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Rock the Alphabet, Elephant Island (2026)

02/10/2026

🖤 IN MEMORIAM: CONRAD “CRONOS” LANT

The Voice, Bass and Vision That Helped Change Heavy Metal Forever

The metal world has lost one of its true originals.

Conrad “Cronos” Lant, the legendary vocalist and bassist of Venom, has died at the age of 63. Venom announced his passing on October 1. No cause of death has been publicly disclosed.

For casual rock fans, the name Cronos may not carry the instant recognition of Ozzy Osbourne, James Hetfield or Lemmy Kilmister.

But without Cronos and Venom, heavy metal as we know it might sound very different.

Formed in Newcastle upon Tyne at the end of the 1970s, Venom took the heaviness of the era and pushed it somewhere nastier, faster and deliberately more extreme. Cronos' snarling vocals, distorted bass and uncompromising approach were at the center of it.

Then came two records that changed the underground.

Welcome to Hell arrived in 1981. A year later came Black Metal.

That second album didn't merely influence a genre. It gave one its name. Venom's sound and imagery helped provide a blueprint for the extreme-metal movements that followed, while their early records became influential on musicians who would take thrash, death and black metal in directions Venom themselves could scarcely have predicted. Metallica, Slayer, Celtic Frost and Mayhem are among the artists repeatedly connected to that influence.

And that's an important part of Cronos' story: Venom didn't need to become the biggest metal band in the world to change it.

They helped make it possible for other bands to go further.

Cronos remained the defining constant in Venom through more than four decades of lineup changes, departures and reunions. Earlier this year, he was still moving forward. Venom released their 16th studio album, Into Oblivion, in 2026, with Cronos once again behind the microphone and bass. It would become his final Venom studio album.

Following his death, Cronos' son Nathan thanked the fans—the “Legions”—who supported his father throughout his career and said his music would live on. Venom's own tribute remembered a musician who refused to follow anyone else's rules and whose voice, bass and vision remained at the heart of the band.

More than forty years after Black Metal, you can still hear the ripple effects of what Cronos, Mantas and Abaddon created whenever a band decides metal isn't quite loud, fast, dark or dangerous enough yet.

That may be Cronos' greatest legacy.

He didn't just play extreme metal.

He helped show generations of musicians just how extreme metal could become.

Rest in peace, Conrad “Cronos” Lant.
1963–2026 🖤🤘

02/10/2026

🎛️ THROWBACK THURSDAY

5 SONGS THAT ALMOST SOUNDED COMPLETELY DIFFERENT

#1 — “Layla” — Derek and the Dominos (1970)

There are famous outros.

And then there's the outro that became half the song.

For its first three minutes, “Layla” is almost violently intense: Eric Clapton and Duane Allman's guitars collide, Clapton's vocal sounds desperate, and one of rock's most recognizable riffs drives everything forward.

Then suddenly…

the song ends.

Well, it could have.

Because that peaceful piano passage that follows wasn't originally part of “Layla” at all.

🎸 “LAYLA” WAS ALREADY FINISHED

The first section had already been recorded at Criteria Studios in Miami during the sessions for Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs.

Then drummer Jim Gordon began playing a separate piece on piano.

Engineer Howard Albert later recalled that Gordon was essentially fooling around at the instrument when everyone heard something worth pursuing. The idea emerged: why not attach it to “Layla”?

Think about that for a second.

One of the most recognizable sections of one of rock's most recognizable songs existed outside the song.

🎹 AND THEN “LAYLA” GOT A SECOND LIFE

The piano became the foundation for an entirely new second movement.

The band built around it, adding guitars and other parts, with Duane Allman's soaring slide guitar eventually floating over the closing section. Producer Tom Dowd then had to make the newly recorded material work with a performance that had already been completed.

Dowd later remembered initially thinking the idea was crazy.

Then they recorded it.

And physically spliced it into “Layla.”

The result turned a compact, furious rock song into a sprawling seven-minute recording with two dramatically different personalities.

📝 BUT WHO WROTE THE CODA?

Officially, “Layla” is credited to Eric Clapton and Jim Gordon, with Gordon credited for the piano coda.

But there's a significant dispute behind that credit.

Singer Rita Coolidge, Gordon's girlfriend at the time, later said she and Gordon had previously written a song called “Time” together—and that its melody became the basis of the “Layla” coda without her receiving credit. Derek and the Dominos keyboardist Bobby Whitlock later publicly supported Coolidge's version of events.

