Do you ever just want to live inside a song? I do.

The first time I remember entertaining the possibility was to Don Henley’s “All She Wants to Do Is Dance,” on heavy rotation in ‘87, courtesy of my parent’s record collection. That song took me to a place where I was old enough to drive and wear eyeshadow. In the span of three minutes, I traveled to another dimension, floating through the night; loving and dancing madly. Momentarily, I was free. Free from the confines of my minor age and the limits of an 8 pm bedtime.

My best friend in eighth grade, Tamara, explained that you could live in a song IF you dropped just the right amount of acid and closed yourself in your bedroom or car with only the song and a favorite blanket. She sailed away on some such song long ago and has yet to return.

“Hey, teacher, leave those kids alone,” was a place my dad often lived in the 80s. Mom, she was living in a Springsteen or Seger refrain. Together, on Sundays, we’d all listen to Hendrix or Jethro Tull, while my mom cooked dinner. I’d lay on the kitchen floor and feel the wave of sound through the linoleum, through me.

Of recent, Fleetwood Mac’s Rumors and Led Zeppelin IV are calling me to come inside and stay awhile. These albums have become a bit of a zeitgeist of my apartment and circle of friends. The magnetism, I suppose, is an alchemy of winsome nostalgia, the right frequency of vibrations and lyrics that exalt; it’s as if Nicks, McVie, and Plant can speak my heart. Sigh.

The Rumors album has even become a bit of a Litmus test, for if you’re a down dude.

For example, just this week, after a night out at that ol’ glory hole, Enid’s, me and the girls ended up back at our place with a group of guys – a ginger-haired law student, Krissie had been on a couple of dates with, along with his crew. Someone threw that album on, and before we made it to “Go Your Own Way” they were out the door. No pass. Buh-bye.

I want a lover who can live in the same song.