Hit Bound! The Simulation Game

I just ran across some debris from a game I developed back in the early 1980s, a simulation experience I called “Hit Bound!” I’m afraid that the details that would make this a fascinating read are lost, so all we are left with is enough generality to make this merely an interesting read. (And even that is doubtful, but here I am, and for a moment at least, there you are.)

When “Celebration Rock” was in its prime, and I was invited to speak about the values in rock music at church venues from Norfolk to Kansas City, simulation games were still teaching life lessons through fun experiences. As I played the hits for those youth groups and conferences and added my commentary on the often overlooked “meaning” of the songs, I realized that my live audiences had no concept of how the music they listened to on radio or bought in the record stores had become legitimate hits. (I use that word “legitimate” advisedly; the scandal of illegitimate hits has been well-documented since the 1950s.)

If the kids in these groups listened to “Top 40” radio, they had probably seen the charts of best-sellers printed by the local stations listing the songs in the order of popularity, with usually minor changes from week-to-week. Each week’s chart would show that three or four records had dropped off the list to be replaced by new songs just entering the sacred forty. At the bottom of the chart, there would be another three or four songs that showed promise, and the stations would add those to their “rotation” eventually if national and local sales and phone requests merited more airplay.

Many of those songs would become million sellers, moving up the charts quickly. Some would drop off without any mention, lost forever. What the listeners didn’t know was that hundreds of records released each month would never make it onto any chart, much less be played on the air even once.

With a modestly syndicated rock show, I was on the mailing list of several labels, and received other 45s from a couple of local radio stations. I read Billboard, paid attention to the play lists of the local stations I was on, and had a good idea of what hits were on the horizon, and which were fading fast. So, to make my presentations at those churches, camps, and conference centers more participatory (= fun and competitive), I developed a game that took about 90 minutes to play.

The goal: to listen to newly-released 45 rpm records, choose the potential hits, and “sell” them as hits to “radio stations” to get airplay.  The week prior to the game, I would collect from a local station several new records. Station personnel would identify probable hits and several records we knew would “stiff” (or never sell). Then, for the game, we broke into three groups: the “A&R” people (artists and repertoire), the record promoters, and the radio music directors.

“Hit Bound” began with small groups listening to each unfamiliar record and selecting the one from their stack that they “liked” best and thought might become a hit. Gut feelings, yes, but in some instances kids had already heard the song on the radio. We had also covered how A&R worked, as well as what might contribute to one song rising above others: previous hits by the same artist, a sound, a hook, connection with a hit movie or dance style, etc. The kids assigned points, decided on their picks, and moved on to convince the promoters to “sell” their record to the radio music directors.

As part of the promotion segment, the kids had to devise a campaign that included artwork for an album cover or advertisement. We might have five records (out of the 25-30)  that made it this far. Then presentations were made and the radio music directors would assign points again, rank the songs, and by the time the game ended, one particular record would be proclaimed “Hit Bound!” Naturally, the game continued over the new few weeks at home as kids listened to see if the song the game had picked actually hit the charts and rose into the Top 10.

I think the participants learned each time how the “business” of rock music worked, and how the songs they heard over and over had become hits. They also learned that there were countless and nameless musicians whose dreams of stardom would never be realised. Radio stations were tossing hundreds of “demonstration”  records into dumpsters every week.

I wish I had written down somewhere the “winners” of this now antiquated game. I do know that some of the songs chosen by the teenagers did become hits, and that a few, though winning lots of points in the game, wound up as stiffs. Of course, the whole process is different now. I put the game together in the age of 45 rpm vinyls and audio cassette tapes. Even radio is radically different now. And there’s the Internet.

But the whole thing was fun while it lasted! And, of course, I got to promote “Celebration Rock.”

 

A Smiling Remembrance of a Big Fat Waste of Time

I listened this morning to a radio station that struggled to find its way into my bathroom. Ordinarily by 8 a.m., the AM station had moved to “full power” (5000 watts) after its sunset to sunrise slumber at —  what?  — 500 watts? Or, maybe 1000. Either the computer had failed to prompt the transmitter, or an actual human being was asleep at the board. The signal should have been clear as an AM bell gets, but it was still crowded out by the signals of stations much further away.

For some reason that was all it took to return me to the days when many radio stations signed off the air every night, to return the following morning with a formal FCC-mandated sign-on (call letters, frequency, power, and ownership, broadcast hours, among other variables), along with (probably) the playing of the same National Anthem with which the station had left the air the night before.

Then came the almost obligatory, or at least very traditional, morning meditation. As a good-will gesture toward the clergy of the neighborhood, be it grand metropolis or rural countryside, the station invited the ministerial association to rotate the privilege of being the first real content of the broadcast day: what might best be characterized as a “sermonette.”

Many ministers and priests (but rarely a rabbi and never an imam) would announce to their congregations that they would be on the radio for a week of five-minute meditations. I’m sure some clergy were more thrilled than others at the bit of extra workload these little meditations would require. Some might be very creative, but many would snip short pieces from old sermons to fill the time. The intro would go something like this: And now W – – – (fill in your local call letters) presents “A Thought for the Day” in cooperation with our County Council of Churches.This week’s minister is Rev. Homer R. Bushberry of the Cobble Hill Methodist Church.”

