It was 1978. ELV was 25 and just starting his career as a trial lawyer. He was invited to a cocktail party at a swanky home full of good looking, professional people (most five to ten years older than him) and couples who looked liked they had their shit together (most of them, he would learn, didn’t). He would probably never be healthier or better looking than at that particular moment (smarts would come later), and someone asked if he wanted a cocktail…from a real bar…not a draw from a keg or a shot from a cheap bottle. This song started playing at that very moment, and John Anthony Curtas felt the tingle, the fear and the exhilaration of adulthood washing over him for a few seconds, and for the first time in his life.
Gerry Rafferty (1947-2011)