Back when radio mattered, people would often remark to those of us on the air that it "sure must be cool to get paid for listening to your favorite music four hours a day." In those pre-Internet days radio was the place we all went for a music fix. It was our national campfire for culture and popular music of all kinds. In truth, if you worked in radio, there was very little listening going on in those studios. Once a song was introduced the headphones came off and phones were answered, papers were read and management pestering was a constant distraction. A back-timing clock kept air personalities in touch with the time remaining on a song and when to crack the mic. As a consequence, most radio folks are very familiar with the beginnings and endings of hit records but the in-between stuff is a bit of a blur. In the interest of full disclosure, I will admit that with the majority of contemporary music it was just fine with me if I missed the meat of dandies like: "Billy Don't Be A Hero", "Kung Foo Fighting" and anything by Cat Stevens. In fact most of the program management flyweights I had to chase out of the studio were usually in there begging me to stop making fun of the music. Couldn't help myself. It was sort of the same deal with referring to the general manager as a fat goon and sales reps as "time slimes". Some things simply must be said.
Where was I?
Oh, yes, radio and music. What prompted this unscheduled off ramp into broadcast nostalgia was the death this week of Merle Haggard. Of forty years spent in little rooms talking to people I could not see only two were logged at country stations. (One in Oakland of all places.) This was in the early 1980's and, to my surprise, I had a lot of fun. Country radio listeners are wonderful! When they call you up it's to ask your size because they're knitting you a sweater or inviting you to dinner. At rock stations calls often went something like this: "Hey a-hole I requested Stairway to Heaven an hour ago. When are ya gonna play it." After telling them to gargle with razor blades I could get back to promising the program director that I wouldn't continue to compare Cat Steven's music to weasels in heat or call attention to the fact that the Bee Gees can sing about as well as my ass plays harmonica. And to think I was often accused of not "lovin' the music" in a big way! The very idea!
Merle Haggard
Which is the long way around the mulberry bush to say that I really DID and still DO like Merle Haggard. Hank Jr., Willie, Waylon and all those outlaw cowboys were fun to listen to and it was a more than refreshing couple of years spent "honking the howdy hits" as my longtime radio reprobate pal, Bill Moffitt, branded our time in the country radio corral.
I do believe it was "The Moff" who dubbed Merle Haggard the Frank Sinatra of country music.
Nailed it Billy!
Hit the play arrow on this You Tube tone poem from "The Hag" and enjoy. Somewhere he's kickin' out the footlights and puttin' on a show.
No comments:
Post a Comment