One day a year, perhaps it was Thanksgiving, the local radio statio I listened to in my tweens played The Beatles music, only The Beatles. It was a cherished day. But at some point, probably when Wings was on the airwaves, and Joni Mitchell sang directly to me, I tired of their music.

Years later if Pandora chose a Beatles’ tune, I gave it a thumbs down. I had heard enough.

There is a local spot I went to for lunch a few days ago. I like the long counter and easy atmosphere of the place. Music was playing. It sounded fresh, seductive, profound, yet familiar. I listened with pleasure to the harmonies, the complexity, the beauty, and innovation of the tunes.

It was Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.