Whatever the authorship history, one thing isn't disputed:

the piano section wasn't originally part of “Layla.”

🔥 ONE DECISION CHANGED EVERYTHING

That's why this takes our #1 spot.

Remove Andy Summers' guitar from “Every Breath You Take,” and its personality changes.

Don't re-record “Take On Me,” and the hit sounds different.

Leave Dylan in waltz time, and “Like a Rolling Stone” becomes another creature.

Don't splice those Beatles tapes, and “Strawberry Fields Forever” can't exist exactly as we know it.

But remove the piano coda from “Layla”…

and nearly half of the record disappears.

The furious guitar-driven first movement and that beautiful, almost dreamlike piano ending feel as though they were destined to belong together.

They weren't.

Someone simply heard a separate piece of music and wondered:

What if we put THAT on the end?

And “Layla” was never the same again.

👇 Could you imagine “Layla” ending before the piano ever begins?

02/10/2026

🎛️ THROWBACK THURSDAY

5 SONGS THAT ALMOST SOUNDED COMPLETELY DIFFERENT

#2 — “Strawberry Fields Forever” — The Beatles (1967)

John Lennon had a problem.

The Beatles had recorded two very different versions of “Strawberry Fields Forever,” and Lennon couldn't decide which one he wanted.

So he gave producer George Martin a wonderfully simple request:

Use the beginning of one and the ending of the other.

There was just one small problem.

They didn't match.

🍓 TWO VERSIONS, ONE SONG

Recording began in November 1966, and the song changed dramatically as the sessions continued.

The earlier arrangement was relatively restrained, built around the unforgettable Mellotron flute sound and the band. As Lennon kept searching for something different, the recording grew heavier and more elaborate.

By the time they reached Take 26, the arrangement included brass, cellos and a very different overall feel.

Lennon liked the first portion of Take 7.

He liked the later portion of Take 26.

And he wanted them joined together.

Except the two performances had been recorded at different speeds and in different keys.

Today, software could make that relatively straightforward.

In 1966, George Martin and engineer Geoff Emerick had tape machines.

✂️ SO THEY BENT THE TAPES TO FIT

The solution was varispeed.

Changing the playback speed of analog tape changes both tempo and pitch simultaneously. By manipulating the tape speed, the engineers were able to bring the two performances remarkably close together.

Modern examination of the tapes puts the adjustment to Take 26 at roughly 11.5 percent slower.

Then came the truly nerve-racking part:

the recordings were physically edited together.

No Undo button.

No digital timeline.

No Ctrl+Z.

Two performances that hadn't been intended to fit together became one master.

🎧 YOU'VE HEARD THE EDIT YOUR WHOLE LIFE

The splice occurs roughly one minute into the song, around the transition into the next section. And unless somebody points it out, there's a good chance you've listened to “Strawberry Fields Forever” dozens—or hundreds—of times without realizing you're suddenly hearing a different performance.

That's how convincing the trick was.

George Martin later described the period as one of nearly continuous technological experimentation, and “Strawberry Fields Forever” became perhaps the most famous example of the Beatles using varispeed to make an otherwise impossible edit possible.

And the experimentation didn't stop with the splice. The song's Mellotron—an early keyboard instrument that played prerecorded tape sounds—provided those eerie flute tones at the beginning, another sound almost impossible to separate from the finished record today. Martin later remembered that the instrument could be troublesome, but that the Beatles embraced its unusual character rather than trying to make it sound perfectly realistic.

“Strawberry Fields Forever” wasn't simply recorded.

It was assembled.

Two performances. Two arrangements. Different speeds. Different keys.

And one razor-blade edit helped turn them into a recording that sounds as though it had always been that way.

👇 Now that you know where the splice is, do you think you'll be able to hear it?

02/10/2026

🎛️ THROWBACK THURSDAY

5 SONGS THAT ALMOST SOUNDED COMPLETELY DIFFERENT

#3 — “Like a Rolling Stone” — Bob Dylan (1965)

Try hearing “Like a Rolling Stone” in your head.

That crashing snare. Mike Bloomfield's electric guitar. Al Kooper's ghostly Hammond organ. Dylan practically spitting out the opening verse.

Now turn the whole thing into a waltz.

Seriously.

Because just one day before Bob Dylan and the musicians captured the version that changed rock history, that's essentially what “Like a Rolling Stone” was.

💃 WAIT… A WALTZ?!