“Good Morning, radio friends. Yesterday I told you the story of Jesus and the woman at the well. Today I’d like to follow up with some insights into what Jesus meant by ‘living water.'” [In other words, the second point of the previous Sunday’s four point sermon, recycled now as a “sermonette.”]

Here’s why that daily exercise was a big fat waste of time. Because no one was listening to the station at the moment it signed on. They couldn’t have found it on the dial at sign on, because it wasn’t there until sign on! How does one’s congregation find a station that is not on the air? Let’s say the sign-on time is 6:15 a.m. Your parishioners’ alarm clocks all go off at 6:14, since they are so very excited to hear their preacher on the radio! “Maude, turn on the radio.”

“Claude, what station is he on?”

“It’s the one at 1540.”

“Well, I’m tuning back and forth and there’s nothing there.”

“Maude, just leave it on for a couple of minutes, and then we’ll try again.”

“Claude, it’s nothing but static!”

A few minutes later, Maude tunes around the upper part of the dial and there’s the voice of her pastor…inviting would-be, hoped-for listeners to tune in once again tomorrow.

“Maude, I think we just missed it.”

I was asked a couple of times to record “meditations” for sign-on. But I knew better. “I’d rather have something on one side or the other of Paul Harvey,” I’d tell the station program director. Then we’d both have a good laugh.

My Voice Is Changing…and I’m in My Late 60s!

When I last provided an entry in this blog about radio and my past experiences, I wrote about being “back on the air,” even though I wasn’t. The opportunity came to provide a local internet radio station with a weekly half-hour program, and rather than wasting many hours each week to produce something new, I figured we may as well fill the slot with something I had done 20 years ago.

We’d use those reruns to test the waters…er, the air…OK, the cyberspace, and see if anyone was actually “out there” listening. Months have gone by, and we (the Presbytery of Geneva and I) still don’t know.

But here’s something I’ve learned through this experience. One’s voice changes. It’s almost as pronounced as the voice change that comes with male adolescence. But it comes gradually this time, so slowly that no one notices, especially the owner of the voice.

I came to that conclusion as I edited the original “tag” from the old shows, and added one that credited the new “owners.” Instead of giving a now-defunct mailing address for listeners to respond to (and there was some mail response when the programs first aired), my little job each week is to use Audacity to clip off the old ending and add a new voice-over that asks listeners — or the listener…who knows? — to click on the sponsoring Presbytery’s web site and “find out more.”

So the 40-something Jeff Kellam concludes the show’s content, and the 60-something Jeff Kellam takes over. And, my gosh, what a difference! I honestly had no idea.

That once warm, friendly, easy-going guy who voiced the “Spirit of Jazz” shows we are editing now sounds so…well, mature. And stuffy. Not as in haughty, but as in congested. If listeners (let’s pretend) haven’t caught onto the scam yet, they must assume that Jeff Kellam’s father is doing each Sunday night’s outro.

I guess I could do something about it. I could hire another voice to close the show. Something like, “Here’s your local announcer with some closing words.” Except I wouldn’t say that because I’d still have to use my old guy voice. Besides, we have only a handful of programs left. May as well keep doing it the way my two voices have done it since December.

You know, maybe it’s this little nook of a studio where I record these new outros. Maybe there’s some mold around here that makes me sound allergic to something…kind of filled up.

Or, maybe I’m just really 20 years older?

The Internet Radio Experiment Redux

This is an update of my previous post, an account of answering a call to place an old radio series back into circulation.

As I wrote previously, I have been re-editing programs in my last radio series, a half-hour program called “The Spirit of Jazz.” The show was syndicated by the Presbyterian Media Mission of Pittsburgh, Pa. back in 1989 or so. I have stored reels of the show in the attic, not the best idea, I know. Upstate NY attics are frigid in winter and way too hot and humid in summer. But the  tapes still play OK on the old Revox B-77 that is also housed in that attic. (Again, not the best idea, keeping that poor machine up there.)

I’ve been transferring the tapes to CD, and then to my computer, editing with Audacity, adding a new close to extend the programs a minute beyond the original 28:30 length, and then converting the new mix to MP3 audio. I  may have found 22 different programs on the attic shelf, so by this time I’m winding down the process with only a handful to go.

Though it’s been many years since the show aired, I seem to remember that PMM had placed it on just a few stations during its short run. But if memory serves, the stations were in fairly good-sized markets, though no doubt in odd public service time slots. So, I’m pretty sure there wasn’t a huge audience out there for this combination of contemporary jazz cuts with meditations on thoughtful themes linking the musical selections. No doubt there’s not much more audience now at 10 p.m. on Sunday nights on that modest computerized Internet radio station on the shore of one of the Finger Lakes. Geneva Community Radio. It’s a well-intentioned, even earnest, effort to serve a local community, while having the potential to reach a global audience. It is the Internet, after all.

