Sorry, no. Because if you’ll look at the neon sign outside, you’ll see that the name of this establishment is Sire’s. We only play classic Sire Records.
WELCOME TO SIRE’S BY ROBERT MORGAN FISHER 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 26
“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to Sire’s,” he drawled. “The dance floor is now open for business.”
Hannum dimmed the house lights and switched on the mirror ball as he had done every shift for the past twenty-five years. And as always, the first 12-inch vinyl single queued up on the paleolithic Technic 1200SL turntable was Talking Heads’ Burning Down the House.
The song was an artistic statement, a declaration of war against conventional expectation—although one could argue that years of opening each night with Burning Down the House had somewhat blunted the effect. If pressed, Hannum would have to admit that he no longer even heard the song. He’d once loved it, then grown tired of it, then despised it. Now, it was just a formality—although there were nights, maybe o…