Our Saturday morning folk show (see Jesse James behind the wheel) was a hybrid of music, a juxtaposition of sounds that didn't always sound the best together but we made them work the best we could. One of the types of music featured was what might be considered contemporary folk music, a man or woman singing along with his or her stringed instrument and sometimes a backing band. I note "contemporary" because these songs were released recently, as opposed to "traditional folk" songs that were nearing three decades old. We originally had some traditional songs in rotation but they soon fell by the wayside.
One of the early highlights of the program was a quartet of women known as the Four Bitchin' Babes, consisting of founder Christine Lavin and a rotating roster of other women. By the time I was familiar with the group, the quartet consisted of Lavin, Debi Smith, Megon McDonough, and Sally Fingerett. It was on their third album that I heard the song I remember most: TV Talk. This was to be the song I used to grab the attention of fellow students who were weary about listening to a "folk show." You must realize that for years my undergraduate station apparently had little interest in branching out into other formats. And of all the formats to add, we decided upon something that I think many students didn't listen to and thought was nothing more than longhaired freaky people strumming guitars. However we quickly learned that what the students were missing out on was something the public loved. On weekends where I guest-hosted there would be calls for requests or questions about the albums. It was something I enjoyed being part of.
I also enjoyed trying to convince students to listen - like Sarah Smile. I forget the occasion but I recall being involved in some project with the campus television station a year or so later, with Sarah being one of the students who oversaw television programming. There was a project meeting one evening of the four or five students involved and afterwards, as we stood talking in the hall out front of the radio station, a promotional spot for the folk show was played. Unaware I was by this time the full-time host, Sarah made some sort of disparaging comment - not mean, but something along the lines that she couldn't imagine four hours of longhaired freaky people. I told her not to write off the music without listening and to give it a shot that coming weekend. She did. That Saturday after playing the Bitchin' Babes the phone rang. Her call was brief, but Sarah was hooked.
By the way, we lost the bitchin' privilege to use the word "bitch" on air about the same time Meredith Brooks became a dorm-and-household name (see I'm a little bit of everything all rolled into one) and I resorted to identify the four women by name or just calling them "the Babes" - which I thought then and still think is a bit silly. Fortunately, in my later years as program director and when other students were doing the folk shifts, these people didn't see anything wrong with saying, "bitch" and went ahead and did.
And I don't think anyone bitched about it.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
TV Talk
(Sally Fingerett)
The Four Bitchin' Babes
From the album Fax It! Charge It! Don't Ask Me What's For Dinner!
1995
I heard about this man, wanted a wife and some children
The problem with this man is he used to be a woman
Now he wants a family, someone to understand
There she is sitting with him, wants a husband and some children
The situation here is she's not a real woman
There they are together the man who was a woman
The woman who was a man
How do I know? I've seen it on the . . .
Talk, Talk, TV Talk, Talk Show
Talk, Talk, TV Talk, Talk Show
Then there was this woman, who had a quirky daughter
Forty times a day the kid sticks her hands in water
Doctors say the young girl is trying just to cleanse her soul
She's a prisoner in the bathroom,
Stuck inside the bathroom,
Compulsive in the bathroom,
They film her from the bathroom
Mom would like to use the bathroom now and then you know!
Where does she go? On the . . .
Talk, Talk, TV Talk, Talk Show
Talk, Talk, TV Talk, Talk Show
One day Oprah's heavy,
Next day Oprah's skinny,
Next day Oprah's heavy,
Next day Oprah's skinny,
Jenny Jones had big boobs,
Now Jenny's big boobs are gone
Where'd they go? (I don't know)
One day Oprah's heavy,
Next day Oprah's skinny,
Next day Oprah's heavy,
Next day Oprah's skinny,
I'm checking in with Donahue,
He's got a nice dress on.
What's going on? On the . . .
Talk, Talk, TV Talk, Talk Show
Talk, Talk, TV Talk, Talk Show
They've got mothers who are dating daughters' boyfriends
Mothers who are dating daughters' girlfriends
Mothers who are dating guys who like to dress like priests
There are ninety-year-old bikers
With the rings in their noses
Then there's the bulimic eating up the roses
The anorexic brought along her feeding hoses
Oh, the things they show.
On the . . .
Talk, Talk, TV Talk, Talk Show
Talk, Talk, TV Talk, Talk Show
I'm just a simple woman with simple complications
I can be lazy, lacking motivation
Today I am a voyeur,
I cannot let go
I view the TV for holistic meditation
Compared to some, my life, it is perfection
Does anybody understand our attraction to people who suffer so?
Hope I never know or you'll see me on the . . .