I’ve been faithful to the process, I have to say. I’m even working a few weeks ahead, and having a fine time hearing those old tapes again, listening to my scripted words, sometimes with warm satisfaction, sometimes with a touch of regret that I didn’t spend a lot more time writing (and praying about) the script. Often, though, I forget to actually tune in, if that’s what one calls it when one listens to an Internet radio station. (Indeed, is it even really “radio?”) Sunday night comes and Joan and I are watching something on the DVR, and I remember to drag the laptop over to the recliner and find the “station” — mostly to 1) make sure the show is on, and 2) keep track of which episode is, um, airing. And then I wonder… if I’m not paying that much attention, who in the world (literally) is?

Some things never change. Sometimes the program doesn’t sound as good technically as when it left the studio. And sometimes, computerized station or not, the program doesn’t air at exactly the right time. Early on in the process, I heard the show before mine run way over, and mine was delayed. And a couple of weeks ago, I tuned in at 10:20 and heard nothing but the Internet radio equivalent of Muzak. Apparently my program had aired early and was over by 10:20. Missed that one.

Speaking of the program that is on before mine, it’s a terrible lead-in, just awful. (I’m referring to its value as a lead-in, not to its value to an audience.)  The program’s called “Gospel Doings,” or maybe “Gospel Doin’s” (as in do-ins, see). It’s what I’d call “white southern gospel,” folksy, laid back, full of country twang and evangelistic zeal. That’s fine by me, as if that mattered. But here’s the problem: if you tune in early for my show, or even on time if the “Gospel Doings” have run over, you are looking for jazz, and, pardon me, you might expect a small dose of the sophistication that one finds in that musical genre. The “doings” will do in my potential listeners. And if you are a big fan of southern gospel, I doubt very much that even the Holy Spirit would move you to stay tuned for a program featuring the music that was once relegated to dives, bars, and back alley bistros. In other words, between one program and the other is a huge disconnect!

I doubt that anything our Presbytery programs in a slot such as this will be “appointment radio.” But it would be nice to think that someone is out there making this effort worthwhile. If you’ll excuse me now, I think I recall something in the Bible about the Parable of the Sower, or the Seeds, or — Once there was a broadcaster who threw his signal into the air…

Back on the Air, But Yet Not

When I started this e-journal noting the 40th anniversary of the debut of my long-running (and now long-not-running) radio program “Celebration Rock,” I had no idea that I would be getting back on the air anywhere. I had hoped to volunteer my voice for the local public radio affiliate, but — alas — it’s a union shop, and volunteers aren’t particularly welcome.

And radio has changed so much that even the once-popular BIG stations in town, the ones so many grew up listening to, the ones with local personalities we radio wannabes truly wanted to be — well, many of those stations are now just closets with computers locked inside, with announcer-voices coming from national studios in major cities. So, radio is over. But not out.

In Geneva, NY, there is a so-called internet “radio station,” a web address that carries a streaming audio signal that sounds like a radio station, but which lacks the standard radio paraphernalia, small things like a transmitter and tower. Geneva Community Radio hopes to acquire those things when and if it applies for a low-power FM license. But for now, it is home to some imported and home-grown audio features that fill its internet schedule seven days a week, though not 24 hours a day.

The operator of the station (individual or corporate?) has offered time slots to some religious groups, including the Presbytery of which I am a part. The presbytery’s communications staff person called on two of us who had worked in radio to see what thoughts we had for how to use the free time slot creatively and effectively to — what? — inform? inspire? promote? Frankly, I was reluctant to spend a great deal of time on something so squishy as a radio station that wasn’t broadcasting.

If you go way back in the archives of this blog, you will find that I had begun in somewhat squishy radio. In college, where my radio career, such as it was, began, the campus station had no tower, but relied on low power transmitters in two or three dorms, pushing enough signal through the wiring of those dorms to carry whatever audio emanated from the WCRW* studios in the basement of the library. That was if the students knew we even had a station, and if they knew where to find it on the AM dial. Still, we did pretend that we were a real radio presence, and we also pretended that we had listeners.

At that time it was called “closed circuit, carrier current radio.” And it was a good training ground for future radio station personnel. But truth be told, we probably had more people listening to our music outside the open library window than on their radios. That would be four or five listeners.

So, having begun so modestly, I was (and still am) reluctant to sink hours into preparing anything for an internet “station” that may have fewer listeners than could gather around the studio window. Thus, my brilliant idea: to re-edit and rerun my old “Spirit of Jazz” half-hour shows, the ones in cold storage up there in our attic. To the Presbytery communications person I posed this idea: let’s just run those programs for 20 weeks and see if anyone, I mean anyone, responds.

The shows contain mostly instrumental contemporary jazz, with my brief meditations interspersed between the seven or so music “cuts” in the half hour. Most of the music is still played on jazz radio today, the artists still being popular in their genre, and my comments were not particularly timely, being more general meditations on themes such as solitude, mornings, change, the road, dreams, and jazz itself.

To be sure, there will be some editing necessary. Back then, almost 20 years ago (yikes!), I did refer to “l.p.s” (long play records, for the younger readers here), and some social justice issues in Northern Ireland and South Africa. Some electronic snips, and those archaic phrases are gone. So, we run the shows in the allotted time slot, ask for some feedback via the Presbytery website, and if someone is out there, we could eventually switch over to a new and current offering of some kind. If.

(I have my doubts.)

