*Author’s note: Click on the bolded words throughout this post for supporting links and video clips.

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Article by Bob Langham

The spirit of music was introduced to me at a young age via the radio, which I have always considered the most perfect conduit to share the musical experience. Unlike music videos and concert performances, radio still involves the listener’s imagination – something most adults have stored away like a favorite childhood toy which society has said we are too grown up to enjoy. We listen, we interpret, and we give meaning and pictures to what we hear emanating from the radio based on our individual life experience.

That is the spirit and the power of radio as I see it (or hear it). It brings this offering of music and lyrics, descending magically from the heavens (airwaves) into the collective consciousness and touches each individual soul differently, not unlike the religious words, of the faceless prophets on which civilizations have been built and destroyed for centuries. 

Musical taste, like religious ideology varies widely across the world but while wars are waged and fought over religion, the spirit of radio and its message of music and lyrics can provide a common ground among a world of conflicting views.

Radio is not what it used to be. It has been swallowed up in this 24-hour sound bite corporate culture, but thankfully the Buggles were not as prophetic as we thought they were when they debuted a music video about the demise of radio to christen a new cable station called MTV. The Buggles are gone, and for the most part so is MTV as it first appeared, but the spirit of radio endures.

I have included just a few songs below, which celebrate the power and spirit of radio.

Invisible airwaves crackle with life
Bright antennae bristle with energy
Emotional feedback on a timeless wavelength
Bearing a gift beyond price, almost free

-Rush, Spirit of Radio
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She climbs into bed, pulls the covers overhead and turns her little radio on
She’s had a rotten day so she hopes the DJ’s gonna play her favorite song
It makes her feel much beter. brings her closer to her dreams
A little magic power makes it better than it seems

-Triumph, Magic Power

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Hold ourselves together with our arms around the stereo for hours
While it sings to itself or whatever it does
When it sings to itself of its long lost loves

-The National, Apartment Story

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I’m in love with the radio on
It helps me from being lonely late at night
It helps me from being lonely late at night
I don’t feel so bad now in the car
Don’t feel so alone, got the radio on

-The Modern Lovers, Roadrunner

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and on the radio
we heard “November Rain”
The solo’s really long
but it’s a pretty song
We listened to it twice
cause the dj was asleep

-Regina Spektor, On the Radio

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Switching it over to AM
Searching for a truer sound
Can’t recall the call letters
Steel guitar and settle down
Catching an all-night station somewhere in Louisiana
It sounds like 1963, but for now it sounds like heaven

-Son Volt, Windfall

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So mister, mister DJ
Keep those records playin’
“Cuz I’m havin’ such a good time
Dancin’ with my baby

We’re havin’ a party
Everybody’s swingin’
Dancin’ to the music
On the radio

-Sam Cooke, Having a Party

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Pilot of the airwaves
Here is my request
You don’t have to play it
But I hope you’ll do your best
I’ve been listening to your show on the radio
And you seem like a friend to me

-Charlie Dore, Pilot of the Airwaves

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And there goes the last DJ
Who plays what he wants to play,
And says what he wants to say,
Hey hey hey.
And there goes your freedom of choice,
There goes the last human voice,
And there goes the last DJ.

-Tom Petty, The Last DJ

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 *Author’s note:  Click on the song title and artist’s name at the end of this post to listen to this song in its entirety and to visit a Web site dedicated to the band.

One of the great things about the time period I lived in Austin, Texas was the music you could hear on the radio and see live around the town.  This song actually got airplay regularly on the great, yet underrated radio station KGSR.  You will never hear anything close to this on the radio stations in bigger markets like Houston. For this reason, I rarely listen to commercial radio stations anymore.  I also was lucky enough to see this band perform this song as well as many other songs live at the Cactus Cafe in Austin one evening as Charlie’s six piece band crowded onto the tiny stage with their instruments (including drum set and stand up base) and played an incredible set for the enthusiastic crowd.  The intimate setting was about as close as you can get (which is really close) to having a band play for you and your friends in your own living room.

