When I was a kid, growing up in Mystic in the late Sixties and early Seventies, there was very little, if any national music or entertainment in the area. I mean, a truly major cultural event was the Colman Bros. Circus in the big field on Long Hill Road in Groton.

I remember very distinctly as many of the events of the Sixties, and their musical soundtracks, passed by. I recall seeing the Beatles on Ed Sullivan, reading about Bob Dylan and Joan Baez serenading and comforting the Freedom Marchers and Riders with their music, debating the reality of the Monkees with friends and neighbors and staying up all night to listen to the sounds of "Music Radio 77 WABC" in New York-with Harry Harrison, Ron Lundy, Dan Ingram and "Cousin" Brucie Morrow, bringing the evolution and revolution of rock and roll to my little house in Mystic.

I recall, too, the first time that I received an issue of Rolling Stone magazine in the mail. For some reason, I remember that James Taylor was on the cover. After that, I got turned onto a British music tabloid, Melody Maker, which exposed me to Traffic, Pink Floyd and other musicians from the continent. I really felt I hit the daily double when my parents got me a subscription to both publications. I used to lie on my bed, listening to the radio and thumbing threw the magazines, reading the artist profiles, the interviews and the record reviews. As this column has gone on, I’ve tried to pay tribute to those early writers and disk jockeys who helped nurture what is now an over 30 year love affair with popular music.

Still, there was so little going on the local scene. In those days, a big trip was riding my bike to downtown Mystic, where Ted at the old Oliver’s record store, would blare music out into the street, from the store, via loudspeaker. Usually, it was classical, but once in a while he put on the Beatles or the Stones. But, very rarely.

I remember, as a teenager, sneaking into what, in those times, was a series of outrageous country & western bars along Route 12 in Groton. The music was all local, frequently out of tune, but at least it was music, and it was local.

In the late 1960s, the germination of Roomful of Blues and the Pawcatuck to Providence blues scene began to take hold. Sunday nights were had at the Knickerbocker in Westerly, where, if you were lucky, someone like Earl King or Cleanhead Vinson would be invited in by Roomful, and it would be a real swinging night. Still, if you wanted to see big name entertainment, you had to go to the cities. My friend Gary and I used to drive to New York for a weekend of shows at the Newport Jazz Festival, or else journey to Boston, to either Paul’s Mall or the Jazz Workshop for a long night of jamming.

It wasn’t until recent years, really with the growth of the casinos, that big name, national entertainment is at Southeastern Connecticut’s fingertips. I mean, when you can have Frank Sinatra, Tony Bennett, The Doobie Brothers, David Copperfield, whatever floats your boat, within 15 minutes drive time, it really changes things.

What was needed then was something, anything, to put that local growth into perspective. To promote it, to enjoy it, to (heavens) criticize it, but most of all, to make everyone aware of it. Before Sound Waves, before the growth, there was virtually nothing. Now the local scene and the magazine co-exist, each, to a bit, dependent on the other.

If you get a minute, flip through this issue of Sound Waves, or if you are on line with it, go back to the first page and click on the various titles. You will see what an incredible smorgasbord of culture and music this area has become. And, most interestingly, this magazine has become, in many ways, it’s eyes and ears, letting you know what’s coming, what looks and sounds good, and what the artists have to say.

It’s a big change, and it feels very good. Let’s see how we can do it, together, for another 100 issues.