The process is as follows. I dub the old 7″ reels onto CDs (in the attic audio shoppe), convert the CDs to MP3 files on the computer, edit with Audacity, and email the files to the presbytery office which will forward them to Geneva Community Radio for, um, airing. Or, cybering. Whatever.

Part of the process is to slice away the old outro that offered scripts and music logs and included addresses long since left behind, and add new “credits” mentioning both the original syndicators (Presbyterian Media Mission of Pittsburgh) and the current “sponsor,” my Presbytery.

All that is to say that I am now officially back on the air…but yet not. If I let some old friends know about this venture, maybe they’ll find the show and listen. The internet can carry its audio globally, after all. And that sure beats the closed circuit approach that first carried my voice onto the Philco radio in a women’s dorm room in 1963. I think.

[*WCRW : not FCC-assigned call letters, since we had no license. The letters stood for Westminster College Radio Workshop, a designation that had its roots probably in the early 50s.]

Getting in on the Ground Floor of the Electronic Church

When I started this Celebration Rock blog, I meant to simply mark the 40th anniversary of the debut of that program. I started writing these reflections in 2008 and never imagined I would find something to write about for a few months, much less for a couple of years. Yet, ideas kept occurring, and never having had an un-noted thought, I kept adding biographical reflections about the media ministry that began in earnest in February, 1968, but which probably had its genesis in college radio six years earlier.

My own radio ministry was certainly fed by pioneers in the medium of radio itself, as I’ve noted previously by telling some of  the story of Grace Covenant Presbyterian Church and its 1924 entrance into radio broadcasting. With a license granted by what was called the Federal Radio commission, the church put WBBL on the air, in order to broadcast a well-known evangelist who was to speak at the church.  While not the first religious broadcast, it was without a doubt an early effort, and the church has been on the air since, with current services broadcast over a commercial Richmond station.

So I began my first attempts at religious broadcasting at WBBL. I confined my first efforts to a youth-oriented rock show with Christian commentary and interviews. The whole effort was considered creative, progressive, even (dare I say it?) avant-garde.

But nationally, there were bigger fish to fry, er, fish to reel in. By the early 1970s and well into the 1980s something called “The Electronic Church” emerged. Instead of broadcasting services from churches, evangelists created their own TV programs especially for the medium. While Billy Graham persisted in holding his crusades in large venues with TV audiences looking in, the new breed built studios, their own stations, then their own networks, thanks to cable and satellite delivery systems.

One fascinating example of this electronic evangelism effort was Oral Roberts. As a child growing up with the first television set in the neighborhood in the early 1950s, I remember seeing Oral Roberts on the black and white sawdust trail. He was a young Pentecostal preacher and faith healer who let movie cameras into his revival tent services so his message could find its way to flickering TV screens across the nation. It was perhaps 25 years later that Roberts had built (using his viewers’ money) the university in Tulsa that bears his name. On campus he had designed a full television production center so that, instead of pitching a primitive tent in cities and villages throughout the world, he needed only to head across the world’s fair style campus and into his own studio.

And instead of holding a revival service, he emceed a music-filled variety show, complete with choreography (Pentecostals have always “danced in the Spirit”) and contemporary music. Though always, I suppose, a “showman,” his spoken messages, healing “miracles,” and appeals for money took center stage like a glossy form of vaudeville.

It occurs to me that my own radio show was, in a far more modest way, a precursor to some of the trappings of the “electronic church.” Eschewing (always wanted to use that word) hymns, sermons, and heady discussions of theological and social issues, I offered my listeners a Top 40 radio experience musically, while I played deejay. Now I must hasten to note the differences between my modest entertainment format and the more widespread and well-financed glitz of the electronic evangelists. First, I never asked listeners for money. Second, my program was produced under the auspices of  a major Protestant denomination (and therefore I didn’t need to pass the plate among listeners). Third, my presentation came from a liberal heart/mind/soul.

As a footnote to this entry, I recall my own modest participation in the ground floor of the electronic church locally, in Richmond, Virginia. During  the summer of 1967, I was employed as an intern at Richmond’s NBC affiliate.  My job description included running camera on local news and other Channel 12 productions. On Saturday afternoons, that included carrying very heavy TV cameras and pedestals, and lugging huge cables and sundry TV production supplies, to a car dealership just down the road from the station. There we would set up for a live broadcast of car commercials during the breaks of an old movie being run back at the station. When that two-hour slot was over, we packed all the equipment back in a truck and drove several miles to a large Baptist church near downtown Richmond.

We carried those massive cameras up the stairs of the church into balcony and upper transept areas to prepare for the church’s broadcast of its Sunday morning service the next day. I would be there the next morning to run camera on Pastor Vander Warner, Jr., capturing his sermon, the congregation’s hymns, and what little liturgy the Baptists had in their worship. Warner didn’t treat the television audience as mere onlookers or bystanders. He knew how to play to his viewing audience, frequently looking directly up into my camera’s zoom lens to make eye contact with worshipers at home. At one point, during the offering, he’d be sitting in his chair, hidden from the church’s congregation by the good-sized pulpit, and he would quietly speak  directly to the home viewers.

