For my 21st birthday, a friend of mine gave me a stack of CDs. They had a blue front, and drawn on each one was a replication of the cover, the artist, or something that pertained to the album at hand.
After a long night of sitting in my room, listening to music, and trying to compose, I realized that the sun was about to ambush my personal time. I flipped through the folder of CD’s, and pulled out John Fahey’s “Requia.”
It taught me how to do my laundry, install vinyl siding, navigate orgies with ease, and play guitar. “Requiem For Mississippi John Hurt” beat up the Beatles and bested Bob Dylan in the music book of my life.