![newcleus jam on it eight track newcleus jam on it eight track](https://cdns-images.dzcdn.net/images/cover/be9318da99810e18f389202d75954f42/264x264.jpg)
- Newcleus jam on it eight track full#
- Newcleus jam on it eight track portable#
- Newcleus jam on it eight track tv#
” OK, I’m beginning to have some angst about “where are all these songs?” They were legitimate hits that sounded good on the radio, and yet you don’t hear them much anymore.ĩ2. The Eurythmics – “ Here Comes the Rain Again. ” Damn, the bottom of this chart is solid.ĩ7. It’s not like The Police didn’t need to be parodied, either this one just misses the mark a bit.ĩ8. Weird Al Yankovic – “King of Suede.” I love Weird Al, and yet I never thought this one was one of the better parodies. When I could get the upstairs TV, I’d watch it – and this video always caught my attention.ĩ9.
Newcleus jam on it eight track tv#
” I didn’t have a way to run cable TV to the basement, so there was no MTV. Let’s start at the bottom (as we always do):ġ00. The songs that they would have been playing this week? Well, there’s some pretty good stuff on this list.
Newcleus jam on it eight track portable#
WLS-AM still got my attention as well if I was relegated to a portable radio on the bike. As I liked some new stuff, I didn’t mind so much.Īs far as contemporary music went, I was likely tuned in to WLS-FM or WKQX. In the first few months WJMK would play currents in with the oldies, calling them “future gold.” They abandoned the practice within a few months. August of 1984 saw Chicago’s WJEZ become WJMK – “Magic 104” – where I would later work on the air but would have absolutely no way of knowing that at the time. Don’t me.) as I was to have the radio on. I was just as likely to play an album like Todd Rundgren’s The Ever Popular Tortured Artist Effect or Joan Jett’s Album (I will defend that one hard. (I’d love to find a set of those today when you wore them, you heard nothing else as they were massive.) Most of that time was spent listening to tunes through a giant set of brown Koss headphones that my parents abandoned and that I stealthily blended into my own things. This was probably the first time I really began to see myself as a collector more than just “someone with some records” or “someone who likes music.” My folks separated during the school year, and I think that because of that my mother was a little more indulgent of my fifteen year mood swings: as a result, no questions were raised when I announced an intention to haul my records, my Intellivision, and most of my stuff down to the unfinished basement and spend evenings down there awake until three and four in the morning. My nighttime activity involved my record collection. Since I didn’t have the strength, I just dumped the ball into the outfield and ran like hell. We played hardball, so those playing tennis had to be sensitive to a “Heads up!” from us if someone clocked one over the wall. Our baseball field faced a tennis court, and an automatic home run had to clear the double-height fence and land in the court. But I could run, and could hit a little bit with little to no power. I think I weighed about a buck-35 at this point if you saw me now, “sprinter” would not be the first word to come to your mind. They almost put me on the team because I was fast and could read pitcher movements to steal bases. I loved to play ball: I almost – ALMOST – made the sophomore squad at Andrew, but wasn’t quite good enough. 1984 was the last summer vacation where I didn’t have a driver’s license, so my Schwinn was the reliable way across town. The bulk of my daytime activity that summer involved something that seems so foreign to me now that it looks weird in print: riding my bike to Catalina Park to play pickup baseball games with a bunch of guys from school. I had just completed my sophomore year at Victor J.
Newcleus jam on it eight track full#
The first full week of June 1984 would have meant the start of summer vacation.