As a freshman communication major, I was a member of the radio station staff and therefore spent time listening to and getting to know the radio station. That's not to say I wasn't immune to the effects and programming of the university television station, a low-powered cable-only job that had – or pretended to have – its own level of student management. But we'll get to that later.
Since the semester was just getting underway at this time, Community Channel Seven (the branded name of this operation) tended to air a lot of previous semester programming. After the semester got underway, students in the higher-level broadcasting courses would be responsible for creating new content, but for now all there was were older programs that the department coordinator liked and kept in rotation.
Students tended to create a myriad of programs for their assignments – anything from movie review programs to attempts at sitcoms, game shows, soap operas or something sports-themed. One of the sports programs I remember was not one of the assigned class programs, but something extra-curricular made for someone's resume tape - a fairly lengthy program on the women’s tennis team. I never knew the origin of the program, which ran about 30 minutes in length, a surprisingly long program as far as student productions went. Evidentially there was plenty of footage of the team in motion to select from...maybe the student was trying to impress someone on the team? Perhaps it was honoring a recently won tennis award? Nah – more than likely, someone was trying to pad a résumé tape.
What always deterred me from the program, aside from the excess of cheesy editing effects, was the music that served as a sort of unofficial theme for the program. It popped up in various places but never sounded "right" when it did. It was a rock song, you could tell, but with a sort of wheezy rhythm and with what sounded like a kazoo oozing out an unimpressive and nerve-twitching melody. It wasn't until I was in the middle of a classic rock shift years later that I discovered the problematic song. It was Crosstown Traffic, by guitar virtuoso Jimi Hendrix, of all people.
Perhaps had I first heard it in a different setting I would have had a better reaction to the song. But I didn’t. And I still don’t care for it. And Shudder to Think - that late-1980s/early-1990s pop/punk band consisting of Stuart Hill, Chris Matthews, Mike Russell, and Craig Wedren - didn’t help with their 1991 cover, either.
Sorry, Jimi.
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Crosstown Traffic
(Jimi Hendrix)
Shudder to Think
From the album Funeral at the Movies
1991
You jump in front of my car when you,
You know all the time that
Ninety miles an hour, girl, is the speed I drive
You tell me it’s alright, you don’t mind a little pain
You say you just want me to take you for a ride
You’re just like crosstown traffic
So hard to get through to you
Crosstown traffic
I don’t need to run over you
Crosstown traffic
All you do is slow me down
And I’m tryin to get on the other side of town
I’m not the only soul who’s accused of hit and run
Tire tracks all across your back
I can see you had your fun
But darlin can’t you see my signals turn from green to red
And with you I can see a traffic jam straight up ahead
You’re just like crosstown traffic
So hard to get through to you
Crosstown traffic
I don’t need to run over you
Crosstown traffic
All you do is slow me down
And I got better things on the other side of town
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Études d'exécution transcendante
Anybody who knows a lick about classical music knows that those "dead guys" (see La Traviata, No. 1, Prelude) didn't make an effort to keep their popular music within an arbitrary time limit (such as 3 minutes, 30 seconds). Pieces of music can run anywhere from eight to eighty minutes and may be Sehr leise beginnend (very soft in the beginning) such that for the first minute or so it sounds like nothing is going out over the air. Because of that, the classical shifts were some of the most tranquil times people could spend at the station. Of course, explaining this always begs the question: what exactly do you during a classical shift?
Well, you're not just sticking in a CD and then running off to play tennis. Like any other three-hour shift, you start by checking and recording the transmitter levels (or signing on the station, for those lucky early birds; see Symphony No. 9 in D minor, Op. 125). If you're not the first DJ of the day, hopefully you have arrived a few minutes early to assure the current DJ he or she will be leaving soon and, more so, to pull your music for at least your first hour on the air. And music, more so the length of music, often dictated what you did that day.
I've mentioned the programming clocks (see I see you dancing on the stage of memory), but those didn't really work for this format. If you had four or five short pieces, you would be on the mic a lot, as we were required to come on after each song and identify the previous piece (its name, the composer, and who had performed it). Live breaks would just be a quick backsell of what was heard, maybe some prep (see Boy, you can't play me that way), announcing what was next, and then starting another CD. At least twice an hour there was a stopset where we interrupted the music for more than just a quick talking break and ran some recorded Public Service Announcements and station promos before the next piece. You know, just to break up the constant sound of music. Somewhere in the midst of this we gave a brief weather report and at the top of the hour we made sure to include the legal identification, as was required.
Now, none of what I just explained worked if you had one of those eighty-minute pieces of music. While selections like this were in the control room, we tried to use them for special occasions and not everyday use. Maybe it was near the end of the semester and you needed to study for a test. Maybe you were the program director who got stuck on this shift because someone didn't show up and the PD had other priorities. There was always a reason and usually you could sway student management to allow you to change the playlist.
