Growing up in the late ‘60’s to mid 70’s, music was instilled in our minds as far more than just entertainment. It was an education. Most of the messages sent out on vinyl and through performances were of a consistent nature. Stop the war. Love your brother and sister. Rebel against oppression. But what made the message even stronger were the messengers. The ones whose lyrics and music helped shape and define the characters of those willing to see the world through their eyes.

The integrity of these artists was, and is, crucial to me. Had the musicians I have followed all these years never received a recording contract, their vocation would not have changed. We would have been the sorrier for never having heard of them but they would still have played their music. Of the people I write, a regular job was never an option. They had to do what they did. Whether a divine force led them to discover their talents or whether they were victims of circumstance, we are the ones who have benefited.   

The list of those who defined the ideals of millions runs into the hundreds. After much consideration, I narrowed the list to four chapters. There are so many more to discuss but I will use that as incentive to continue with my writing. This group of artists caused me to run to record stores and watch my weekly allowance disappear. The rare occasion that these artists would appear on television, you would litter your belongings with notes of that date and time. When these bands came to town, it was an event. The ingestion of the announced date. The procurement of guaranteed entry. The day before the show. The day of the show. Going there. Entering the hall. The “click of the switch” when the lights went out.

The first time I saw Springsteen. The chill when, after the drum intro in total darkness, the lights kicked in for “Rock ’n’ Roll” by Zeppelin. Having a limited knowledge of Rory Gallagher, I watched as he and his band walked on stage, plugged in and blew my face off.   He was the first “rock star” I ever met. And I have been fortunate to have met many others since then. Bruce and Zep don’t need me to tell the public about them but the artists compiled in this book deserve my respect. Enough so that I’ve made it a passion to remind those of us who followed them. And to introduce them to a new generation that will never be lucky enough to have experienced what I did and at a time that shall never be repeated for more than the obvious reasons.