It's like I was right there, growing up in 50s America, thinking everything will be beautiful (assuming I'm white in this scenario). Then blam, music dies on February 3rd 1959.
Then I'd grow up into a free-loving hippie high off whatever the fuck until some bikers stab dudes to death at a festival, killing music once again.
Then I'd grow up into a free-loving hippie high off whatever the fuck until some bikers stab dudes to death at a festival, killing music once again.
It's just that vivid.