I’m 28 years old, so I’ve been driving on my own for over a decade now, but I can still remember seeing my father’s fingers tap on the dashboard of his car. For most of his youth, he spent his time behind a piano or organ, playing in a circuit of hip New York bands throughout the ’60s. Some toured with Mitch Ryder, The Animals, and Paul Butterfield; others just jammed in the garage for fun. Every time I bring this era up to him, he just lights up, and he’s always quick to discuss his Sgt. Peppers Story, where he picked up the vinyl on the day of release, and he and his bandmates learned the entire thing for a gig in downtown Manhattan three days later. I’ve heard this story 15 or 20 times already, but it’s still exciting.