Many moons ago, when I was so much older then, I used to work in a bookstore with a lot of other musicians and music lovers. It was as wonderful as a low-paying job could be at that time in a young person’s life. We worked hard. We played hard. We got 35% discounts on books. We were counted on by regulars who sought our advice on tracking down obscure books in their genre of choice. Those of us in bands were assured of getting a decent crowd of bookstore employees and their friends to show up for gigs.

A slightly older, wiser colleague who drummed for an established local band that helped introduce me and my little band to The Scene, as it was, lived in a high-rise apartment 2 blocks away from the bookstore. Once a week, we’d go to his apartment at lunchtime so we could get high and listen to records. We had similar tastes in ’60s and punk rock. Sometimes we’d listen to stuff we both already liked, such as Magical Mystery Tour or Sound Affects. Other times he’d root through his collection to play me deep cutz by a band I’d only known for its hit singles (eg, he’s still the only person I’ve ever known whose owned most if not all of The Beau Brummels‘ albums) or to find a somewhat obscure record I’d never heard. One day, while seeking an album that might earn him Turn-On Points, he pulled out a very silver album sleeve containing an album by a band called The Monochrome Set. The album must have been Strange Boutique. The cover was very silver, and I was really stoned.

That afternoon, I felt like I was hearing the greatest, off-kilter pop album since my beloved Positive Touch, by The Undertones. The rhythms were propulsive. The guitars jangled in jagged, unexpected ways. The melodies were ’60s-based but in no way slavishly devoted to that decade’s melodic conventions. The only thing that stopped me from running down to Third St. Jazz & Rock that afternoon, beside the need to get back to work and little spending money, was the singer’s voice, which had that dramatic, “overdone” English quality that sometimes puts me off from the likes of a Robyn Hitchcock.

Long story short: I never got around to buying a single album by The Monochrome Set, although I rode through the next few decades on the power of that high introduction, only buying and downloading individual songs from their albums over the last few years. All this time I’d never read a single article about the band, never seen a videotaped performance, and never even seen a still photograph of the band members. I knew nothing about The Monochrome Set, despite having kind of liked them since 1985. Then, a couple of weeks ago, I saw this video:

This is cool! These guys would have been really fun to see in their prime. They seem to have been ahead of their time, like a Hoboken band before the Hoboken scene really took root. I still know nothing else about the band, other than having been reminded that they were led by a guy with the excellent stage name Lester Square. I will probably take some time to read up on them. Perhaps you have some details to share. Meanwhile, I’m content to let my ignorance stay clear from this feeling of bliss.

Have you long liked an artist or band that you still know nothing about?