One of the things we had to always tell new people was that, yes, while we drummed it into your head that the legal I.D. is played near the top of the hour, it doesn't have to hit it exactly. With these long-running classical pieces, we were allowed to forgo the requirement at its usual time, as long as we made up for it at the next natural break in programming. So if I signed-on at 6 a.m. and started off with an eighty-minute piece, you wouldn't hear me until about 7:20, where upon I would fit the legal I.D. into something – maybe the weather.
While this became an easy way to get out of doing anything, I recall more than a few DJs who hadn't mastered the concept of the sixty-minute hour and started a 70-minute piece at eleven o'clock. The problem here was that there was a definite break at noon when we had a newscast and switched formats. The answer: pitch control. Well, not always the answer (see The lily-white cavity crazes). And then a note in the office files that whoever was on the air didn't have the luxury of deviating from the playlist next time.
Here’s a great example of an extended piece: 70 minutes of music by Franz Liszt.
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Études d'exécution transcendante
(Franz Liszt)
Performed by Aquiles Delle-Vigne
From the album 12 Etudes d'exécution transcendante; La Lugubre Gondola
1992
Well, you're not just sticking in a CD and then running off to play tennis. Like any other three-hour shift, you start by checking and recording the transmitter levels (or signing on the station, for those lucky early birds; see Symphony No. 9 in D minor, Op. 125). If you're not the first DJ of the day, hopefully you have arrived a few minutes early to assure the current DJ he or she will be leaving soon and, more so, to pull your music for at least your first hour on the air. And music, more so the length of music, often dictated what you did that day.
I've mentioned the programming clocks (see I see you dancing on the stage of memory), but those didn't really work for this format. If you had four or five short pieces, you would be on the mic a lot, as we were required to come on after each song and identify the previous piece (its name, the composer, and who had performed it). Live breaks would just be a quick backsell of what was heard, maybe some prep (see Boy, you can't play me that way), announcing what was next, and then starting another CD. At least twice an hour there was a stopset where we interrupted the music for more than just a quick talking break and ran some recorded Public Service Announcements and station promos before the next piece. You know, just to break up the constant sound of music. Somewhere in the midst of this we gave a brief weather report and at the top of the hour we made sure to include the legal identification, as was required.
Now, none of what I just explained worked if you had one of those eighty-minute pieces of music. While selections like this were in the control room, we tried to use them for special occasions and not everyday use. Maybe it was near the end of the semester and you needed to study for a test. Maybe you were the program director who got stuck on this shift because someone didn't show up and the PD had other priorities. There was always a reason and usually you could sway student management to allow you to change the playlist.
One of the things we had to always tell new people was that, yes, while we drummed it into your head that the legal I.D. is played near the top of the hour, it doesn't have to hit it exactly. With these long-running classical pieces, we were allowed to forgo the requirement at its usual time, as long as we made up for it at the next natural break in programming. So if I signed-on at 6 a.m. and started off with an eighty-minute piece, you wouldn't hear me until about 7:20, where upon I would fit the legal I.D. into something – maybe the weather.
While this became an easy way to get out of doing anything, I recall more than a few DJs who hadn't mastered the concept of the sixty-minute hour and started a 70-minute piece at eleven o'clock. The problem here was that there was a definite break at noon when we had a newscast and switched formats. The answer: pitch control. Well, not always the answer (see The lily-white cavity crazes). And then a note in the office files that whoever was on the air didn't have the luxury of deviating from the playlist next time.
Here’s a great example of an extended piece: 70 minutes of music by Franz Liszt.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Études d'exécution transcendante
(Franz Liszt)
Performed by Aquiles Delle-Vigne
From the album 12 Etudes d'exécution transcendante; La Lugubre Gondola
1992
Sunday, June 10, 2007
La Traviata, No. 1, Prelude
How did a college-owned and operated radio station end up playing the most classical music in town? (Trivia: a portion of the first sentence of this paragraph was actually used in a slightly tongue-in-cheek promotional piece one year. In the 200-level Advance Audio Production class, where one requirement was to voice a 30-second station promo, one of the rock DJs made what sounded like a traditional in-your-face spot for high energy rock-n-roll, but instead promoted our playing of "the most classical music" during our "parade of all-star dead guys" like Bach, Wagner, Verdi, and other...well...uh, as he said...dead guys.)
Anyway, as I mentioned before, college-run stations tend to cater to a wide assortment of tastes and trends. While every other station “right” of the dial (92.1 and up) oozed their Top 40-ish tripe, we could promote our eclectic airings of jazz, blues, and folk music. And, yes, classical music. And if you haven’t guessed already, our station played the only classical music in town. That's how trend-setting we were.
