Slide, slide slippity slide, I do what I do just to survive

As an undergraduate, the first Radio-Television-Film class I took was a fairly simple one entitled "Introduction to Broadcasting," where we were unofficially initiated into the department by the dry humour of Dr. Propel. He was really big into pop quizzes, dramatically asking us to "take out...TWO...sheets of...papah!", and making sure we knew not only the proper names of various production equipment but how to spell the names as well.

I remember two moments in this class that surely took place on the same day and had to do with characteristics of video production. The first lesson dealt specifically with shot setup and how a camera tilts, pans, zooms, trucks and so on. Somehow Dr. Propel managed to associate these words with the video for Coolio's Fantastic Voyage. Here I am, a freshman, and foolishly thinking that this is what we do in broadcasting classes: watch videos. I was briefly familiar with the song at the time and sat watching for the first time something that I gathered was old news to most of the rest of the class. What did it prove? There is a strong feeling that Dr. Propel wanted us to see how the director of the video managed to include various camera angles and movements, as well as camera tricks, into the short film to convey the entertaining festivities shown. Propel loved the scene where Coolio opened the trunk of his car and an entire zip code worth of people, who we were led to believe had been locked inside, stand up, stretch, and then walk nonchalantly onto the beach.

The other moment I recall involved another video, this time a snippet of the 1993 Sylvester Stallone vehicle, Cliffhanger. Propel wanted us to understand the important role sounds and music play in television and film, and had us watch an early scene in which Stallone, on the side of a cliff, successfully tries to reach a rope attached to a rescue helicopter. He is pulled to safety but the woman with him misses and falls, presumably, to her death. Our first viewing of the scene was played normally. The second viewing was more or less the same five minutes as before, only this time Propel had edited the chorus of Tom Petty's Free Fallin' over the scene with the woman falling, giving the picture a slightly different (read: comical) mood.

Years later and working at the radio station, when Coolio's hit single popped up on playlists I couldn't help but smile and shake my head. Am I the only person to think of people falling off cliffs when I hear "slide, slide slippity slide, gonna wanna write her name in the sky?"

Yes, probably.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Fantastic Voyage
(Alexander, Beavers, Craig, Dobbs, Ivey, McCain, Shelby, Shockley, Stokes, Wood)
Coolio
From the album It Takes a Thief
1994

Come on y'all let's take a ride
Don't ya say shit just get inside
It's time to take your ass on another kind of trip
Grab you gat with the extra clip
And close your eyes and hit the switch
We're going to a place where everybody kick it, kick it, kick it
Yea that's the ticket
Ain't no bloodin
ain't no crippin
ain't no fools in the part set trippin'
Everybody got a stack and it ain't no crack
And it really don't matter if you're white or black
I wanna take you there like the Staple Singers
Put something in the tank, and I know that I can bring ya
If ya can't take the heat get ya ass out the kitchen
We on a mission

Come along and ride on a fantastic voyage
Slide, slide slippity slide
I'm hittin switches on the block in a 65
Come along and ride on fantastic voyage
Slide slide hoo ride, ain't no valley low enough or mountain high

I'm tryin to find a place where I can live my life and
Maybe eat some steak with my beans and rice
A place where my kids can play outside without livin in fear of a drive by
And even if I get away from them drive by suckers
I still gotta worry about them snitch ass brothers
I keep on searchin and I keep on lookin
But fools are the same from Watts to Brooklyn
I try to keep my faith in my people
But sometimes my people be actin like they evil
You don't understand about runnin with a gang
Cause you don't bang
And you don't have to stand on the corner and slang
Cause you got your own thang
You can't help me if you can't help yourself
You better make a left

Come along and ride on a fantastic voyage
Slide, slide slippity slide
I do what I do just to survive
Come along and ride on a fantastic voyage
Slide slide hoo ride, that's why I pack my 45