His was not the first local worship service to be telecast, of course. Ministers had caught that vision many years before. And for many years after, when sanctuary, camera, and satellite converged in an electronic trinity of evangelistic entertainment, there was big money to be made in the business of saving souls. From Elmer Gantry to Pat Robertson… have they got a deal for YOU!

1968: The Seminary Intern & Sailor Bob

This reflection goes way back to my seminary days, just prior to the beginning of my first radio shows in Richmond. As I’ve mentioned earlier in this journal, in my middle year at Union Seminary in Richmond I worked as an intern at the former WRVA-TV (now WWBT 12). Knowing that my path to ministry was headed, one way or another, into a media-oriented environment, Dr. Robert White Kirkpatrick had steered me toward an internship sponsored by the National Council of Churches Broadcast and Film commission.

“Dr. Kirk” knew the station manager at WRVA-TV and with his help, my summer intern program was accomplished. I was to work in the production department, starting on the floor crew.  My direct supervisor was Bob Griggs who oversaw all studio production, from the two evening news shows to local commercial video production, from the remote broadcasts to his own very popular children’s show, “Sailor Bob.”

My job was primarily two-fold. One piece was to be the “floor director,” relaying commands to talent (“30 seconds, Doug”)  from the director’s booth. (The director’s only view of the studio was through the camera lens, and since this was 1968, the talent didn’t have their own ear pieces… thus the need for a floor director.) Alternating with other members of the floor crew, I would run camera while another person took on the floor director’s job. Running camera was a natural for me, since I had a photographer’s eye and had no problem composing a shot, if not always the shot the director called for.

Production for the live news shows was pretty straightforward: same format, same shots night after night. It’s no surprise that many of today’s news programs are captured by robotic cameras, and computers can establish the shots for each segment. But back then, when color was new to the local stations and equipment was huge (heavy cameras on heavier pedestals and videotape machines as big as pickup trucks), it took human beings to run the show.

As I look back on some of the pictures I took back then, I remember how primitive it was. When the newscaster referred to an event, the primary visual might have been just a black and white photo transmitted via “wire,” trimmed with a paper cutter, and dry mounted to a piece of heavy black cardboard. While one camera was trained on the newsreader, the other moved to the “hod shot,” the photo mounted on a tall easel.  The weather segment was little more than two or three maps with erasable markers indicating trends and temps.

Far more creative were the local commercials we shot in studio. And the “Sailor Bob Show,” a widely popular Popeye cartoon framing device, with our boss as host. Rather than spending words here to describe the program and its wonderfully personable host, just do a search for “Sailor Bob” Griggs, and look for segments of the show. You’ll smile, as kids and their parents did back in the 1960’s in Richmond.

Maybe sometime I’ll write about the other aspects of that sojourn in TV, including running camera each Sunday on a remote from a large downtown Baptist church, and later having an invaluable opportunity to direct a syndicated show from the booth. Suffice it to say, my TV internship that year was a solid foundation for my vocational future when cable TV opened up opportunities for some creative local programming, and when I was invited to found the Video Education Center at the Presbyterian School of Christian Education.

The Headset Jazz Reunion, (con’d)

I drove to Richmond with a couple of hours worth of jazz LPs to choose from, even knowing that Guy Spiller had his records chosen too. We’d worry about narrowing down the playlist sometime before the show’s Saturday night broadcast.

On the day before the show, we met at WCVE to check out the studio where we’d go on the air for the first time since the mid-70s — or was it the late 70s when Guy had left the show? (Amiably, I have to add; he didn’t leave in a huff or anything.) Steve Clark, whom I had known from the old days at WRVA radio, and Sam Straus, whom I’d known from, well, here’s a partial list —  WRGM, WRFK, WBBL, WRNL, and PSCE-Video — were there that afternoon. (Even Greta Dollitz was there; I had helped her produce her first “Hour with the Guitar” programs at WRFK in 1970 or so!)

Sam made sure the turntables were ready for our vinyl jazz albums, and also briefed Guy on the “board,” while I just looked around and thought, “Well, this is really going to happen.”

On October 30, I met Guy at the studio about an hour ahead of air time, and found that he had already rigged the studio with four HD video cameras to chronicle the event. We went over the music list, made some refinements (since we had to report the details of the playlist for some mysterious station bookkeeping), and clarified how one live studio would shift over to ours at exactly 10 p.m.

At 10 o’clock, Guy played the first of only two CD cuts that night. It was the original opening theme of “Headset Jazz,” the “Swinging Shepherd Blues,” Herbie Mann’s reggae version. (Not able to locate the old album, I had downloaded the MP3 and loaded it onto a CD, much to Mr. Spiller’s chagrin. He really was committed to the vinyl purity of the two-hour show, but I was just as committed to using the first theme music, no matter how I could swing it.)

[The other CD cut that night was the last piece we played. It was good of Guy to allow me to break format in order to mention my friendship with Bill Carter of the Presbybop Quartet, and to play a cut from the group’s recent jazz CD set: “Psalms Without Words.” I guess I wanted listeners to know that I have a “present” as well as a well-documented past.]

