For nearly three decades, Steve Stanley has been one of the quiet architects behind how we remember mid-century American pop. His work as a reissue producer and archivist has revived artists who slipped through the cracks of the industry machine, restoring not only their music but the cultural scaffolding around it. From Del-Fi to Rev-Ola to his own Now Sounds imprint, Stanley has built a body of work that treats forgotten pop not as nostalgia but as evidence: proof that the margins of the 1960s were sometimes more interesting than its center.

What distinguishes Stanley isn’t just the scholarship. It's intuition. He has an ear for artists who nearly made it, who should have made it, who made something exquisite - but briefly - and he approaches their histories with a precision that resists mythmaking even as it acknowledges the romance of lost possibilities. His design work reinforces that impulse. The packaging, sequencing, and annotation in his projects aren’t ornamental; they’re part of the narrative engine, a way of giving listeners the context they never got the first time around.

With the new vinyl reissue of Eternity’s Children on High Moon Records, Stanley returns to one of the great unsolved stories of sunshine pop. These albums have lived half their lives in rumor and scarcity, admired by collectors but underexamined by the larger world. Stanley’s work on this project gives the band’s complicated and fascinating legacy its first real chance to be understood on its own terms. Our conversation begins there, in the space between what history remembers and what it forgot to write down.

It’s a remarkable moment to be a record collector. Music lovers have never had more ways to hear their favorite albums in whatever format feels right: hi-res files, streaming on the move, the whole buffet. And yet, there’s a meaningful difference between a solid pressing and a pressing built to be the definitive document of an album. Audiophile labels have chased that ideal for decades: each working to deliver versions that honor the intent and the sound.

Plenty of listeners have caught on. If spending a little more means skipping the long hunt through used bins and getting a pristine, purpose-built edition, the choice starts to feel pretty rational.

That’s where the Definitive Sound Series steps in. Interscope Records aims to create what they consider the best possible versions of key albums from their catalog. Numbered, limited editions. Gatefold tip-on jackets. A dedicated DSS slipcase. And a “one-step” process that moves straight from lacquer to stamper for maximal clarity.

Their latest release is shepherded by Tom “Grover” Biery, who produced the new edition of Nat King Cole’s The Christmas Song. You’ve lived with these recordings for years, but Grover’s betting this edition will shift what you think you know. It includes two tracks not on the original album - “O Come All Ye Faithful” and “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen” - and was assembled from three separate three-track analog tapes.

Grover’s path through the music industry has been long and impactful. He helped cultivate careers for Metallica, The Flaming Lips, The Black Keys, and others. He led operations as General Manager of Warner Bros. Records and later served as Executive Vice President of BMG’s Recorded Music US division. On top of all that, he co-founded Slow Down Sounds, a vinyl-only reissue label dedicated to thoughtfully curated releases. Their recent project brings newly issued Chet Baker recordings from Bruce Weber’s Let’s Get Lost documentary, mastered by Levi Seitz at Black Belt Mastering from fresh 48/24 transfers and pressed on 180-gram Neotech vinyl by RTI.

So dig into Nat King Cole, revisit Chet Baker, and explore how Grover tests the upper limits of how good a record can truly sound.

There are people who make great sound feel less like a secret society and more like an open door. Bob Hazelwood is one of them. He is the Director of Engineering and Product Development at Andover Audio, and his career runs through many major players in the industry. He grew up in South Jersey, built his first amplifier at fifteen, and has been chasing better sound ever since. He loves working with his hands, he loves creating things that actually make life feel richer, and he has a deep belief that music shouldn’t require a technical translation guide.

That outlook is woven into Andover’s mission. The company was built on the idea that audiophile quality should not feel intimidating. Good sound can get technical fast, but most listeners simply want music in their homes that feels natural, full, and easy to live with. Andover approaches that goal by pairing thoughtful engineering with designs that stay out of your way. Their IsoGroove technology is a perfect example. It keeps a turntable steady even when it sits directly on its own speaker, a simple but transformative insight that shapes the Andover-One, the SpinBase, and the rest of the company’s approachable hi-fi line.

Their newest chapter is SpinPlay, announced only recently. It takes the philosophy behind the Andover-One and brings it to an even more accessible place. A semi-automatic turntable. A preinstalled cartridge. A factory-set counterweight. A wide, room-filling sound field powered by independent amplification. It is a system that drops easily into the flow of a home and delivers a genuine audiophile experience without the hassle or the learning curve. For many listeners, it may be the first and last record player they need.

Bob is central to all of this. He understands the engineering, but he also understands the psychology of listening: that moment when music fills a room and reminds you why you wanted better sound in the first place. He is passionate about his family, about fixing bad audio where he finds it, about slot car racing and motorcycles and Frank Zappa, and about building products that make it simple for people to love music more deeply.

So please welcome Bob Hazelwood of Andover Audio, a company proving that great sound can feel like an invitation rather than an initiation.

Everyone agrees that music and the arts are essential — they make us smarter, more empathetic, more human. You’ll hear it in every school mission statement, every campaign speech, every conversation about what “really matters” for kids.

And yet, walk into most public schools and the first thing on the chopping block is still the music program. It’s as if we all nodded our heads in agreement and then quietly decided to spend the money somewhere else.