Life is like a trip and then you die
Still trying to get a piece of that apple pie
Every game ain't the same cause the game still remain
Don't it seem kinda strange ain't a damn thing changed
If you don't work then you don't eat
And only down ass brothers can ride with me
Hip hop hop your 5 quickly down the block
Stay sucker free and shake the busters of your jock
You gotta have heart son if you wanna go
Watch this sweet chariot swing low
Ain't nobody crying ain't nobody dyin
Ain't nobody worryin everybody's tryin
Nothing from nothin leaves nothin
If you wanna have somethin you better stop frontin
What you gonna do when the 5 rolls by
You better be ready so you can ride

Come along and ride on a fantastic voyage
Slide slide slippity slide if you're living in the city it's do or die
Come along and ride on a fantastic voyage
Slide slide hoo ride you better be ready for the 5 rolls by

Just roll along (that's what you do)
Just roll along (that's right)
Just roll along (that's what you do)
Just roll along (that's right)

Do you want to ride with me
(REPEAT 9 TIMES)

Escher Sketch (A Tale of Two Rhythms)

Only I associate Eric Sevareid with jazz.

As graduate assistant/station manager, I was the one to lead but not be as hands-on as I had been just a semester before. I think I adjusted to this role fairly well, though I still liked to have a little fun from time to time. Case in point: promotions. My undergraduate radio station never had a strong operations section – promotions, traffic, and so – as those tasks would be divvyed up among student management and seldom carried out to their fullest potential. The other station, where I was in graduate school, was the opposite, where regular meetings were held about the subject organized by a group of interested students and led by the station manager: me.

The year I was there it was decided that we would make some 8½ x 11 flyers to advertise some of the music formats and news and sports broadcasts; students were to come up with drawings or designs during the next two-to-three weeks and then come together to share, pick their favorites and then get my approval. After that I had to walk them across the street to the student center and get them permitted by the Department of Student Activities. All they did was date-stamp an approval on the paper, which meant we could make copies on fluorescent-colored paper and hang them on designated kiosks on campus without danger of them being removed until the end of the semester.

Long story short: I forget the flyers other people came up with. I, on the other hand, wanted in on the fun and found, with my creative juices flowing, a stack of ancient Broadcasting magazines stuffed into a corner of the basement. Deep in the bowels of the building was a maze of doors, some leading to generators and power supplies, while others led to offices for graduate assistants and the easily-forgettable adjunct faculty. Here is where I raided the dusty periodicals and cut out random pictures to go with some strange concepts:

• Joe Isuzu noting the best two things that ever happened in his life were Whitesnake's David Coverdale and the rock music played on our station.
• The top half of a bald man's head, with the phrase "Ad-libbing is talking off the top of our head," for a flyer promoting our live sports talk show.
• A full-page advertisement for something about Daniel Boone. I replaced the actual ad copy with the phrase, "If there was radio when he was around, he'd listen, too."

Without a doubt, the oddest flyer I made was of the aforementioned Sevareid, in his later years and seated at a desk; I added a speech balloon that said something like, "I digs the jazz. I like being able to listen to it wherever I go. From what I hear, you can too."

And what jazz was this station playing? A better selection than my undergraduate station had, that's for sure. This station didn't sign-on until 10am and featured six hours of music, much of which I wasn't too familiar with. Michael Brecker however was a familiar name and sound to me and I remember seeing his album, Now You See It...Now You Don't, in the studio on various occasion, memorable for its M.C. Escher cover and associated title track.

As expected, everybody found the Leisure flyer funny; also expected was that none of the students of this communication department would recognize Sevareid. And why would they? David Coverdale jokes are funnier. Jazzier, even.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Escher Sketch (A Tale of Two Rhythms)
(Brecker)
Michael Brecker
From the album Now You See It...Now You Don't
1990

(Instrumental)

Curve's the words, spin's the verbs

"Sandman" was the name of a student – I think a freshman – that ended up as DJ for one of our Saturday night hip-hop programs. Freshmen did not get first choice of air shifts, as it was the upper-level courses that required upperclassmen putting in hours at the station. On rare occasions, usually if we were short staffed or needed some short-term fill in hosts, the Introduction to Broadcasting instructor would refer one or two students our way and we'd go from there. No diggity, no doubt.

