This picture shows the kind of transistor radio I owned between 1963 and
1965, when popular music (IMO) was at its zenith. It was a gift from my
mother and it became my Siamese twin; I carried it with me everywhere
in a cheap black leatherette carrying case, and I often fell asleep
listening to it - in the dark of my room, where music seemed to gather
extra dimensions it never had in broad daylight.
Sometimes I was able to
put it down for awhile, to go to the movies or whatever,
but when I first heard (for example) The Zombies' "She's Not There" or
"Tell Her No," or "You Really Got Me" by The Kinks, I was so
thunderstruck by a new musical world suddenly defined but as yet
unmemorized, that I would stay tuned not only to listen but to stand
guard till the next time those songs cycled around. One day, when I was
walking around my West Norwood neighborhood with my radio at my side, I
was momentarily careless and dropped it - and that was all she sang.
I
can't remember what I did for music from 1966 through maybe 1968, other
than overhear it on other people's radios or to play something on the
occasional juke box. I've sometimes thought of trying to find one of
these, to fill a certain nostalgic void, but I couldn't bear to hear
today's music coming out of it.