I like to boast that the first record I ever bought was the Beatles’ “Hey Jude” single on the Apple label. Or, I tell the story about the Christmas of 1969, when my mother, nervous about opening Pandora’s box (which, as it turned out, she should have been), and annoyed by a sulking daughter, found that Santa had left a copy of Abbey Road for me in her closet. I am now compelled to come clean. Before I fell in love with the Beatles, my heart belonged to another band. I speak, of course, of the Monkees. I adored Davy’s English accent and Mike’s dry wit. I liked his sideburns, too. I joined their fan club. I put their...

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