Recording began at Columbia's Studio A in New York on June 15, 1965.

Dylan's official Studio A Revisited archive describes the final recording from that day's session as a “very different waltz time recording.” It wasn't simply the familiar record played a little slower—the rhythmic feel was fundamentally different.

Then everyone came back on June 16.

And the song transformed.

The musicians worked through additional takes until the lurching waltz gave way to the driving rock arrangement we recognize today. Dylan's archive describes that second day as the moment the familiar version emerged.

But one more piece was still about to fall into place.

🎹 “WHO'S THE ORGAN PLAYER?”

Al Kooper wasn't supposed to be playing organ.

Kooper had come to the session hoping to play guitar, but after hearing session guitarist Mike Bloomfield, he quickly reconsidered that plan.

Then an opportunity appeared.

When the musician at the organ moved over to piano, Kooper slipped behind the Hammond—even though, by his own later account, he wasn't exactly an accomplished organist. He played cautiously, coming in slightly behind the chords as he followed the changes.

Producer Tom Wilson wasn't enthusiastic about Kooper's contribution.

Dylan was.

When Dylan heard the playback, he wanted the organ brought up.

And suddenly that tentative part became one of the sounds that defines the record. The official Dylan archive identifies Kooper on organ alongside Dylan, Bloomfield, drummer Bobby Gregg, pianist Paul Griffin and bassist Joseph Macho Jr.

⚡ ONE DAY CHANGED EVERYTHING

The master was recorded June 16, and “Like a Rolling Stone” became the opening track of Highway 61 Revisited. Dylan's official archive now lets listeners isolate elements of the recording and hear just how live and spontaneous the performance was: four-track recording, musicians playing together, and no overdubs or opportunity to repair mistakes afterward.

That's what makes this one so perfect for our countdown.

Within roughly a day, “Like a Rolling Stone” went from a waltz-time experiment to an electrified rock recording—with an unforgettable organ part played by a guy who hadn't even arrived intending to play organ.

Sometimes the masterpiece isn't the original plan.

It's what happens when the original plan falls apart.

👇 Can you imagine “Like a Rolling Stone” without Al Kooper's organ?

02/10/2026

🎛️ THROWBACK THURSDAY

5 SONGS THAT ALMOST SOUNDED COMPLETELY DIFFERENT

#4 — “Take On Me” — a-ha (1985)

Some bands get one shot at a hit.

A-ha needed a few.

Today, “Take On Me” sounds like one of those records that arrived fully formed: that instantly recognizable synth riff, Morten Harket's soaring vocal and one of the most famous music videos ever made.

But the version we know wasn't the first version released.

And after the first one failed, a-ha could very easily have disappeared before most of the world ever knew their name.

📼 VERSION ONE: RELEASED… AND REJECTED

The song's roots stretched back years. An early incarnation called “Lesson One” was recorded in Norway in 1982, followed by further demos as a-ha tried to establish themselves in London.

After signing with Warner Bros., they recorded “Take On Me” with producer Tony Mansfield.

That version wasn't merely a demo.

It became a single in 1984.

And it went nowhere commercially in Britain.

The band wasn't satisfied either. Magne Furuholmen later recalled that they knew the song itself had more potential, and a-ha convinced the label to let them try again.

🎹 VERSION TWO: BACK TO THE BEGINNING

Enter producer Alan Tarney.

Instead of simply polishing Mansfield's recording, Tarney listened back to a-ha's earlier demo and heard something the first released version had lost: the buoyancy and charm of the band's original arrangement.

So they went backward to move forward.

“Take On Me” was re-recorded, resulting in the brighter, cleaner version we recognize today.

And then came the crazy part.

Released in Britain in April 1985…

It failed again.

The recording was finally paired with director Steve Barron's groundbreaking live-action/pencil-animation video. After gaining traction in America, the single was released yet again in Britain that September.

This time, there was no stopping it.

🚀 THIRD TIME'S THE CHARM

“Take On Me” reached #1 on the Billboard Hot 100 in October 1985 and eventually climbed to #2 in the UK.

That's what makes its history so fascinating.

The song everybody remembers wasn't a brilliant idea that immediately conquered the world.

It was an idea a-ha refused to give up on.

They demoed it. Recorded it. Released it. Watched it fail. Re-recorded it. Released it again. Watched it struggle again—and kept going.

One of the defining pop records of the 1980s nearly became something considerably less glamorous:

a failed 1984 single.

👇 Would you have kept fighting for the song after the first release flopped?

