The Den is where my restlessness finds a purpose.

Every track feels like a masterclass in pop-rock perfection, and somehow, it was all happening just as I was an awkward adolescent, quietly crushing on Stevie Nicks.

I learned a great lesson, though: in trying to recreate a special moment, I flew too close to the sun —literally. That night taught me you can’t replay perfection — only remember it.

And here I am, 36 years after seeing that on-air light glow for the first time — still getting the same buzz from cueing up a record.