by Larry Rayborn, WXPN Staff

It was bingo night at The Oasis, the one eatery in my hometown of Mullica Hill that ever played music. But we’re talking George Thorogood, Bon Jovi, Boston and Van Halen. Oh, sure, once a night you may hear the Simple Minds {of course a few of the locals would groan}, but this was all we had other than sitting in a field drinking, laughing and eating some farmer’s peaches; anything better was about 40 miles to the west.

But that night in 1986 we drove right past the Oasis, 40 miles to the City, to see the Psychedelic Furs, The Pixies and Mission UK. The first real concert I ever went to. Oh, sure, I saw Burl Ives, and still love that he cracked corn and didn’t care, but this was truly different.

There was a concert, a cute girl and a car. That’s country boy nirvana. But if the cute blonde and the car were not enough, there were Mohawks, shaved heads, noses pierced, mascara and shadow, black painted nails, “Meat is Murder” T’s, and signs that slandered Reagan. The Cramps were more than a pain and Black Flag had just played their last concert and that was notable. Plus, the color of your skin, it did not matter. And your sexuality, it did not matter either.

That was the first musical moment, and many others followed, when I truly came to see the world for what it really is: a large, dynamic place that works best in unison, a world that’s much bigger than what we see in our own backyards.