Ah, @Coach, the drummer in you can n'ere be contained. I know the feeling; I was infected by Dr. Slingerland at a young age myself -- though it has been a long, long time indeed since a pair of Number 5 nylon tips inhabited the spaces between fingers and thumb.
But when it comes to the doors of perception, for me the chart that continually wafts within the interstices of darkness and dawn, of consciousness and beyond, is "Waiting for the Sun"...
Waiting for you to hear my song, Waiting for you to come along, Waiting for you to tell me what went wrong. This is the strangest life I've ever known