Sunday Clothes captures the strong hold religion and the church can have on you from an early age through adulthood and how they use fear and the empty promise of a better life passed on unchallenged by logic and reason from generation to generation.

– B

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Grandma slicked my hair down
I cinched up my belt
I can still remember how that polyester felt

Townsfolk all a tremble
Yeah they knew what lay before
As the preacher takes the pulpit
And the usher shut the door

Came into this crazy world round 1968
Fathered by a crazy kid with nothing on his plate
Daddy got in trouble, yeah Daddy did some time
Visiting day at the penitentiary was where I learned to cry

Yeah we were singing those hymns over and over again
Sunday morning, Sunday evening, Wednesday nights
I never understood it all that well back then
But it probably saved my life

Charlie Sexton, Sunday Clothes

*Author’s note: Click on the bolded words throughout this post for links to related video clips.

So what if I came knocking?
Knock, knock, knock
Knock, knock, knocking, hey yeah
And kick, kick, kick
What if I cam knocking
On your front porch tonight?

John Mellenkamp, What if I Came Knocking?

I work very hard for my money and my leisure time so when I’m not at work, I do not want to be bothered.  I’m annoyed by people all week, so the last thing I want when I am chilling in front of the TV, the computer, with my familly, or with a good  book, is to hear a knock on the door or the chime of my doorbell, unless it is Publisher’s Clearinghouse with a one of those over sized prop checks the size of my car,

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or Jessica Alba

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asking me to go away with her for the weekend – for two reasons:

 1. Duh, she’s hot, 

2. She’s bright enough to know that Bill O’Reilly is an a-hole, and confident enough to say it publicly.

However, I am never lucky enough to have a front door visit from either the Clearing House or Jessica. No, these unwelcome front door visits are always solictors.

First of all, the economy is in the tank and getting worse every day, so I have no disposable income. I didn’t even have disposable income when times were good. 

More importantly, if I am going to by a product or service, I am going to do it on the Internet, or in person with a legitimate business. Does anyone who isn’t a time traveler from form the pre-color TV era buy anything at their front door anymore?  This solicitation situation has   gotten out of control.

They come after dark now and sometimes it is reminiscent of the Night of The Living Dead.  Let me illustrate: A week or so ago, one of these solicitors came.  I looked out the peep hole because it was after dark and I wasn’t expecting anyone with any kind of social etiquette at that hour, but I crossed my fingers for Jessica, or the over sized check just in case. I saw someone with a spray bottle of some type of cleaner and a washcloth. That is all I focused on, because you know everyone looks like an organ grinder’s monkey

 organ_grinder

 

 

 

through those peep holes, so there’s no need to try to get a safety read on a person’s face. I shouted through the door – “No Thanks, I’m not interested.”  The solicitor replied with “Bless you,” and left. I thought  that I was safe for the night, but a few minutes later, someone rang my doorbell again – not a polite soft tap “hope your not sleeping ” ring of the doorbell, but a rapid succession of multiple machine gun DING DONGS – the kind reserved for, “I cut my foot off with the lawn mower and I’m bleeding all over your front porch” situations.  I got up from the couch again. Still, in the back of my mind  I was harboring a small hope that Jessica REALLY was desperate for my company- but no, it was one of the spray bottle fairies again. I looked through the peep hole and there was a group of them lurking awkwardly in my yard and driveway like Amway zombies. I yelled again through the door, I’m Not interested!  Someone already came by!”  This person had the nerve to shout back, “When?”

Like it makes a difference. If I wasn’t inerested at some past moment, what makes them think I would be interested at that time? I can go to the store and buy a bottle of  Windex myself. I don’t need a stranger cleaning my kids’ face prints  and boogers off the window.  

I yelled back ,”5 minutes ago!” and that seemed to do the trick.  The  solicitor said “Thanks.” and stumbled away in the darkness with the rest of the bottle carrying zombies.

What’s worse is that some solictiors that show up on my doorstep are not just selling tangible unnecessary products and services, but they also try to sell me their non-tangilble unnecessary products and services like salvation via their religion.

