the first place

This triple-guitar approach gave rock a richness and power that felt overwhelming in the best possible way. It allowed for complex harmonies, trading solos, and a fullness that made the music feel larger than life

These bands proved that for some artists, the studio was just a blueprint. The real art happened when the lights went down and the audience became part of the performance

What made 70s guitar solos so special was their variety. You had Gilmour’s lyrical, emotional approach, Page’s epic storytelling, May’s theatrical flair, and Montrose’s aggressive melodicism. Each player had a distinct voice, and that diversity made the decade incredibly rich for guitar lovers

These songs didn’t ease the crowd in — they attacked. They set the tone that this was going to be a night to remember, and they gave the audience permission to lose themselves right from the start

What made these bands so loud wasn’t just volume for volume’s sake — it was presence. They understood how to use the size of the venue to their advantage, creating a wall of sound that made every fan feel like they were part of something enormous and unforgettable

Beyond the technical beauty, “Sailing” has this magical ability to slow time down. Whenever I play it, the outside world fades away. The gentle groove and dreamy melody make you want to close your eyes and drift. It’s the musical equivalent of a deep breath and a long exhale

I’m not saying technique is bad. It’s impressive. But when it becomes the main point — when players are showing off instead of serving the song — the music suffers. I’d rather hear Neil Young play one imperfect, heartfelt note than sit through a 15-minute technical festival of self-love that forgets to have a melody or emotion

These session musicians brought consistency, creativity, and professionalism to every track. Many famous 70s hits owe as much (or more) to the session players as to the named artists. They were the secret weapon behind the polished, radio-ready sound that defined the decade

These basslines weren’t just holding down the low end — they were driving the songs, creating hooks, and giving the music its backbone and personality. A truly great 70s bassline could make you move even when the rest of the song was subtle

These drummers understood that the song always comes first. They locked in with the bass, left space where it was needed, and knew exactly when to push or pull back. Their playing often went unnoticed precisely because it was so perfect for the music

These guitarists didn’t just play notes — they had a sonic signature. You could pick them out of a crowd of players because their tone told a story before the first phrase was finished. That instant recognition is a rare gift in music

The 70s keyboards were dynamic — warm analog synths, roaring Hammonds, and ethereal Mellotrons — became the sonic signature of the decade’s ambition. It was the perfect marriage of technology and musicality

In the 70s soft rock landscape, this song stands out as something truly sophisticated. It’s intelligent without being pretentious, romantic without being sappy, and it has a wistful elegance that lingers long after the last note fades. It’s the kind of track that makes you want to pour a drink, dim the lights, and just get lost in it

Critics often called them pretentious. I call them courageous. In an era when everyone else was chasing radio hits, these bands said, “No, we’re going to tell a 70-minute story about dystopian society, or a Puerto Rican street kid’s spiritual journey through New York, or four sides of oceanic mysticism.” That level of artistic swagger is rare today

These albums share a special quality: very little filler and excellent flow. Every track earns its place, so stopping the record feels wrong. In the vinyl era, these were the records that got played until the grooves were visibly worn down from constant flipping