There's a moment in every recording studio when the air changes.
When musicians stop playing music and start channeling something else entirely. In 1971, four men in a Los Angeles studio thought they were transforming a cowboy song into a rock track. They added rain.
They added thunder. They whispered about a killer on the road. What they didn't know was that they were creating a template for a medium that didn't exist yet, one that millions would eventually consume in their cars, on their morning runs, while falling asleep at night