Over the opening theme then, Guy opened the mikes, and with absolutely nothing written down, we winged it for two hours. Any worries about whether we could pull it off evaporated early on. The conversation was easy, the rapport right-on, and we had a ball. Between the sets of two recordings, we talked about the music, the history of the show, paid tribute to Alice Riegel (who had died in 2008), and shared some stories.

While the music played, Guy cued records and I hastily wrote down the exact time that records started and ended, rearranged some music choices to keep things balanced, and —  we took phone calls from listeners, off-air.

In fact, the phone calls started before we went on the air. The first call prior to air time was from a couple whose wedding ceremony I had performed 31 years ago. They had both been in Richmond radio at the time and as the unofficial “chaplain” to several stations, I had done pre-marital counseling with them, and led the worship service during which they said their vows. The caller assured me that they were still very, very content after all these years, and that they were happy to hear me and Guy back on the radio.

And then, during the show, another call came in from another radio couple I had married, and they too were reporting that after 31 years (!) they were still happily married. That must have been a good year for my wedding folk! Those calls were the proverbial icing on the cake.

And there were other calls, mostly from former listeners who remembered Guy or me or us from those days of yesteryear. Several friends called in, including a beloved colleague from PSCE, my current next door neighbor here in New York, and friend who told me he was recording the show for us off the radio station’s internet “streaming audio.” (Turns out, that was a very good move; other attempts at saving the show had failed, so Eddie had the only copy!)

Two other notable callers: my brother from North Carolina and my son from Pennsylvania. It was very good night indeed.

Looking back on the show, or rather listening to the playback, I realize how different I sound without a spiffy script to read. Um. Uh. And I sure affirmed what Guy was saying as I uttered “Yes,” and “Yeah” to begin almost every response. Still, and here’s the main thing, we didn’t do or say anything embarrassing… and we didn’t break anything.

And we could do this all over again tomorrow night! We both wish we could. (That said, no one called from the Virginia Association of Broadcasters to invite us to the radio Hall of Fame. Sigh.)

Some More Radio Ramblings, FWIW

As I look at the stats for the Celebration Rock blog, I note that there are two very popular entries that continue to draw readers in response to “searches.” And they are as different as night and day. One is “The Animals’ Christmas,” a topic that is certainly popular this time of year. Yet, I’ve noticed that that Christmas-themed legend has drawn some attention year-round.

The other very popular CR blog entry is the one I wrote on so-called satanic lyrics or back-masking. How odd that the interest in that topic persists, especially since, as my college professor son noted last week, CDs and MP3s can’t exactly be played backward as easily as old vinyl records. (The curiosity factor surely tore up some vinyl grooves as consumers manually turned their turntables backward to try to pick up the devil’s music!)

So, warm winter legends and nasty hidden lyrics still top the Celebration Rock blog charts. Odd.

Entirely unrelated (as far as I can tell) is my most recent foray into radio: the “one-time only Headset Jazz Reunion Show,” aired live on WCVE Public Radio in Richmond on October 30, 2010. Except for a live interview (about Habitat For Humanity) in September  on our little store front  station in quaint Owego, NY, that jazz reunion was the first time I’d been on air in years!

As noted very early on in this CR blog, my first jazz show in Richmond was entitled “Headset Jazz,” a bow to the fact that it was the area’s only jazz show in stereo in 1973, and listening with headphones was highly recommended. After some months of hosting the show on the old WRFK, I asked Guy Spiller to co-host so that I could have a few Saturday nights off…plus it was fun to share the production/hosting duties with a friend.

Guy and I had different tastes in jazz. He was (is) more into funkier, fusion-oriented jazz, and I remain a fan of swing and “straight ahead” jazz. But we also shared a strong interest in jazz classics and contemporary artists. Our give-and-take when we shared the show was unscripted, natural, laid back. We did have a good time together. We did many shows solo, spelling one another so each could enjoy a week off. It was a fine arrangement.

Eventually Guy went on to other things, and I then shared the program for several years with a listener who showed some interest in co-hosting, Alice Riegel. When I finally “retired” from “Headest Jazz,” Alice added Ty Bailey as co-host and Ty carried the show into the 21st century. So Guy and I helped create a weekly gift of jazz for Richmond that ran for almost 30 years.

And last summer we thought it would be fun to recreate the program, if the public radio affiliate would give us a couple of hours some Saturday night. Guy pulled it off, thanks to WCVE’s willingness. It wasn’t exactly a piece of  cake; I had to drive from upstate NY to Richmond to do the show. But it was worth it!

We decided early on that we would play the same vinyl jazz records we had played when the show first hit the air. Literally. So Guy and I went through our collections of LPs, blended our individual playlists, checked to be sure the station still had two turntables, and recorded some promo spots the station could use to let listeners know (warn ’em) what we were up to.

[A side bar: Guy said we could do some conversational spots, in the same unscripted style we used in the 70s. I was thinking a tight scripted approach might be easier. He won. And since he was stuck with all the editing, that was fine with me! Here’s the thing that amazes me in this new electronic, digital age — Guy recorded his end of the conversation in his home studio, and I sat at my computer in upstate New York and fed the files to Guy via the Internet. He edited the audio into several finished spots and delivered them to the station.]