If  there is a God and he wants to talk to me, I am sure he  can get a hold of my my cell number. If he wants to call me on my landline, I’m in the book. Not The Book, but the phone book. Oh well, if He’s omniscient like they say, He will know which book. I don’t think He is  going to send  two bicycle riding Joe Friday look-alikes to convince me to sit in a building full of a temporarily, mindless group of overdressed, hypocritical strangers to communicate with Him when he can just give me a ring or shoot me an e-mail. You know He has got to have the best Internet service available. 

Don’t come to my door to recruit me into your flock, or to save me from my “evil ways.”  Don’t waste my time, or your own by even walking up my driveway. If you do,  I will respond by reciting the gospel according to George Carlin.

The bottom line is, door-to-door profits/prophets are not welcome at my front door. Just so there is no misunderstanding, I think I am going to post this sign at my front door to keep the zombie peddlers away.

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 Jessica Alba, and Publisher’s Clearing House, of course can disregard.

-B

 

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*Author’s note: Click on the words in green throughout this article for links to related video and audio clips.

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by Bob Langham
 
As you can tell if you have read more than one post on this blog, music is a big part of my life. Since I wasn’t, in the words of Leonard Cohen, “born with the gift of a golden voice,” and I have yet to learn how to play an instrument (even though I gave the guitar a try as a teenager), I have had to enjoy it from the sidelines, but I’m okay with that. I listened to records and the radio from an early age, because back then we didn’t have the opiate of cable television to conquer our imagination and steal our creativity. Personal home computers were years away and the Internet, like flying cars and time travel was a science fiction dream.
I was nervous and anxious by nature as a child and there was some turmoil in our family, which added to this. Besides being a chronic nail biter, I was, like most young kids, also afraid to go to bed in the darkness of my room by myself. Each night I would try to get to sleep, but every sound would be magnified in my mind as something that was after me – vampire, monster, burglar, kidnapper, alien, you name it, in my mind it was either under my bed or lurking just outside my bedroom window.
In the early ‘70s for Christmas, I got a pea green, box-shaped portable radio as a gift. It plugged into the wall, and it had two dials on its ridged face – one for volume and one for tuning. I was able to find a local FM station that was either a top 40 or top however many they had back then for radio formats of the time, and that is where the dial stayed. That radio became my audio night light. It shouted down all of those scary sounds and noises that had taunted my childhood imagination from the dark crevices of my room, and beyond the intimidating panes of my bedroom window. One song that really made an impression on me and shaped my musical taste as I lay in the darkness of my bedroom, most likely the only person still awake in my house, if not the entire neighborhood was Whole Lotta Love  by Led Zeppelin; especially, the part of the song at about 4 minutes in when that blood curdling voice came groaning out of my tiny green innocuous box of a radio in a howling scream:
Way down inside… Woman you need me…angry guitar and drums, then a long scream without musical accompaniment as if the singer, (who I assumed at my naive age was a woman, because only a woman would have such a high-pitched scream) was falling into a dark bottomless chasm, and finally the voice was answered with more hostile guitar and drums.
There was something about that song and the environment in which I first heard it, that scared me, but also excited and enticed me at the same time. It introduced me to the power and pull a good song can have on the listener. I had a visceral reaction to that song as a child. This is why it is hard for anyone to say with any certainty what makes a good song. There is no cookie cutter formula, despite the marketing strategy of some of the record companies and radio stations today. Lyrics play a big part, but so does the music, how it is arranged, and how either the lyrics or music, or both touch you on an emotional level. Your life experience and situation when you first hear a song also contribute to how you receive the song, so everyone has a different reaction. Had I first been exposed to Whole Lotta Love in the light of day, surrounded by other people, my reaction to it would have been different. Naturally, someone else may hate a song that you think is the best one ever released because their life experience and situation is not the same. This may be why people, seem to choose and defend their music, like they choose and defend their religion. They don’t know why they are right about either one, but they know they are, so everyone else must be wrong.