02/10/2026

🎛️ THROWBACK THURSDAY

5 SONGS THAT ALMOST SOUNDED COMPLETELY DIFFERENT

#5 — “Every Breath You Take” — The Police (1983)

You know the sound before Sting even gets very far into the song.

That clean, hypnotic guitar figure from Andy Summers is so closely associated with “Every Breath You Take” that imagining the record without it seems almost impossible.

Here's the surprising part:

Originally, it wasn't there.

🎹 BEFORE THE GUITAR, THERE WAS AN ORGAN

Sting brought in a fairly complete demo of the song that he'd recorded at Utopia Studios in London. The vocal melody, lyrics and basic musical idea were already established.

But instead of Summers' guitar weaving through the chords, Sting's demo featured him singing over a Hammond organ.

Producer Hugh Padgham later remembered that the demo clearly established the song—but that organ part would ultimately be replaced by Summers' guitar.

Summers remembers the difference just as clearly. He has said there wasn't originally a guitar part at all; when he heard the chord sequence in the studio, he developed the distinctive arpeggiated figure that became one of the recording's defining sounds.

Try mentally removing that guitar from the record.

It's a completely different atmosphere.

🎸 ONE PART CHANGES THE SONG

What Summers came up with wasn't a flashy solo or a wall of distortion. It's controlled, spacious and deceptively difficult to play—the notes outline the underlying chords rather than simply strumming them.

And suddenly the song sounded unmistakably like The Police.

That wasn't the only challenge. The Synchronicity sessions were notoriously tense, and Padgham recalled that Sting wanted “Every Breath You Take” kept extremely simple, leading to numerous attempts at the backing track as the band worked toward the restrained performance he wanted.

Sometimes making a record isn't about adding more.

It's figuring out which few things absolutely need to be there.

🏆 THEN IT BECAME ENORMOUS

Released on Synchronicity in 1983, “Every Breath You Take” spent eight weeks at #1 in the United States and a month atop the UK chart.

The song later won the Grammy for Song of the Year, while Synchronicity became The Police's biggest commercial album. The band's official site says the song has accumulated more than 15 million radio plays.

Which makes the alternate-history question even better:

What if they'd simply kept Sting's Hammond organ arrangement?

We'd still have the melody. We'd still have the lyrics. We'd still have the song.

But we'd be missing that guitar part.

And “Every Breath You Take” might have sounded completely different.

👇 Can you even imagine this song without Andy Summers' guitar?

02/10/2026

🎛️ THROWBACK THURSDAY

5 SONGS THAT ALMOST SOUNDED COMPLETELY DIFFERENT

Every famous song feels inevitable once you've heard it a thousand times.

Of course that guitar part goes there. Of course the tempo is right. Of course that's where the song changes direction.

Except sometimes… none of that was the original plan.

This week, we're heading into the recording studio to look at five songs that came surprisingly close to sounding very different from the versions burned into our brains today.

And we're not talking about an early demo being a little slower or somebody adding another guitar.

These are major musical forks in the road.

🎹 An instrument that helped define a song wasn't originally there.

⏱️ A familiar rock classic began life in an entirely different time signature.

📼 Two incompatible recordings were literally manipulated and joined together to create the version we know.

🎵 A song that had already been released—and flopped—went back into the studio and emerged as an international smash.

And one rock epic gained an entire second movement that hadn't been part of the original recording at all.

🎚️ SONGS ARE BUILT, NOT JUST WRITTEN

That's what makes this week's countdown so fascinating.

We tend to think of songwriting as someone sitting down, writing a song, and then recording it.

In reality, some of rock's most recognizable records were shaped by producers, engineers, band members, studio experimentation, happy accidents and occasionally somebody saying:

“What if we tried THIS?”

One decision can change an arrangement.

One instrument can completely alter a song's identity.

One piece of tape can change rock history.

And sometimes the version that didn't work is exactly what had to happen before somebody discovered the version that did.

🎧 THIS WEEK, WE'RE LISTENING TWICE

For each entry, we'll dig into what the song sounded like—or was supposed to sound like—before that crucial decision, what changed in the studio, who was responsible, and how the final version came together.

And whenever a surviving demo, alternate take or earlier recording lets us actually hear the difference, we'll track that down too.

Because reading that a song nearly sounded different is interesting.

Actually hearing the musical alternate universe?

That's the fun part. 😆

So fire up the reel-to-reel, push up the faders and whatever you do, don't erase the master tape.

