"He's the Geator with the Heator; the Boss with the Hot Sauce; the King of Philly Rock & Roll." Anyone within range of a Philly or Jersey shore radio station knows who that is: legendary DJ Jerry Blavat, a member of the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. And he's so taken by the evocation of shore life in Mr. Boardwalk that he gave us this comment:
"Mr. Boardwalk is a must read and brings back so many great memories. You’ll love it."
If you don't know the Geator, we invite you to go here or here to read about him. And in the Geator's honor, let's spin an oldie. Here's Mr. Boardwalk's take on a rock supergroup:
"I got up and walked giddily to my album collection, knowing what I wanted to listen to: Emerson, Lake & Palmer's Tarkus. Epic. Majestic. Highly juggleable. I slid the album from its cover and placed it on the turntable. The music started and I turned up the volume. The first song, 'Eruption,' rattled fast, angular, edgy, with Keith Emerson's wailing organ climbing higher and higher, reaching new plateaus, and then taking it one step higher—and another and another.
Usually I juggled to jazz, timing my throws to the lines in the sax, vibe, piano, drum and bass. But now I wanted rock. I knew how the surfers felt when they rode a wave that crashed over their heads while they hurtled horizontally under the arc of water. Shooting the tube, they called it. And now I was inside a tube and everything around me was crystalline, like coagulated water molecules or Superman's Fortress of Solitude."
"Mr. Boardwalk is a must read and brings back so many great memories. You’ll love it."
If you don't know the Geator, we invite you to go here or here to read about him. And in the Geator's honor, let's spin an oldie. Here's Mr. Boardwalk's take on a rock supergroup:
"I got up and walked giddily to my album collection, knowing what I wanted to listen to: Emerson, Lake & Palmer's Tarkus. Epic. Majestic. Highly juggleable. I slid the album from its cover and placed it on the turntable. The music started and I turned up the volume. The first song, 'Eruption,' rattled fast, angular, edgy, with Keith Emerson's wailing organ climbing higher and higher, reaching new plateaus, and then taking it one step higher—and another and another.
Usually I juggled to jazz, timing my throws to the lines in the sax, vibe, piano, drum and bass. But now I wanted rock. I knew how the surfers felt when they rode a wave that crashed over their heads while they hurtled horizontally under the arc of water. Shooting the tube, they called it. And now I was inside a tube and everything around me was crystalline, like coagulated water molecules or Superman's Fortress of Solitude."
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