My dad\u2019s record collection has always been a significant source of music in my life. Its sheer volume and variety has never ceased to amaze me, and that is likely why I write about it so often. Each time I head home for the holidays (or between jobs) it is one of the first things I check on after settling in and petting my childhood cat. When I look at the six foot wide, five-story shelf of LPs, I see every house they\u2019ve lived in, and every alphabetized box we\u2019ve unpacked them from. On the southernmost shelves I see the evidence of three or four kittens, who\u2019d used the spines of records \u201cU\u201d through \u201cZ\u201d as scratching posts. Those kitties always ended up conveniently \u201crunning away.\u201d<\/p>\n

My method for discovering music in my dad\u2019s collection has never been strategic or efficient, and because of that, my memory of first finding Steve Harley and Cockney Rebel\u2019s 1975 LP The Best Years of Our Lives<\/em> is blurry. Thinking on it, I\u2019ve whittled it down to two possibilities. It’s possible that my dad, in one of his many attempts to find a middle ground between his tastes and the \u201880s street punk I was listening to at the time, hooked me with a line about Steve Harley being related to Dave and Ray Davies<\/a>. The second theory is far simpler; while thumbing through my dad\u2019s collection, I came across an album sleeve picturing a handsome and stylish young man, who dare I say looked just like the Davies brothers.<\/p>\n

Whatever the circumstances were, The Best Years of Our Lives <\/em>made its way from shelf to turntable one day, and it damn near knocked me over. The record fulfilled the promise of Marc Bolan\u2019s glam and the Kinksian wit Harley hinted at on the album cover, his shag haircut and sharp jacket doing all of the talking. Best Years <\/em>was a spotless collection of music in my opinion, save for the opener, \u201cIntroducing \u2018The Best Years,\u2019\u201d which stinks of \u201870s excess. One song on the album was so fantastic, however, that I can remember freezing the first time I heard it, my arms dripping with soap and water. One of my favorite ways to listen to music was at top volume, alone and doing the dishes before my parents got home from work. I was scrubbing away when the stylus slid onto \u201cMake Me Smile (Come Up And See Me),\u201d and within seconds I was motionless, holding a sudsy plate in mid-air.<\/p>\n