Talk, Talk, TV Talk, Talk Show
Talk, Talk, TV Talk, Talk Show
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Sunday, August 20, 2006
So much for the days...tribal life
One thing with this retrospective that I'm trying to do is not always dwell so much on those tried-and-true musicians that you'd expect to see as part of a list like this. I want there to be some lesser-known talent as well – stuff no one knows about except, apparently, for me.
With that in mind let's discuss Bitter Son. The only thing that comes to mind about this local band is that they were one of a few groups that came out of the woodwork when it was announced we were starting What's New Wednesday (WNW) at my undergraduate station (see I think it's worth it for you to stay awake).
Bitter Son stands out for two reasons, the first of which was that the band had given us a copy of either their album, or the "good" portion of it, on audio cassette. True, we had both analog and digital tape players in our midst and could have played it on the air more than we did – but that would have meant we would have had to listen to the song. There's the second reason, then: while the song wasn't terrible, the pops and clicks from the tape coupled with the lower-than-low-fi attempt of the musicians made it a waste of time to even bother to cue up and spin, so to speak, much less convert to some other format for easier playback.
The host of WNW, John Fletcher, was good to his word and played the song, but I think he was a bit dissatisfied with the tape as well; it soon found its way into the Music Library and probably would have been forgotten had it not been for an asinine idea of mine one Friday night the next year. I was Program Director then and had gotten stuck at the station for most of the day but called back that night when the 9pm host didn't show. I trudged back to the building, still mentally asleep and trying to awaken for something I hadn't planed to do. The Music Director stopped by about 10:30, surprised I was on the air and offered to stick around. Over the next twenty minutes, one thing led to another and we both decided to shed the 11pm playlist and do our own version of What's New Wednesday for no reason other than we could get by with it.
At the top of the hour, we ran the WNW intro and legal ID and started in on the music you normally heard on Wednesday. The two of us co-hosted the hour – dual shifts were frowned upon because they usual turned into mindless banter – but we made a point to not talk too much and played well off each other, each noting at every chance "you're listening to What's New Wednesday...on a Friday." The gimmick must have squeaked by all the right ears as no one called to point out it wasn't Wednesday and the faculty advisor didn't call to say we were breaking rules that we, as program and music director, had been known to call others out about.
The last thirty minutes of the hour I tried to get out of the same standard regional fare that usually got played, and remembering the Bitter Son tape, I ran into the office and recovered it from its certain doom. Neither the Music Director nor I had heard the song recently (if at all), something blatantly obvious over the air: the song opened with almost a minute of sparse drumbeats that we introduced the song over (we eventually faded out our clueless stuttering as the beats droned onward). It wasn't but a few seconds into the song we realized neither of us knew how it ended, either – just that we hoped soon. Minutes later, when the heavy guitar and shaky vocals came to a standstill, we got back on the microphone and started to explain what had just happened. Surprisingly we were caught off guard with even more faint drumbeats and bells that faded into obscurity. Did we care? No, we just cut 'em off.
That surely was the end of Bitter Son after that. And the tape, too.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Tribal Life
(unknown)
Bitter Son
From their independently self-released cassette
1997
With that in mind let's discuss Bitter Son. The only thing that comes to mind about this local band is that they were one of a few groups that came out of the woodwork when it was announced we were starting What's New Wednesday (WNW) at my undergraduate station (see I think it's worth it for you to stay awake).
Bitter Son stands out for two reasons, the first of which was that the band had given us a copy of either their album, or the "good" portion of it, on audio cassette. True, we had both analog and digital tape players in our midst and could have played it on the air more than we did – but that would have meant we would have had to listen to the song. There's the second reason, then: while the song wasn't terrible, the pops and clicks from the tape coupled with the lower-than-low-fi attempt of the musicians made it a waste of time to even bother to cue up and spin, so to speak, much less convert to some other format for easier playback.
The host of WNW, John Fletcher, was good to his word and played the song, but I think he was a bit dissatisfied with the tape as well; it soon found its way into the Music Library and probably would have been forgotten had it not been for an asinine idea of mine one Friday night the next year. I was Program Director then and had gotten stuck at the station for most of the day but called back that night when the 9pm host didn't show. I trudged back to the building, still mentally asleep and trying to awaken for something I hadn't planed to do. The Music Director stopped by about 10:30, surprised I was on the air and offered to stick around. Over the next twenty minutes, one thing led to another and we both decided to shed the 11pm playlist and do our own version of What's New Wednesday for no reason other than we could get by with it.
At the top of the hour, we ran the WNW intro and legal ID and started in on the music you normally heard on Wednesday. The two of us co-hosted the hour – dual shifts were frowned upon because they usual turned into mindless banter – but we made a point to not talk too much and played well off each other, each noting at every chance "you're listening to What's New Wednesday...on a Friday." The gimmick must have squeaked by all the right ears as no one called to point out it wasn't Wednesday and the faculty advisor didn't call to say we were breaking rules that we, as program and music director, had been known to call others out about.
