A girl walks into an audio store in Mongkok to buy headphones after sufficient hours of research and a thought-provoking cab ride from a fantastic dinner. Sifting through six different currencies in her make-shift ziplock wallet, she hears the digital bleeps of the cash register and the oh-so-satisfying sound of the receipt paper spouting from the machine. In all of her eagerness, she politely motions to the Asian sales clerk that she really needs this bulky package open... and now, please.

And at last, the audio world is hers. After months of shit, she's pretty damn close to perfection. With the crisp sounds of the treble, the energy of the vocal midrange and the low, smooth flow of the bass, nothing else matters in the entire world. She would know, because she isn't exactly close to home.

Where to go from here? Doesn't matter. She cruises around Mongkok on foot, with no other objective in mind than to listen. She could only share the next few hours with some of her oldest friends, christening the ear pieces with arguably the masters of rock'n'roll: Pete, Keith, Roger and John. Perhaps it's a tribute to her dad that this motley crew beat out the likes of Jimmy, Robert and John^2, or perhaps she just wants to hear the re-mastered studio tracks as close as they were meant to be heard without the concert amps of the early 1970s.

If you don't know the album, shame on you. If you don't know the boys, you don't know the girl.

Any questions?


P.S. From Mozart's Concerto #6 in B Flat to "Flamenco Sketches" to the echoes on "Talk Show Host" to Gotan to uh, anything by Mariah Carey, these babies are, as Mr. Curda would say, "swingin'."