Here in Boston these days, the passing of FM rock and roll giant WBCN is big news.  After 41 years, "The Rock of Boston" went gently into that good night yesterday, ceding its spot on the dial to an additional sports talker.

Driving home last night with BCN as my soundtrack one final time, I had occasion to reflect upon the nature and lure of nostalgia.  Many would situate BCN's heyday within the Carter-Reagan years: the Boston music scene was going national, clubs like the Rat and the Paradise were packed every night, and BCN was in the middle of it all, a pleasantly obstreperous pulse to the city's backline.

These aren't my memories, however, nor my recollections: I was pretty young during BCN's prime time--Sesame Street and the Electric Company were my clubs, their viewings my rock concerts.  And yet, driving home last night, I felt a palpable nostalgia for an era I hadn't meaningfully experienced, not on its own terms at least.  How does that happen, anyway?

I suspect the answer lies within the similar lure of a well-planned and executed painting project.  It might not be nostalgia, but it's something: the trust and faith you put in your painting contractor to deliver an end product that allows you purchase on some small part of your dream is no less an investment in the ephemeral with an eye on the tangible: me rocking my hands on the steering wheel, you sitting in your freshly painted breakfast nook and admiring its verve and style--courtesy of Catchlight, Boston's Best Painters.