Rock & Roll Hits Charley Warady
In January of 1964, I was 8 years old (I turned 9 in July), and my brother, Alan, who was ten years older than me, brought home a new record album. It was the British release of The Beatles’ first album from the British record company Vee Jay; ingeniously entitled “Introducing…The Beatles.” I’m not sure if anyone got paid to think of that name, but if there was, then he or she owns a little bit of rock history, and an even littler bit of imagination.
My brother brought it home with such pride, it was like he was holding gold in his hands. I stood in the kitchen with my mother when he displayed it to my mother. “These guys are gonna be big,” he said. Those were his exact words. He wasted his talents. He should have been a talent scout.
He let me hold the unopened cellophane wrapped album. I stared at the pictured. I wondered how that one guy (George Harrison) played a musical instrument with only one hand. All the other guys displayed two hands, but that one guy only had one hand. It fascinated me. I didn’t say anything, but seriously…doesn’t it look like he’s only got one hand?
Just as a matter of historical fact, it was ten days later that the Capital label (American) came out with Meet The Beatles, which had the same songs, but a different cover. Capital records must have been so proud to have outdone Vee Jay in the “name the cover” category. Although, if it was up to me it would have been a tie.
My brother unwrapped the vinyl album and went into our den where our record player was located. The record player had a lot of wood and stood tall like a monolith. I could barely reach the turntable.
It was monophonic.
We only had a black & white television; what would have been the purpose of having a stereo. My dad’s opinion was that if you could hear the music, what difference did it make as to how many speakers it had.
I followed my brother closely, tripping over his heels more than once. He backhanded the top of my head, but it didn’t deter me. I wanted to hear these guys who were ‘going to be big.’ I sat on the floor right in front of the one and only cloth covered speaker and stared at the machine. My brother gently placed the album on the turntable and instead of using the automatic setting, he used the manual setting and gently placed the arm of the record player on the album; the needle barely touching the edge.
And the music began.
I glanced over my shoulder to see my brother, in his blonde ducktail, and he was dancing. I might be wrong, but I think it was the Mashed Potatoes. I returned to staring at the speaker. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
It was magic. Wait until the kids at Horace Mann Elementary School heard about this. They were just gonna shit.