He comes to mind for the simple fact that another student did not come to work the first Saturday night shift. Weekend evenings were always a chore to fill since most college kids wanted out of any sort of work commitments. I was Program Director and knew going into the weekend that we really weren't sure if the 9pm DJ would show. Knowing this, on the Thursday or Friday before I asked the 6pm DJ if he'd like to gain some extra experience in the event this other person never showed. Guess who got the extra experience? Who indeed: we were both there, as I had to be there to show him how to sign-off the transmitter at midnight. No diggity, no doubt.

I was told the next week to expect someone at 9pm. And although he was told to be there about 8:45, to pull your music and as a courtesy to the DJ on his or her way home, Sandman didn't make an appearance until 9pm. Training this short, whiny, cocky white kid with the accent – maybe Welsh, maybe South African – I soon realized two things. The first was I think that by "DJ" he thought this would be like a club – mixing and shoutouts and a lot of the stuff we didn't do. Sandman dually noted many times that evening he worked at club back in the town he was from, but I picked up on this early on when he went off in search of the other turntable. I also determined he really didn't want me around, pointing out playlists and public service announcements; I picked up on this fairly early, too, and I never was convinced he knew I was the program director. No diggity, no doubt.

In conclusion, Sandman made the cut and actually fleshed out the rest of the semester nicely. His only other memorable moment was his second or third week on the air when I caught him going off about his air name. Surely by now you know "Sandman" wasn’t his given name – and I don't remember what it was. Scott? Bruce? Whatever. Anyway, Sandman was apologizing to "all his fans" that he had used the name Sandman the prior week, not knowing another student was already using that name. So here was Sandman #2 giving shoutouts and "much love" to Sandman #1 (who I never knew) and tellin' stories 'bout his playin' and mixin' at tha club. I called him on the "magic phone" and told him to knock it off. No diggity, no doubt.

And in case you're not sure where this is going, or you're asking what's with all the "no diggities" and "no doubts," Sandman was a BLACKstreet fan and oft quoted the chorus of No Diggity. Likewise, he made a point of playing it at least once a shift, even when we knew it was not turning up on the weekly playlist. BLACKstreet consisted of Teddy Riley, Chauncey Hannibal, Eric Williams, and Terrell Philips who had a few minor hits in the early 1990s but garnered big attention with this popular track featuring Dr. Dre. While the group fell apart in the late 1990's, I have no clue about Sandman and if he stuck around at the radio station after I graduated.

For his sake, I hope he bagged up some radio experience (bag it up).

- - - - - - - - - - - -

No Diggity
( Dre/Hannibal/Riley/Stewart/Walters)
BLACKstreet
From the album Another Level
1996

You know what
I like the playettes
No diggity, no doubt
Play on playette
Play on playette
Yo Dre, drop the verse

[Dr. Dre]
It's going down, fade to Blackstreet
The homies got RB, collab' creations
Bump like Acne, no doubt
I put it down, never slouch
As long as my credit can vouch
A dog couldn't catch me ass out
Tell me who can stop when Dre making moves
Attracting honeys like a magnet
Giving em eargasms with my mellow accent
Still moving this flavour
With the homies Blackstreet and Teddy
The original rump shakers

Shorty in down, good Lord
Baby got em up open all over town
Strictly biz, she don't play around
Cover much ground, got game by the pound
Getting paid is a forte
Each and every day, true player way
I can't get her out of my mind
(what)
I think about the girl all the time

East side to the west side
Pushing phat rides, it's no surprise
She got tricks in the stash
Stacking up the cash
Fast when it comes to the gas
By no means average
As long as she's got to have it
Baby, you're a perfect ten, I wanna get in
Can I get down, so I can win

[1] - I like the way you work it
No diggity, I try to bag it up, bag it up
[Repeat 1 (3x)]

She's got class and style
She's managed by the town,
Baby never act wild
Very low key on the profile
Catching catichin' vilians is a no,
Let me tell you how it goes
Curve's the words, spin's the verbs
Lovers it curves so freak what you heard
Rolin' with the phatness
You don't even know what the half is
You gotta pay to play
Just for shorty, bang-bang, to look your way
I like the way you work it
Trumped tight, all day, every day
You're blowing my mind, maybe in time
Baby, I can get you in my ride