👇 What famous song would you love to hear an early or radically different version of?

01/10/2026

🎸 THE WEEK THAT ROCKED — #1

September 27, 1986 — Metallica Loses Cliff Burton

Some dates in rock history are remembered for an album, a concert, or a breakthrough.

September 27, 1986 is remembered for a loss.

Forty years ago this week, Metallica was touring Europe behind Master of Puppets. The album had been released just months earlier, the band had spent part of the year opening for Ozzy Osbourne, and Metallica was rapidly moving from the underground thrash scene toward something much bigger.

Then, during an overnight drive through Sweden, their tour bus skidded out of control and overturned.

Cliff Burton was killed. He was 24 years old.

Only hours earlier, Burton had been onstage.

On September 26, Metallica performed at Solnahallen in Stockholm. It became Cliff's final concert. Metallica's own archive confirms that the set included “(Anesthesia) — Pulling Teeth,” the bass showcase that had introduced so many listeners to just how unusual their new bassist was.

Because Cliff Burton didn't approach the bass like someone whose job was simply to hold down the bottom end.

He brought distortion, wah, harmonies and lead-style playing into Metallica's music, but he also brought something less obvious: musical theory. Metallica themselves credit his combination of experimentation and musical knowledge with having an enormous influence on the band's musical growth.

You can hear it throughout the three Metallica albums recorded during his lifetime: Kill 'Em All, Ride the Lightning and Master of Puppets.

You can hear it when the bass comes roaring out of “For Whom the Bell Tolls.”

You can hear it in “(Anesthesia) — Pulling Teeth.”

And perhaps nowhere is Cliff's musical personality more apparent than “Orion.” Burton shares a writing credit on the Master of Puppets instrumental with James Hetfield and Lars Ulrich.

After his death, Metallica faced a decision no band ever wants to make.

Eventually, after more than 40 auditions, they chose Jason Newsted of Flotsam and Jetsam and continued.

But continuing never meant forgetting.

Decades later, Cliff remains part of Metallica's identity. In 2024, the band's official Black Box museum created an entire exhibit called “Orion: A Tribute to Cliff Burton,” assembled with help from his family, friends and peers. Metallica described his impact and influence as still “monumental.”

🎵 Behind the Riff

There may be no more fitting piece of music to represent Cliff Burton than “Orion.”

The instrumental became so closely associated with him that it was played at his memorial service in 1986.

And Metallica has continued using the song to remember him.

When the band performed “Orion” at Power Trip in 2023, James Hetfield looked skyward before the song and said simply:

“We miss you Cliffie.”

Forty years after that terrible morning in Sweden, Cliff Burton's time with Metallica can be measured in only a few years.

His influence can't.

September 27, 1986 — 40 years without Cliff. 🤘

What's the Cliff Burton-era Metallica song that still gets you every time?

01/10/2026

🎸 THE WEEK THAT ROCKED — #2

October 2, 1995 — Oasis Releases (What’s the Story) Morning Glory?

One year earlier, Oasis had announced themselves with Definitely Maybe.

On October 2, 1995, they released the album that turned them into one of the biggest rock bands on the planet.

(What’s the Story) Morning Glory? arrived loaded with songs that would become inseparable from the Britpop era: “Wonderwall,” “Don’t Look Back in Anger,” “Some Might Say,” “Roll With It,” “Morning Glory,” “Cast No Shadow” and the enormous closing track “Champagne Supernova.” The album was produced by Owen Morris and Noel Gallagher, with most of it recorded at Rockfield Studios in South Wales.

It went straight to No. 1 on the UK Albums Chart and ultimately spent 10 weeks at the top. Official Charts now lists it as the fifth-biggest-selling album in UK chart history.

But none of that success was guaranteed.

Oasis had exploded onto the British music scene with Definitely Maybe in 1994, and suddenly there were expectations. Lots of them. Instead of playing it safe, Noel Gallagher brought songs into the studio that sounded designed for stadiums Oasis hadn't even conquered yet.

And then there was the rivalry.

Just weeks before the album arrived, Oasis and Blur had gone head-to-head in the famous “Battle of Britpop.” Oasis released “Roll With It” on the same day Blur released “Country House.” Blur won that particular singles-chart battle.

The bigger war was another story.

Morning Glory became the record that pushed Oasis far beyond Britpop and into international superstardom.