Our guest today, Anthony Mazzocchi, has built a career trying to change that equation. He’s a GRAMMY®-nominated music educator, trombonist, and now the Executive Director of Kaufman Music Center in New York City which is home to the nation’s only K–12 public school with a full music-focused curriculum.

Anthony’s story is one of those rare intersections where the orchestra pit meets the classroom. From leading 100 middle schoolers in a cramped Brooklyn band room to shaping one of the most respected music education programs in the country, his life’s work is a masterclass in how music transforms learning, and how learning transforms lives.

We talk about what it means to teach through sound, why access to these skills still feels like a luxury, and how to build institutions that teach lessons that transcend music itself.

So pull up a chair, maybe dust off your old band instrument, and join us for a conversation about the future of education; one built on rhythm, resonance, and maybe a little bit of rebellion.

There’s a question that’s been circling the music world for a while now — and it’s only getting louder: how does a new artist actually get heard today?

Because if you look around, the industry that once thrived on risk and discovery now seems to cling to nostalgia like a life raft. Major labels and festival lineups read like a roll call of the same veterans — the safe bets, the proven draws — while entire generations of emerging voices wait at the edges, wondering where exactly the door went.

But out there, between the boardrooms and the barrooms, something else is happening. A quiet recalibration. Small venues, artist collectives, and independent promoters are starting to rebuild the ecosystem from the ground up: one room, one night, one new artist at a time.

That’s where today’s guests come in.

Cat Henry is the Executive Director of the Live Music Society, a nonprofit working to keep small venues alive, the kinds of places where artists first find their voice and communities gather to listen. Her organization has been putting real financial and logistical muscle behind those stages, including their support for the tour we’re talking about today.

Tom DeGeorge, COO of D-Tour, helps connect a network of independent venues and promoters across the country, giving artists and local scenes a fighting chance to operate outside the corporate machine. He’s one of the key architects behind this tour’s routing and strategy.

And at the center of it all is Jenna Fournier, known to fans as Kid Tigrrr - the headlining artist whose creative fingerprints are all over this project, from the music itself to the visual identity and storytelling that tie it all together. She represents that very question we started with: how does an independent artist break through today — not by chasing the algorithm, but by maybe by building something that feels real?

Together, we’re talking about the D-Tour and Live Music Society collaboration - One Night Live - what it says about where live music is heading, the economics of trying to make it sustainable, and whether the next generation of artists can still carve out their space in a world dominated by the past.

Because if there’s still a way forward for new live music, this might just be what it looks like.

This episode feels like a meeting across time — the past, present, and future of vinyl commerce sitting down for a conversation. On one side of the table, there’s Chad Kassem — the founder of Acoustic Sounds, Analogue Productions, and Quality Record Pressings — a man whose passion for high-fidelity sound and meticulous craftsmanship helped revive the vinyl industry when nearly everyone else was going digital. And on the other side, there’s me — a fella who just opened The Sharp Notes, a new brick-and-mortar record store in Paramus, New Jersey, and who’s still figuring out what it really takes to run a record business day-to-day.

This isn’t just a story about vinyl records; it’s about building something real — from passion and persistence to payroll and pressing plants. Chad’s been doing this for decades, navigating every boom, bust, and comeback that the format has seen. So in this conversation, we dig into both the romance and the reality of running a vinyl empire: the nuts and bolts, the risks, the grind, and the enduring love of music that keeps it all turning.

For me, it felt a bit like talking to the oracle of wax — a veteran who’s paved the way for the rest of us who believe that vinyl still matters.

Be honest — when was the last time you listened to a record all the way through, without checking your phone? No notifications. No scrolling. No playlists on shuffle. Just… listening.

In a world that never stops pinging, Discogs — yes, the massive online music database and marketplace — is asking us to do something radical: to step away. On October 18th, they’re launching a global initiative called Dis/Connect, it’s a day that invites music lovers everywhere to unplug from devices, skip the stream, and spend a single day reconnecting with the joy of listening — really listening.

It’s a bold move for a digital platform built on connection. So in this episode, I talk with Jeffrey Smith, Vice President of Marketing at Discogs, about what happens when a tech company tells its users to log off. We get into the ideas behind Dis/Connect, the paradox of leading an online movement about going offline, and the nuts and bolts of what keeps Discogs thriving as the world’s biggest record-collecting community.

So… could you do it? Could you go a whole day without the scroll — and just let the music play? Let’s find out.

Few albums in the history of rock music have had a journey as unlikely—or as triumphant—as Odessey and Oracle. Recorded at Abbey Road Studios in 1967 during the final months of the original Zombies, the record was released only after the band had already broken up. And yet, what emerged from that bittersweet moment was a British psych-pop masterpiece: an album that gave us “Time of the Season,” and later earned its place on Rolling Stone’s list of the 500 Greatest Albums of All Time and today, it stands as a landmark of 1960s pop imagination.

This year marks a particularly special milestone: the first U.S. release of the band’s original mono mix—remastered, beautifully presented, and accompanied by new liner notes from David Fricke. For longtime fans, it’s a chance to hear the record as it was originally intended in 1968.

Today, Colin Blunstone returns to this podcast for the second time—not to rehash the myth of Odessey and Oracle, but to explore what it really felt like to be part of the band in that moment, when the record was both a swan song and, ultimately, a timeless resurrection. Our conversation is less about track-by-track analysis and more about the emotions behind the music, and the way history has finally caught up with one of the greatest rock albums ever made.