Old disc jockeys have BIG record collections. It just goes with the territory.
Low life record promoters kept most of us loaded down with multiple copies of everything their label was pushing at the moment and we, in turn, used the singles, t-shirts and albums to pay off bookies, bar tabs and babysitters. Well, okay, I did. Some guys and gals actually liked pop music and treasured their role in making the hits; their walls sport gold records as proof. Personally, the music never meant much to me. I got into the radio business so that I could TALK about stuff. The music was, in old farm boy parlance, just so much cow flop we pitchforked into the mix to coax ratings. With the rare exception of a song I actually liked, I looked on purveying the hits as "slopping" the listeners" with the intention of keeping them glued to what was--at the moment-- the GREATEST radio station on the planet. (Until I got fired and went somewhere else.)
In hindsight I suppose a move to talk radio would have been the smart thing for a guy like me, though an act consisting of me yelling "Shut up moron…Get off my phone!" perhaps had limited appeal. In addition, for numerous years there wasn't an easier buck than music radio. It was air conditioned, indoors, and required no heavy lifting. The tunes we had to play afforded ample opportunity for trips to the men's room, vending machines and expeditions down the hall to flirt with the women in the traffic department. Truth be known, some of the songs were so awful that it was necessary to leave the control room just to keep from throwing up. "Seasons In the Sun" by Terry Jacks was such a ballad. In 1974 that piece of floating fecal matter was in the hot rotation at many stations. To avoid permanent ear bleed and brain damage I would invariably attempt to make sure whenever this beauty was scheduled a jingle would precede it to allow me ample time to escape before enduring a single note.
I hadn't thought of Mr. Jacks hideous crime against music in years. Mercifully, it never really made it on to the playlist of most major "oldies" stations where I was forced to relive the 60's and 70's late in my career. Then, like an infestation of brain termites, my old pal, Bill Moffitt, slipped this musical turd into a CD he burned for me. Bill and I have been friends for years and share not only a Midwest background but a similar job history. By shear coincidence the two of us wound up getting hired and fired at three different stations at approximately the same time. We were in broadcast harness together for over fifteen years, much to the chagrin of multiple program directors we either drove to distraction or, better yet, out of the business. Take THAT programing putzes!
Mr. Moffitt has, almost without question, one of the largest music libraries ANYWHERE. Everything from rock n' roll, to country, classical and jazz has been requisitioned and inventoried by "The Moff" and he enjoys putting together some of the most eclectic compilations imaginable for his pals. They are surprisingly entertaining.
Recently I was enjoying--yes, actually enjoying--Moffitt's latest creation featuring everything from Tony Bennett singing the Army Air Corp theme to Roger Miller's "Dang Me" when the audio punch bowl was suddenly befouled by the Godawful "Seasons in the Sun". My ears may never recover.
How could he do this to me? Oh, the humanity!
For those who don't remember, I have found the incriminating contemptuous piece of pop pap on You Tube. Listen if you dare, before I seal it in a lead container for deposit in the Groove Yard of Good Guy Gold.
Good day to you Mr. Jacks! I am headed to Moffitt's house to administer a sound thrashing.
I hadn't thought of Mr. Jacks hideous crime against music in years. Mercifully, it never really made it on to the playlist of most major "oldies" stations where I was forced to relive the 60's and 70's late in my career. Then, like an infestation of brain termites, my old pal, Bill Moffitt, slipped this musical turd into a CD he burned for me. Bill and I have been friends for years and share not only a Midwest background but a similar job history. By shear coincidence the two of us wound up getting hired and fired at three different stations at approximately the same time. We were in broadcast harness together for over fifteen years, much to the chagrin of multiple program directors we either drove to distraction or, better yet, out of the business. Take THAT programing putzes!
Mr. Moffitt has, almost without question, one of the largest music libraries ANYWHERE. Everything from rock n' roll, to country, classical and jazz has been requisitioned and inventoried by "The Moff" and he enjoys putting together some of the most eclectic compilations imaginable for his pals. They are surprisingly entertaining.
Recently I was enjoying--yes, actually enjoying--Moffitt's latest creation featuring everything from Tony Bennett singing the Army Air Corp theme to Roger Miller's "Dang Me" when the audio punch bowl was suddenly befouled by the Godawful "Seasons in the Sun". My ears may never recover.
How could he do this to me? Oh, the humanity!
For those who don't remember, I have found the incriminating contemptuous piece of pop pap on You Tube. Listen if you dare, before I seal it in a lead container for deposit in the Groove Yard of Good Guy Gold.
Good day to you Mr. Jacks! I am headed to Moffitt's house to administer a sound thrashing.
PeeeeUuuuuuuu!
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