It’s been a while since I listened to the Beatles’ white album. A good long while. I sing my son “Blackbird” when I’m lucky enough to be the one putting him to bed. I occasionally find myself mumbling the beginning to “Rocky Raccoon” for no good reason other that it makes me happy to say “now somewhere in the black mining hills of Dakota there was a young boy named Rocky Raccoon.”

I haven’t sat down and listened to “Helter Skelter” and “Happiness is a Warm Gun” and “Julia” and other songs that so deserve the time, but they are always there at the tips of my fingers — both in the sense that I can listen to the album whenever I want and I have instant complete recall of 97% of the music it contains.

When I “discovered” the white album, I was about 20. Up until then the Beatles were my parent’s music — something I assumes as an adolescent and avoided as a teen. Eventually I outgrew the shadow of my parents’ tastes and could approach the music on my own terms. What can I say? I fell for it. I even listened to the entire “Revolution #9″ far more times than I would like to admit (did I mention I was in college at the time?).

I later grew to appreciate more of what the authors of that album were going through as life starts to assert its priorities over art. Even the Beatles needed to recognize that they were four people with different interests and people that made them happy. It wasn’t all about the music, though at that time, playing with each other was still the best way for them to express themselves individually.

Some have chosen to see that album as the beginning of the end. I suppose I am not so inclined to define things that way. Things begin and end all the time, and only when those smaller changes add up to changes that mark new chapters in a history do we stop and take notice. The white album is a snapshot of four very talented and engaging people who were on top of their game at some debatable point in the duration of a multi-year creative peak.

Not to equate the two, but we are at a point at Radio Exile where we are acknowledging the space we need to contribute our best. We are also at a point where the smaller changes have added up to something you might call a new chapter. It is not drastically new, though the cosmetic changes are very important to providing the right context (think of that white cover, free from what detracted from the real statement). It is also not the end of what came before. Radio Exile is born with a history.

Some of the best writing I’ve seen on my computer screen can be found in the archives lovingly preserved to the left. As Shawn noted below, we can steer and refine the focus of our efforts, but we are adamantly proud of the legacy we carry with us. I am struck by how a comment from a review by James V. Mitchell can color the music I listen to today or how Dan Berkman’s punk jouro enthusiasm for the Fugs can push me over the edge toward a purchase or how Elie’s knowing look at “hip” music and commerce can heighten my awareness of what I’m listening to when I’m not “listening” to anything.

It feels nice, settling into something at once comfortable and new. I can only hope you feel the same way as we get our legs under us with this new effort. Thanks for making the move with us (or, if you’re new thanks for giving us a shot — our archive is worth a perusal if you ask me!). We’re still at our best, and we’re newly able to do things we had only really toyed with rolling out. I can’t wait to see what’s next.

Last 5 posts by Greg Wind

• Beating the Drum - Mom to Universal: "Let's Go Crazy" Again - April 28th, 2008
• Common Materials: Austin Kleon - April 25th, 2008
• Beating the Drum -- From the "We Told You So Department" - April 23rd, 2008
• Between the Notes: April 19 is Record Store Day! - April 17th, 2008
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