In an age before iTunes and craft-your-own-playlists, songs played on the radio. Some played more than others. Sting and The Police "I'll Be Watching You" dominated the 1983 airwaves. Rod Stewart's "Forever Young" ruled in 1988. And ten years earlier, Gerry Rafferty's "Baker Street," with its jazzy sax lick, defined that summer. In 1978, I was working days on a Post Office loading dock and nights as a stand-up comic in and around the Windy City. I'd get off work, stop at the local tavern, quench a beer or five, and usually hear some part of "Baker Street"—starting or ending. Rush home, shower and eat then scoot to my first gig, often way south down in Lyons. "Baker Street" would accompany me on the toll road regardless of what pop station I settled on. After Lyons, I'd drive north to Rosemont or into Chicago to the northwest side, performing my set at this club or that. (The club in Chicago had a stage above the bar—it used to be a strip joint—and the drink mixer just below the stage. You were guaranteed to have a high-pitched whirring sound obliterate at least one of your punch lines...more if the bartender didn't like you...or liked you personally but didn't care for your act.) In between my sundry rounds of mirth, I'd be catching Gerry Rafferty. Today I heard he died of alcoholism. (I consider myself fortunate not to have trod a similar path.) May he rest in peace as I recall mail sacks, Old Style draft, hot nights driving, laughs and drink blenders. (Image: Pop Dose)via Jaspierrr