The last thirty minutes of the hour I tried to get out of the same standard regional fare that usually got played, and remembering the Bitter Son tape, I ran into the office and recovered it from its certain doom. Neither the Music Director nor I had heard the song recently (if at all), something blatantly obvious over the air: the song opened with almost a minute of sparse drumbeats that we introduced the song over (we eventually faded out our clueless stuttering as the beats droned onward). It wasn't but a few seconds into the song we realized neither of us knew how it ended, either – just that we hoped soon. Minutes later, when the heavy guitar and shaky vocals came to a standstill, we got back on the microphone and started to explain what had just happened. Surprisingly we were caught off guard with even more faint drumbeats and bells that faded into obscurity. Did we care? No, we just cut 'em off.
That surely was the end of Bitter Son after that. And the tape, too.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Tribal Life
(unknown)
Bitter Son
From their independently self-released cassette
1997
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Nervous children making millions: you owe it all to them
. . . little ditty 'bout Rachel and BradSometime during my final year or so at my undergraduate station I found a copy of the Posies's Amazing Disgrace, featuring the Hüsker Dü tribute song, Grant Hart. I added the short two-and-half minute song back into rotation, occasionally playing it when I found myself substituting on the rock shifts. I think I may have added some other tracks as well but the song about the Minnesota trio always stuck out.
Two pretend kids in a story that's really sad
Rachel's gonna be a girl that's depressed
Brad's callin' round radio stations makin' requests . . . .
Fast forward a year or so to my stint as a graduate student serving as a manager of completely different college station. Much like my undergraduate station, they too played their fair share of modern rock-ish music, though there here there was a much wider selection of lesser known artists and full albums I had never seen. Just as before, rock was regulated to the evening hours, usually from 8pm until sign-off, which was 2am the next morning.
As station manager, it was my responsibility to train the staff, listen and critique the students and make sure operations ran smoothly. This meant listening to the radio, usually in an office on campus, in the car, or, more likely, at home. And it was at home where I had the most fun, many times calling up whoever was on the air, with me attempting to disguise my voice, to test them about station policies or guidelines. Usually I'd start off discussing something music related before switching gears and asking them what that weird chirping noise was that was heard once a week. If the DJ were paying attention, he or she would spout off some accrued knowledge that the noise was weekly Emergency Alert System test. I would then make sure they knew who was calling and ask them to run a test themselves. Grades could be – and were – affected by not knowing what to do.
One night I decided I wanted to hear the Poises and, not wanting to call and flat out request the song, I decided to have a little fun with the DJ, a not-too bright guy named Todd. I never knew much about the kid except he came across as slightly muddled in life, not really sure where he was or where he going. When Todd answered the phone, I began a long-winded ramble about how my name was Brad and my girlfriend, Rachel, and I were on the fritz and that if he could play "our song," it would mean a lot to us. Todd didn't immediately jump on the bandwagon – he was hesitant at first and tried the ol' "I'll see what I can do" response, something I felt I could worm my way out of if I kept him on the line long enough. In the end, he promised he'd play Grant Hart – which I have to admit is a pretty odd song to reunite a couple, even an imaginary one.
The thing that cracked me up, and that I still remember all these years later, was that when he did get a chance to play the song, he prefaced it with a ramble of his own. Hemming and hawing about the story he'd just heard, he said something along the lines that he'd "go ahead and break format" to play the song for the lovebirds. Break format? I never got that one. The Posies are rock, you're in the middle of a rock shift, the song is named for a member of one of the great American rock bands – what the hell do you mean, "break format?"
I don't think Todd really knew what was going on and since he seemed to fully believe the Brad/Rachel saga, I never bothered to reveal who they really were.
Oh, yeah. Life goes on.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Grant Hart
(Jon Auer/Ken Stringfellow)
The Posies
From the album Amazing Disgrace
1996
I can't cry, I can't apply a word to sum it up
Under stress I can't repress the moment it erupts
Hear the sound of paper drums and shredded paper voice
Got to turn up 'Keep Hanging On' as if I had a choice
Prairie fires and pitchfork choirs inspire as they create
Turn it up, It's too far down, until we can relate
Minnesota New Day Rising first day in the store
Take the couch at someone's house and wait around to score
Nervous children making millions: you owe it all to them
Power trios with big-ass deals: you opened for it then
I can see, I can see, I can see it all with my one good eye
For a start take two Grant Harts and call me when you die
Sunday, August 6, 2006
And I'm dying at 90
This song brings two things to mind. Three, if you count the "whooo-hooo-hooo" chirping throughout the tune.
