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The Elektra butterfly, an indicia, the small caps Helvetica bold font, the import Parlophones, their spare blank small writing. Those first few moments playing the English 12-inch singles, fresh from the thick plastic seal, realizing the beginning is too slow, that you have to switch the RMP knob from 33 to 45. The silence between the songs, readjusting in my chair, preparing for the first listen. Rooting for them, noting who wrote which track, soaking up the essence of each of them while listening to their song. And the order, the plot that album took, the lead-off rocker, the last song on side 2's power ballad. The internal band politics I imagined in the making of that order. The Greek lettering in a concentric dance on the cheapo compilations. |