Tom Jones, In All His Hairy, Afro’d Glory

OK, so I was around ten and my rat pack at the time consisted of the two red-headed hellion sons of a recently divorced and purpetually bitter lady who reclined in her Lazy Boy all day nursing a cocktail and chain smoking while the alimony checks no doubt rolled in. She had no job. When the Tom Jones show came on, we could either watch in silence or get the hell out of her sight. I bet she had a toy tucked away under her cushion for the times we opted out of watching with her. But I loved the show. It was very 1960’s nightclub kind of feel, and the man could sing like nobody’s business.