Of course, the real question for me wasn’t whether our old records would sound OK. We’d both kept our collections in “broadcast quality” condition. The question was: given my many, many years off-air, would I sound OK? Would doing this show be like, say, riding a bike? Would I sound out of practice? Would I be able to put a couple of sentences together and make sense? Could we actually pull this off without embarrassment?

I’ll write about how things went that night in my next entry. Betcha can’t wait!

Long Distance Voyager

[Thanks to Billie Brightwell, I have a typewritten (!) script from a Moody Blues “Celebration Rock” program, aired in October 1982. It’s labeled #700. Since it’s been quite awhile since I wrote an entry for this blog, I’ll simply scan Billie’s transcript of my original script, and let this be an addition to the official CR record.

After the standard program opening, I pretty much played through the album, cut-by-cut, and made the following comments:

THE VOICE

“Won’t you take me back to school? I’ve got to learn the golden rule. Won’t you lay it on the line? I’ve got to hear it one more time.”

The “golden rule”. You don’t hear much about that these days. The so-called “me generation” was taught to “watch out for number one,” that is, look out for, protect, serve, save yourself. The golden rule somehow got buried under a lot of garbage.

Yet, while unpopular, the rule survives…, not so much as a rule maybe – and I hope it’s survived as more than just a cliché. For those who follow the Christ, the words are an ideal to be sought, a standard by which we measure our ability to live the faith.

The most familiar statement of the golden rule is, “Do unto others as you would have others do unto you”. In the King James Version of the Bible, it reads, “As ye would that men should do to you, do ye also to them likewise”. The Today’s English Version says, “Do for others just what you want them to do for you”. (Luke 6:31)

What makes that rule so unique is its presence in just about every major religion:
Buddhist, Muslim, Sufi, Zoroastrian. In the Jewish Hillel, it’s recorded, “Do not do unto others that which you would not have them do unto you”.

And, it’s got some Chinese roots, too, in the teachings of Confucius who said, “May we take the word of reciprocity to serve as our rule of life: what we do not wish others to do to us, may we not do unto them”.

I have to believe the Spirit of God has planted the seed of that message in every culture for a reason: that we should live by its guidance and judge our lives by how successfully we have followed it. It’s the key to making peace with one another, and finding peace among nations.

TALKING OUT OF TURN

The relationship in this song – the love – breaks down because of some “talking out of turn”. It may be the old story of “kissing and telling”, but it probably runs deeper than that, reflecting the way we often break confidences or betray someone’s trust. It hurts to know that a few simple words can destroy something as beautiful as a relationship conceived in – and nurtured by – love.

Our words seem harmless enough – as if what we say “out of turn” will be immediately forgotten. How surprised we are when what we’ve said comes back to haunt us… and worse… to haunt the person our words have betrayed.

There’s a proverb in the Bible which the Today’s English Version translates this way:
“Kind words bring life; but cruel words crush your spirit.” (Prov. 15:4)

And the Moodies sing of that kind of exploitation:
“I took a little more of you each day when I didn’t see that I was breaking you apart.”
Talking out of turn – it’s a habit that breaks people and crushes our own spirit. So, beware of thoughtless words and careless comments. Kind words are one way to hold on to love.

GEMINI DREAM

I hear in this song a plea to make it work out – either rocking and rolling right through the night, or making love, or both, because Justin Hayward and John Lodge write, “Tonight’s the night”.

The lines I’ve centered on – almost obscured by the music – offer a three-step progression that applies to all of life, whether it’s a system of ethics, faith, vocation, whatever. The lines are:

“Living it. Believing it. Wanting It.” In that order. Living, believing, wanting. Apply that progression to whatever “it” may stand for.

I live it. That is, I experience it. Therefore, I believe it; so I want it to be that way. Apply it to society and you understand how hard it is to change attitudes.

For a racist, for example.

I live prejudice: I’ve been brought up in a segregated society, therefore, I believe that’s the way life should be. And I want it to continue to be that way.

But, to change an attitude or idea, it may be necessary to reverse the order to “I want, I believe, I live.

I want to see racial harmony and justice and reconciliation. When I want it badly enough, I’ll believe in it, and when I believe hard enough, I’ll begin to live it. My attitude will change – and so will I.

Again, the formula for change is want, believe, live.

Just a thought from The Moody Blues album “Long Distance Voyager”.

IN MY WORLD

“In My World” is a witness to how a relationship with another person can be a life-changing catalyst.

“I’m only just beginning to believe what you’ve done. How you turned it upside down, this world of mine.”

And there’s that touch of hyperbole: “It’s heaven on earth when you’re near.”

That’s one reason we human beings were meant to be “in community,”  if not in love. Our relationships to others, supported and renewed by mutual caring, loving, healing… joyfully sharing bits and pieces of our lives — all that enriches us.

It may be the result of falling in love with one very special person, but it’s not limited to that. There are other levels of relationship just as important. Singles and couples, families and churches – we all need one another to make us – and keep us— together and whole.
We move from one Justin Hayward song to another. This next one’s called “Meanwhile”.

MEANWHILE
Another song of lost love – with a key line that reminds us that we are not really totally in control of our lives, much as we hate to face that. The Moodies sing, “I thought I’d end up as the hero; thought the glory would be mine. Very soon I was to find it wasn’t to be.”