[Repeat 1 (4x)]

[2] - Hey yo, hey yo, hey yo, hey yo
Hey yo, that girl looks good
Hey yo, hey yo, hey yo, hey yo
Play on, play on playette
Hey yo, hey yo, hey yo, hey yo
You're my kind of girl, no diggity
Hey yo, hey yo, hey yo, hey yo
Hey

[Queen Pen]
Cause thats my peeps and we row G
Flying first class from New York City to Blackstreet
What you know about me, not a motherf.. thing
Cartier wooded frames sported by my shortie
As for me, icy gleaming pinky diamond ring
We be's the baddest clique up on the scene
Ain't you getting bored with these fake ass broads
I shows and proves, no doubt, I be takin you, so
Please excuse, if I come across rude
That's just me and that's how the playettes got to be
Stay kicking game with a capital G
Axe the peoples on my block, I'm as real as can be
Word is bond, faking jacks never been my flava
So, Teddy, pass the word to your nigga Chauncy
I be sitting in car, let's say around 3:30
Queen Pen and Blackstreet, it's no diggity
[Repeat 1 (4x)]

[Repeat 2]

Boy, you can't play me that way

Show-prep, as it was referred to at my undergraduate station, was research the DJ did before arriving for the three-hour shift and consisted of items that he or she could use to sound more interesting or knowledgeable during their stop sets. A lot of people were not the best at thinking off the top of their head and so we encouraged them to find something in the campus or local newspaper – or that fledging online vehicle called the Internet – to give them some sort of edge. We weren't asking for the DJ to talk twenty minutes on a subject - more like twenty seconds, a little chit-chat in between songs as opposed to the stodgy and bland, "I just played these songs, I will play these songs next, it's 8:20 and now here is a recorded public service announcement" type of breaks students tended to blanch their way through.

There was little celebration when the White Town song Your Woman showed up on a weekly preview disc one Tuesday afternoon. Nobody had heard of the group up to this point and the song probably snuck into our playlists because of our desire to add at least one track from each preview disc. No sooner did it waft over the transmitter did we realize that this was going to be one of those grandiose one-hit wonders. Why? Easy: not only did it come out of nowhere in the early months of 1997 but we never ever saw another track by White Town show up at the station. That is, another "new" track - at some point, the original track was supplemented by the less-interesting but not-as-annoying-sounding remix that appeared on a preview disc a month of so later. Oh, hooray: a remix.

It wasn't until years later I discovered that, besides fulfilling its destiny as a one-hit wonder as many on staff prognosticated, but White Town was a one-man band operation led by technophile Jyoti Mishra, a native of India living in England during the late 1990s. Also of interest is that the opening synthesized trumpet sounds are actually samples from the trumpet intro to the song My Woman by the popular British singer Al Bowlly. These tidbits would have been good candidates for any DJ in terms of show-prep. Don't I sound informative and like I know what I'm talking about...?

Boy, I'm finding out all these interesting facts about this song a decade later, when they are of no use to me. Also of no use to me is the fact Mishra released a follow-up album in 2000 and has been recording various singles since his late-90s chart debut.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Your Woman
(Jyoti Mishra)
White Town
From the album Women in Technology
1997

Just tell me what you've got to say to me
I've been waiting for so long to hear the truth
It comes as no surprise at all you see
So cut the crap and tell me that we're through

Now I know your heart, I know your mind
You don't even know you're bein' unkind
So much for all your highbrow Marxist ways
Just use me up and then you walk away
Boy, you can't play me that way

Well I guess what you say is true
I could never be the right kind of girl for you

CHORUS:

I could never be your woman
I could never be your woman
I could never be your woman
I could never be your woman

When I saw my best friend yesterday
She said she never liked you from the start
Well me, I wish that I could claim the same
But you always knew you held my heart

And you're such a charming, handsome man
Now I think I finally understand
Is it in your genes? I don't know
But I'll soon find out, that's for sure
Why did you play me this way

Well I guess what you say is true
I could never be the right kind of girl for you

(CHORUS)


Well I guess what they say is true
I could never spend my life with a man like you

(CHORUS)