And more than three decades later, the songs haven't exactly disappeared. Official Charts currently credits the album with more than 5.2 million UK chart units, making it Oasis's biggest album by a considerable margin.

But there's something else about this album that brings us to today's photograph.

And yes…

we really did post a picture of a wall. 😂

🎵 Behind the Riff

You're looking at a place connected to one of the most famous Oasis songs ever recorded.

While making “Wonderwall” at the Rockfield's Coach House Studio, Noel Gallagher had an unusual idea:

Why not actually record it on a wall?

Equipment was taken outside the studio, ladders and microphones were arranged around a roughly ten-foot wall nearby, and an attempt was made to capture the song outdoors. Noel later remembered sheep watching the whole strange operation unfold. 😆

It didn't work.

The outdoor version was abandoned, and Liam Gallagher's lead vocal was ultimately recorded inside the studio. But a tiny remnant of the experiment survived: accounts of the sessions note that some of the outdoor ambience can be heard at the beginning of the album's opening track, “Hello.”

And that wall?

That's the wall in today's photograph.

Thirty-one years after (What’s the Story) Morning Glory? arrived, it looks remarkably ordinary.

Which somehow makes the story even better.

One of the defining albums of the 1990s was being made inside Rockfield Studios while, outside, Oasis were setting up thousands of pounds' worth of recording equipment around a stone wall because Noel Gallagher had decided that “Wonderwall” should be recorded on an actual wall.

Peak Oasis. 😂🤘

What’s your favorite song from (What’s the Story) Morning Glory?

01/10/2026

💿 THE WEEK THAT ROCKED — #3

October 1, 1982 — The Compact Disc Era Begins

For decades, listening to an album meant dropping a needle onto vinyl or popping a cassette into a deck.

Then, on October 1, 1982, music took one giant step into the digital age.

In Japan, Sony released the CDP-101, the world's first commercially released compact disc player. Its price? ¥168,000, or around $625 at the time — definitely not an impulse purchase in 1982. 😆 Alongside it, CBS/Sony released an initial catalog of 50 titles on compact disc.

That strange little silver disc was about to completely change the music business.

The CD wasn't Sony's invention alone. Sony and Philips jointly developed and standardized the format, wrestling with everything from audio resolution to the physical dimensions of the disc. The resulting standard used 16-bit digital audio, a 44.1 kHz sampling rate and a 12-centimeter disc.

And compared with records and cassettes, CDs felt downright futuristic.

No needle.

No flipping the record halfway through.

No rewinding a cassette because you wanted to hear track three again.

You could simply press a button and jump directly to the song you wanted.

The machine pictured is the Sony CDP-101 itself — a gloriously chunky piece of early-'80s technology whose giant PLAY and PAUSE buttons look like they could launch something considerably more dangerous. 😂

But this expensive new format didn't conquer the world overnight.

Sony's own history says CD production was still only about one-tenth of analog record production in late 1984. That same year, Sony introduced the much smaller and cheaper D-50 portable CD player, helping accelerate adoption. By 1988, Sony says CD production had surpassed the previous peak production level of analog records.

The shiny disc had won.

And for the record industry, that victory was enormous. Entire generations eventually rebuilt their music collections on CD — sometimes buying albums they already owned on vinyl or cassette.

Then came MP3s.

Then downloads.

Then streaming.

And suddenly those futuristic silver discs started looking a little old-fashioned themselves.

Funny how that works. 😆

🎵 Behind the Riff

So what album gets bragging rights at the beginning of the CD era?

Billy Joel's 52nd Street.

The Grammy Awards' history of the format identifies 52nd Street as the first commercially released CD, issued in Japan on October 1, 1982. Producer Phil Ramone had pushed CBS to release the album as an early showcase for the new format.

There's also a great piece of CD folklore surrounding its size.

Philips initially favored a smaller disc and shorter playing time, while Sony executive Norio Ohga argued that a new format ought to accommodate long classical works without interruption. Sony's history says the resulting 12-centimeter disc offered roughly 75 minutes, while Philips' technical history recounts the famous story that a performance of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony helped influence the decision.

So the little silver disc that would eventually hold everything from Metallica to Madonna may owe part of its dimensions to…

Beethoven. 😂

On October 1, 1982, though, nobody could know just how thoroughly the compact disc would transform the way music was manufactured, sold, collected and heard.

The CDP-101 was simply sitting there waiting for someone to press PLAY.

What was the first CD you ever bought — and do you still have it? 💿🤘

Rock the Alphabet

02/10/2026

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