I'm pretty sure I was a sophomore in college when this happened.

I was sitting in a friend's room in the dorm on a weekday afternoon when I heard this music from another room. The stereos, dorm stereos at my college at least, were shit, so the sound was faint. But the song captivated me. I tuned out the conversation, stood up, walked out the door, made a left, went down two, maybe three, rooms and turned right.

A medium tempo sort of folk-rock tune was playing on the shitty stereo. "Who is this?" I asked the guy playing it on the shitty stereo. Daryl Hall and John Oates, he told me. "Never heard of 'em," I said, and he handed me the LP cover of Abandoned Lunchonette.

"Ahh-oooo, uh-oooo, woo-ooo, it'll be all right, when the morning comes," the male tenor sang. It was Daryl Hall.

So began my long love affair with the music of Daryl Hall & John Oates. I followed them through the glam period, through the quasi-psychedelic period, through the quasi-disco period, through the superstar period of the 1980s, which turned into the turn-the-drum-machine-so-it-sounds-like-a-baseball-bat-hitting-a-garbage-can period. I followed them through the "you like Hall & Oates?" jibes from my hipper-than-thou acquaintances, insisting that Hall & Oates were merely a pleasure, not a guilty one.

I've seen Hall & Oates six, seven, eight times, but I never heard them play "When the Morning Comes," the song that first seduced from another room.

They played it last night at Ruth Eckerd Hall. A lump-in-the-throat moment.

This article appears in Apr 15-21, 2009.

Eric Snider is the dean of Bay area music critics. He started in the early 1980s as one of the founding members of Music magazine, a free bi-monthly. He was the pop music critic for the then-St. Petersburg...