First is that when this song was popular, my undergraduate station couldn't decide on any sort of weekend programming. I've said before that weekends were usually wide open to musical formats that were mildly popular and didn't have enough music to make it five days a week. Since our core format was "modern" rock and that's what we had the most of, someone decided that for a school year we might as well make the most of the music and play it seven days a week. Which was cool. The only catch was that student management had to come up with a name for it. Let me tell ya, minds stretched for this assignment: pencils scratched and erasers erased and pointless phrases were written on dry erase boards and then wiped away onto someone's hands, and then hands were wiped on a white shirt or blouse that made a mark that was a real chore to get out. Anyway, since the weekday tock shift was "The Drive" (see I'm not listening when you say good-bye), it made sense that the weekend version was called "The Road Trip." I guess it made sense. There were liners actually identifying the six hours on Saturday and Sunday (noon to 6pm) as the Road Trip. The following school year the six hours were taken over by classic rock.
The other thing is something you have to thank the Rentals for. Matt Sharp was the head guy in the band, defecting from behind the bass in Weezer for a one-off studio session that resulted in something that sounded like sonic leftovers from a refrigerator in the previous decade. Think keyboards. Also, think about who "P" is. That's what a lot of the DJs in the 1995-era were doing. I'm not saying we were an unimaginative bunch, but when the song was played most of the DJs went down the predicted path of chatting during stopsets, or breaks, asking who P was. I probably did the same as well, so I'm not casting stones, but I can't help wonder why couldn't we think of something better to talk about?
And for the record, it's Paulina Porizkova.
Think album producer Ric Ocasek.
Think cars.
Think a Road Trip.
See, it all fits.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Friends of P.
(Matt Sharp)
The Rentals
From the album Return of the Rentals
1995
I'm a good guy for a gal
So won't you look my palm over
I've got time for a chat
So won't you tell me my future
I'm gonna break down at fifty
and I'm not quite a stallion
I'm a good guy for a gal
and I'm mentally slipping
Oh yeah, Oh yeah, whats that you see?
Oh boy, find out, whats up with me
Oh yeah, Oh yeah, whats that you see?
Tell me, more of what's gonna be
If your friends with P., well then your friends with me
If you down with P., well then your down with me
Friends of P., Friends of P., Friends of P.
Friends
Somebody's fame a fortune
is gonna come to them early
I get two loves in my life
and I'm dying at 90
First is that when this song was popular, my undergraduate station couldn't decide on any sort of weekend programming. I've said before that weekends were usually wide open to musical formats that were mildly popular and didn't have enough music to make it five days a week. Since our core format was "modern" rock and that's what we had the most of, someone decided that for a school year we might as well make the most of the music and play it seven days a week. Which was cool. The only catch was that student management had to come up with a name for it. Let me tell ya, minds stretched for this assignment: pencils scratched and erasers erased and pointless phrases were written on dry erase boards and then wiped away onto someone's hands, and then hands were wiped on a white shirt or blouse that made a mark that was a real chore to get out. Anyway, since the weekday tock shift was "The Drive" (see I'm not listening when you say good-bye), it made sense that the weekend version was called "The Road Trip." I guess it made sense. There were liners actually identifying the six hours on Saturday and Sunday (noon to 6pm) as the Road Trip. The following school year the six hours were taken over by classic rock.
The other thing is something you have to thank the Rentals for. Matt Sharp was the head guy in the band, defecting from behind the bass in Weezer for a one-off studio session that resulted in something that sounded like sonic leftovers from a refrigerator in the previous decade. Think keyboards. Also, think about who "P" is. That's what a lot of the DJs in the 1995-era were doing. I'm not saying we were an unimaginative bunch, but when the song was played most of the DJs went down the predicted path of chatting during stopsets, or breaks, asking who P was. I probably did the same as well, so I'm not casting stones, but I can't help wonder why couldn't we think of something better to talk about?
And for the record, it's Paulina Porizkova.
Think album producer Ric Ocasek.
Think cars.
Think a Road Trip.
See, it all fits.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Friends of P.
(Matt Sharp)
The Rentals
From the album Return of the Rentals
1995
I'm a good guy for a gal
So won't you look my palm over
I've got time for a chat
So won't you tell me my future
I'm gonna break down at fifty
and I'm not quite a stallion
I'm a good guy for a gal
and I'm mentally slipping
Oh yeah, Oh yeah, whats that you see?
Oh boy, find out, whats up with me
Oh yeah, Oh yeah, whats that you see?
Tell me, more of what's gonna be
If your friends with P., well then your friends with me
If you down with P., well then your down with me
Friends of P., Friends of P., Friends of P.
Friends
Somebody's fame a fortune
is gonna come to them early
I get two loves in my life
and I'm dying at 90
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