From what I recall hearing in later years, I think classical was the favorite format of the head of the department, Ronald Langley Cornish. Dr. Cornish was a short, roly-poly little thing that wore suspenders a lot and sort of had a Commander McBragg thing going on with his wavy gray hair and forthright composure. With his hawkish features and mannerism, Dr. C seldom mingled on the first floor with radio station students but he was known to make calls from his lofty third floor office.
How could you garner such a call from Dr. Cornish? What could someone do to be so honored? Well, first off, he never called the studio directly – it was always to the faculty advisor – and it usually had to do something with the classical format. What else would he be listening to? (Well, the semester before, of course, he listened to rock-themed morning shows. One wonders how much weight he threw around to get these ousted?)
Two sure fire ways to get on his bad side was for a DJ to 1) mispronounce the name of composers, and 2) feign interest in the format. It was fairly easy to identify who was bored and did little more than say "that was Brahms and next is Chopin." If you fell into that category then at some point you were certain to get a call from the faculty advisor and be asked to pep it up a bit. You know, not go in there and be, like, so psyched up about a 18-minute dirge, but rather present yourself professionally with the material at hand. I think the key thing was to make sure the students understood that, once out of college, they might have to adapt their personality (and more so, their wannabe personality) to fit the job they had to take. You see, not everybody walks out with a diploma and becomes a shock-jock-rocker later that month. You may have to make your bones with the classics.
La Traviata, written in 1853, is now considered to be one of Verdi’s most popular works. Wanted to get that out there, too.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
No. 1, Prelude
(Giuseppe Verdi)
Performed by La Scala Theater Orchestra
Conducted by Riccardo Muti
From the album La Traviata, opera
1993
Anyway, as I mentioned before, college-run stations tend to cater to a wide assortment of tastes and trends. While every other station “right” of the dial (92.1 and up) oozed their Top 40-ish tripe, we could promote our eclectic airings of jazz, blues, and folk music. And, yes, classical music. And if you haven’t guessed already, our station played the only classical music in town. That's how trend-setting we were.
From what I recall hearing in later years, I think classical was the favorite format of the head of the department, Ronald Langley Cornish. Dr. Cornish was a short, roly-poly little thing that wore suspenders a lot and sort of had a Commander McBragg thing going on with his wavy gray hair and forthright composure. With his hawkish features and mannerism, Dr. C seldom mingled on the first floor with radio station students but he was known to make calls from his lofty third floor office.
How could you garner such a call from Dr. Cornish? What could someone do to be so honored? Well, first off, he never called the studio directly – it was always to the faculty advisor – and it usually had to do something with the classical format. What else would he be listening to? (Well, the semester before, of course, he listened to rock-themed morning shows. One wonders how much weight he threw around to get these ousted?)
Two sure fire ways to get on his bad side was for a DJ to 1) mispronounce the name of composers, and 2) feign interest in the format. It was fairly easy to identify who was bored and did little more than say "that was Brahms and next is Chopin." If you fell into that category then at some point you were certain to get a call from the faculty advisor and be asked to pep it up a bit. You know, not go in there and be, like, so psyched up about a 18-minute dirge, but rather present yourself professionally with the material at hand. I think the key thing was to make sure the students understood that, once out of college, they might have to adapt their personality (and more so, their wannabe personality) to fit the job they had to take. You see, not everybody walks out with a diploma and becomes a shock-jock-rocker later that month. You may have to make your bones with the classics.
La Traviata, written in 1853, is now considered to be one of Verdi’s most popular works. Wanted to get that out there, too.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
No. 1, Prelude
(Giuseppe Verdi)
Performed by La Scala Theater Orchestra
Conducted by Riccardo Muti
From the album La Traviata, opera
1993
Sunday, June 3, 2007
Ride of the Valkyries
The merry ole morning shows of yore did not survive into the following spring semester. Neither, for that matter, did I ride onward into the next semester, either. I cannot recall now my reasons but I missed out on the station welcome meeting shortly after the semester began. Part of me tends to think I just forgot to show up and I was too timid to stop by and see if there was a news position open. I still had classes in the building (at least, one class) and so I picked up from time to time on some of what was going on. I remember, early on in the semester, seeing James (from the Thursday morning "Mike and James" show, see There where the air is free, we'll be what we want to be) sitting in the control room; I somehow garnered enough courage to stop in and chat with him. It was there I learned the morning show concept had been canceled.