To take the religious metaphor a step further, the musical equivalent of the church, the commercial radio stations, at some point became just that – too commercial, both in too many commercials and the deejays (the musical equivalent of the clergy) playing songs with commercial appeal over lyrical or musical quality. The same songs are played over and over again across multiple stations with no effort to push the creative envelope or expand the artistic landscape. It has gotten to the point that you can tell time by what song is being played. Classic rock stations are notorious for clinging to a handful of songs by an artist or band and not venturing away from this list. This is true even for bands that have extensive, quality discographies. For example, at least on the classic rock stations in Houston, if the deejay goes into a commercial break and says we will be right back with some classic Pink Floyd, you can pretty much count on it being Run Like Hell, or if they promise classic U2, it will most likely be Pride in the Name of Love ,or Where the Streets Have No Name. There is nothing really wrong with any of these songs, at least not the first 3,000 times they played them, but how about a little creative ambition and initiative? Try playing, something else from these artists’ vast libraries, like The Final Cut, or The Gunner’s Dream by Pink Floyd, or Running to Stand Still or Bad by U2.
Sometimes, the classic rock stations give the illusion they are playing some rarity with a feature they give a fancy title like, Deep Cut where they play a song from “deep in their musical vault” that isn’t necessarily rare, but may just get less of a rotation, so the audience may have only heard it 1,500 times before instead of 3,000. However, sometimes one sneaks through, (maybe the deejay was in a rush to get back after a long bathroom break and snatched up the wrong album/disc and played it before he realized what he had done).
Whatever the reason, I was recently introduced to Black Cloud by Trapeze from 1975 (complete with cowbells that would make Bruce Dickinson [Christopher Walken] salivate) during one of these Deep Cuts features. I have logged many hours listening to classic rock stations all of my life, and I had never heard this song before. Could that be possible in a city whose radio stations’ musical offerings in various musical formats have less variety than my iPod? At the moment, I only have a little under 2,000 songs on my iPod, but I can play a better selection of music on my hour long commute to work, than all of the radio stations in this city combined. But as sad as this is, it was on one of these stations where I first heard Black Cloud, so I guess I have to at least credit them with that whether it was a fluke or not. This song, like Whole Lotta Love, is not a lyrical masterpiece, but it is one of those songs that I had a visceral reaction to. However, instead of hearing it for the first time in the darkness of my childhood bedroom, I heard it after a long day at work on my frustrating commute home. I was probably cranky because it wasn’t Friday yet and I knew I had to be back again the next day to tackle a pile of unfinished work. I was expecting the next song to be one of the same old classic rock songs that inexplicably get entirely too much airplay. Instead, Black Cloud car jacked my soul at a traffic light that day, and continues to linger there as a reminder of how music can help you deal with life’s black clouds whether they be imaginary childhood monsters lurking in your bedroom or real adult monsters lurking in the cubicles at work.

 No time to stop, keep on movin’
The whole world is to see
No time to think of things that I am missing
Wherever I go
Black cloud’s following me

Each and every town
I’m father’s last relation
Doing what I can just to eat
Never ‘wanna settle down
I ain’t got the patience
Wherever I go
Black cloud’s following me

I’m a citizen of no where
The sky’s above my head
I wonder where the grass grows
Looking through the sunshine
‘Til my judgment day, my judgment day

Wherever I go
Black cloud’s following me, yeah
Oh, it’s following me around
Don’t leave me be

No time to think of the things that I am missing
I’ve got to keep on moving along, babe

You know I can’t settle down, or I’d be dead
Come, come, come here

No time to stop, keep on movin’
‘Cause all the world is to see
No time to think
The thing that I am missing
Wherever I go
The black cloud’s following me

I’m a citizen of nowhere
The sky’s above my head
I wonder where the grass grows

Looking through the sunshine
‘Til my judgment day, my judgment day

Wherever I go
Black cloud’s following me
You know it’s following, following, following me
Never let me go

Keep on moving

We have got to make it
We are going to take it, yeah

We are going to take it I am not ‘gonna make it
Never talk to a rich man, yeah

Black Cloud, Trapeze

 

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