Newspapers, magazines, and TV sometimes carry ads for books, cassettes, tracts, offers of plans and programs designed to help us take control of our lives in three or sixteen or nine easy lessons.

“Learn to make your own decisions!”
“Plot your own course!”
“Design your own destiny”
“Be your own boss!”

From the power of positive thinking to astrology, we try to assume control of life’s course, but – isn’t there always a place for surprise? Or disappointment?

Won’t there always be the challenge of the unexpected and the thrill of overcoming a set-back? To be human is to be a hero – sometimes… but it’s also to learn to struggle, to admit weakness, to confess sins, and even to fail!

Now that doesn’t mean we’re nothing but dust in the wind, being blown about in every direction by every little breeze, but it does mean that God’s plan encompasses far more than ours. And life is never really knowing what’s coming next.

One thing is for sure: We can learn to live with that!

22,000 DAYS

Let’s see.. .divide 22,000 days by 365 and you wind up with about 60 years and not quite four months. According to the Moody Blues’ Graham Edge, that’s all the time you’ve got. I’m not sure that’s the total from birth, or starting from where we are now, but it doesn’t matter. The point is, he’s praying, “Let me go into tomorrow one day at a time”.

This song calls time both a “foe” and “wealth”. In one line, the Moodies sing, “Time’s the only wealth you’ve got”.

And in the next verse, “Now I know the only foe is time”. Well, which is it?

Time past could be wealth – like looking back on the wealth of experiences from which we’ve learned. And if we consider future’s time is running out and trying to accomplish life’s goals is like playing beat the clock, then maybe time to come is the enemy.

Then again, before you buy fully into that interpretation consider the alternative:
all those days we have left are not enemies, but precious gifts – new opportunities for redemption, healing, reconciliation, new birth. Then time past becomes a foe we’ve conquered and left behind!

Now that I like!

NERVOUS

Written by John Lodge, here’s another song about “the road” (frequent Celebration Rock listeners have a big collection of “road” songs gathered from previous programs.)

What I hear is the cry of one who’s worried or “nervous” that he’s been on the road too long — and he doesn’t know what it is that keeps him on the road. “Has there been a sign that points another way and I’ve passed it by?”

On a less cosmic level, I know what that’s like. I’m traveling on the interstate and I suddenly get the feeling I’ve passed my exit. I keep driving on, looking for the right exit sign, growing more nervous with each mile.

Well, John Lodge – who, like the rest of us is not getting any younger – may feel that way about where his life is going. How young can a rock musician remain? I know some 29 year old D.J.’s who feel the same way. How long do I stay on this road?

I’m getting nervous, too. I’m younger than Dick Clark and Casey Kasem, but in my mid—thirties, how long can I stay in touch with contemporary music trends?

Well, whether you’re a veteran “cosmic rocker” like each of the Moody Blues, or a D.J. at “WOLD”, or just somebody on the road who’s forgotten why, catch one more line thrown us by John Lodge:

“Bring it on home, your love.”

The tie is between home and love. It’s essential to remember that the love we’re offered by God through the people around us, gives us the security and comfort of home, no matter where we are. (And, if I’m loved, my age is irrelevant.)

Along life’s road, I keep my eyes open for signs of love pointing the way home -which is, after all, everyone’s ultimate destination.

PAINTED SMILE

Ray Thomas has given us a perceptive song which helps us understand class clowns, intentional village idiots, and other assorted fools. The lyrics give us insight into those who win our love with humor. From classic clowns like Red Skelton to the girl in your class who’s always acting out for a laugh and personal acceptance. The song reminded me of a play I was in about 10 years ago called “For Mature Adults Only”. Written by Norman Habel and published by Fortress Press, the play contained the stories of several teenagers who needed the understanding of mature adults. Here is Stevie’s story, and her prayer.

[Here I inserted the voice of a friend, Elena Delgado, who read Stevie’s story from the Habel book.]

VETERAN COSMIC ROCKER

He’s afraid that he will die. For a performer, to “die” means to fail – to fail to excite, to bring laughter, tears, or applause. To die on stage is a constant fear that even veteran performers are afflicted with. That’s why even the pros still get nervous. There’s always the chance the audience won’t like your song, won’t laugh at your joke, won’t respond to your impassioned reading of the playwright’s words.

The veteran cosmic rocker fears that kind of death, but he also fears the other deaths that haunt every person, star or commoner. Physical death – complete and utter non-existence. Spiritual death – separation from the one whose ultimate gift was life: God.

The good news is that God has sent us a message through Jesus the Christ. Death has been overcome. New life always awaits us.

We face little deaths every day. Those little deaths are called goodbyes, transfers, graduations, leave-taking, separation or divorce: Little deaths that  hurt for awhile  (admittedly sometimes a long while)  until a breath of new life fills empty spaces and we live again

The veteran cosmic rocker, in spite of a spiked coke and sweet smoke, nonetheless was afraid he would die. He seemed to have missed the natural alternative: trust in the Lord of Life.

[And that’s the last printed word from the script. No doubt as the program came to an end and the music of the Moodies faded, I added my benediction: “Be gentle with people, and with yourself.” Until next time…