After the three-hour morning show ended at 9 a.m., an extended block of classical music followed – until some point in the mid-to-late afternoon, somewhere between 3 and 6 o'clock, as I think they may have tried to fit some jazz in somewhere. I hope they tried to fit some jazz in somewhere. For the time being, classical music replaced the rock-themed morning shows, as I vividly recall James' disdain for the slow droning of the music that morning I stopped by.
I think this disdain of classical music was something many students shared, though I will not say every student. So then, you might wonder, why we even bothered with such a format? Well, let's say we had to do something with the thousands of classical CDs in the control room. Yes, there were literally boo-hoos of discs, many featuring names people had seen but never had to pronounce; foreign names that became something a joke for those who didn't practice before getting on the mic and ending up tongue-tied in their blissful ignorance. We had to have been on some distribution list, or noted in some newsletter as a classical station, because we often would receive complementary CDs of music from Sony or Phillips or some classical music label, sending us a recent recording of, as often was the case, someone's centuries old narcissistic experiment in sound. Really, how many copies of Bach and Wagner and Beethoven did we have stuffed in there, and more so how many were regularly played?
Well, all those multiple copies of the same "piece" – not song – were actually different because they were "under the baton" of a different conductor and performed by diverse groups of musicians. One disc might feature the Bayreuther Festspiele Orchestra with Daniel Barenboim leading, and another might have Reginald Zurcaled conducting the Elchkäse Orchester – subtle difference, yes, perhaps, to those dedicated listeners, but nothing a traditional college student spent time worrying over. To them, it was just the same song.
Speaking of Richard Wagner's Die Walküre, best known for its Ride of the Valkyries piece, it was always a joy to have someone new to the classical format try to muddle through their shift without use of the pronunciation guides. Instruction on how to say "Wagner," and other names, was on the playlist, as well as printed in a vocabulary document someone had generated, and in a "guide to the classics" textbook-like tome that seldom got used. Still, even with three examples, this piece was often attributed to something that sounded similar to, "Richard Wagoneer" instead of "Reah-kard Vog-kner."
And stuff like that always warranted a ride from station management into the control room for a quick vocabulary lesson.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Act III, No. 31, "Hojotoho" (Ride of the Valkyries)
(Richard Wagner)
Performed by Bayreuther Festspiele Orchester
Conducted by Daniel Barenboim
From the album Die Walküre (The Valkyrie), opera, WWV 86b
1993
After the three-hour morning show ended at 9 a.m., an extended block of classical music followed – until some point in the mid-to-late afternoon, somewhere between 3 and 6 o'clock, as I think they may have tried to fit some jazz in somewhere. I hope they tried to fit some jazz in somewhere. For the time being, classical music replaced the rock-themed morning shows, as I vividly recall James' disdain for the slow droning of the music that morning I stopped by.
I think this disdain of classical music was something many students shared, though I will not say every student. So then, you might wonder, why we even bothered with such a format? Well, let's say we had to do something with the thousands of classical CDs in the control room. Yes, there were literally boo-hoos of discs, many featuring names people had seen but never had to pronounce; foreign names that became something a joke for those who didn't practice before getting on the mic and ending up tongue-tied in their blissful ignorance. We had to have been on some distribution list, or noted in some newsletter as a classical station, because we often would receive complementary CDs of music from Sony or Phillips or some classical music label, sending us a recent recording of, as often was the case, someone's centuries old narcissistic experiment in sound. Really, how many copies of Bach and Wagner and Beethoven did we have stuffed in there, and more so how many were regularly played?
Well, all those multiple copies of the same "piece" – not song – were actually different because they were "under the baton" of a different conductor and performed by diverse groups of musicians. One disc might feature the Bayreuther Festspiele Orchestra with Daniel Barenboim leading, and another might have Reginald Zurcaled conducting the Elchkäse Orchester – subtle difference, yes, perhaps, to those dedicated listeners, but nothing a traditional college student spent time worrying over. To them, it was just the same song.
Speaking of Richard Wagner's Die Walküre, best known for its Ride of the Valkyries piece, it was always a joy to have someone new to the classical format try to muddle through their shift without use of the pronunciation guides. Instruction on how to say "Wagner," and other names, was on the playlist, as well as printed in a vocabulary document someone had generated, and in a "guide to the classics" textbook-like tome that seldom got used. Still, even with three examples, this piece was often attributed to something that sounded similar to, "Richard Wagoneer" instead of "Reah-kard Vog-kner."
And stuff like that always warranted a ride from station management into the control room for a quick vocabulary lesson.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Act III, No. 31, "Hojotoho" (Ride of the Valkyries)
(Richard Wagner)
Performed by Bayreuther Festspiele Orchester
Conducted by Daniel Barenboim
From the album Die Walküre (The Valkyrie), opera, WWV 86b
1993
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