Dad loved Janis Joplin and Jim Croce. Mom was a Rolling Stones fan. My sister had every Beatles album ever made. One day, as I was playing in the living room, in a gigantic cardboard box (as gigantic as a cardboard box can be to a four year old, anyway) someone put on Pink Floyd. It may have been my uncle. Don't ask me what album, I don't remember. Anyway, the music was so utterly captivating that I forgot all about my giant box fort - which doubled as a space ship, a life raft, or a fairy castle, depending on which fantasy I was immersed in that day. I sat down and listened. After about twenty minutes, I heard my mother asking where I was. She peered into the box, saw me sitting there and asked, laughing, what I was doing. "Listening to the music." I answered. "I'm okay mom, I just want to listen." From then on, I always asked whoever was present to "play the Pink Floyd." By the time I was ten, I could recognize their sound on the radio before the DJ confirmed it on the back announce. I had found my first band.