This is a test. For the next thirty seconds, this station will conduct a test of the Emergency Broadcast System. This is only a test.
I've made mention of the transmitter logs (see Symphony No. 9 in D minor, Op. 125), which the operator on duty had to sign and date before assuming responsibility for what was being broadcast. One of things everybody had to know who worked the control room was how to perform a weekly test of the Emergency Broadcast System, the EBS. Created in the mid-1960s and very much civil defense chic, the test was both a sense of honor (for DJs who were now the ones giddily interrupting someone else’s programming, much as the EBS has interrupted their television and radio programming growing up) and nuisance (as it took up precious time in their music shift).
At some point every week there was to be a test of the EBS equipment. In short, it simply meant you ran a recorded introduction, turned up one of the channels on the audio board that played the recognizable tones (at 853 Hz and 960 Hz), and then played the recorded concluding remarks. That was the test, in all its push-button simplicity.
This is a test of the Emergency Broadcast System. The broadcasters of your area in voluntary cooperation with the FCC and federal, state, and local authorities have developed this system to keep you informed in the event of an emergency.
It was beaten into our heads that we had to know this in the event someone from the FCC ever walked in and requested we run a test. Dr. Propel, on par with his usual goofiness, often would waltz by the studio window, wearing an old brown fedora with a tag in the brim that had the word "PRESS" scribbled out and replaced with the letters "FCC." While an obvious joke, it was to drive home the point that you had to know the test.
If this had been an actual emergency, the signal you just heard would have been followed by official news or information.
The Emergency Broadcast Network (EBN), on the other hand, was a group of performance artists and musicians from Rhode Island that helped introduce the concept of video scratching. Here's how EBN's Brian Kane, Josh Pearson, and Gardner Post worked: take a clip off television news of someone announcing, "Emergency;" then of someone else saying, "Broadcast;" followed by "Network" said by someone else. Create some funky backbeat rhythm to go with that and you've got what EBN did best. There were a few other similar artists out there around this time, mixing and mashing together sounds with the latest in digital audio equipment. In the past, to create something akin to this you’d probably have a live band performing to an audiotape spliced together of lost-and-found sounds. EBN, and others, could simply record a sound into their computer and then cut, copy, and paste to their heart’s content. Add some visuals – on the fledging CD- ROM medium – and you’ve got a video, albeit not on par with what MTV plays (or played, as was the trend).
This station serves the local area. This concludes this test of the Emergency Broadcast System.
Of course, back at the station, by the time everybody had mastered the art of the weekly test of the 30-year-old EBS, the powers-that-be finally updated the concept, resulting in the Emergency Alert System (EAS). There was a difference, as well as mass education of everyone to know how to operate the EAS. It just didn't gel with some people....
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Electronic Behavior Control System
(EBN)
Emergency Broadcast Network
From the album Telecommunication Breakdown
1995
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Come check my sockets for eyes
At my undergraduate station we did not, surprisingly, have a lot of full-length albums for the rock shifts. Don’t laugh - we weren’t as clueless at that makes us sound. We had some full albums, usually due in part to a record label sending some promotional copies our way, or someone on staff donating their copy to the station for either a short-term or permanent loan. A majority of the music came in the form of weekly preview discs. Every Tuesday afternoon there was a dash to the mailroom – like kids racing toward a Christmas tree – to see what tracks were included on this week's blue disc. If there was a song on the disc that we didn't have yet, we could quickly enter it into rotation. Or, as it were many times, the song wasn't included and we would have to wait in hopes that the latest track from the "it" artist of the week was included on the next disc the following week.
Ripping open the package, the directors scanned the disc to see what was salvageable. Even though the discs had 10 to 20 tracks, the music ranged from what was considered adult alternative to loud rock. The music director would then decide which songs, if any, we would put into rotation. Sometimes we featured over half the songs on a disc, other times we played only two out of the twenty tracks, thereby wasting a lot of space in the control with a rather useless disc.
Still, we were on the mailing list of some prominent record labels and, from time to time, we did receive some prominent albums. Nothing was more "prominent" the week that we found an album from some English-sounding group called Subcircus. What was special enough with either that band or our station to warrant this album be sent our way out of a whole slew of other possibilities? The music director and I listened to a few of the tracks and decided to add the strongest sounding one into rotation. We really liked the second track, a somewhat catchy tune called 86'd.
Subcircus was indeed from England, a quartet of musicians that included Tommas Arnby, Nikolaj Bloch, Peter Bradley, Jr., and George Brown. The foursome came together in the mid-1990s, making a name for themselves on the club circuit before releasing their debut album, Carousel, in 1996; it hit the United States market the following year. And that’s about all we heard from them. The group became another random band, one nobody had heard of prior and I don't think anybody has heard much from them since. Well, I see they released their follow-up in 2000 but I don’t think it was enough noise to grab anyone’s attention this side of the pond.
While I liked the track and it got moderate airplay on the station, it never blossomed into the hit that I think the band or label hoped. However I did get a chuckle many months later when our Tuesday preview disk arrived and I noticed that 86’d was included on the disc. Wow – were we really that far ahead of the game for once? While I now see this might be due to album being released at different times in England and the United States, at the time, the music director and I found it a triumph for the station. We had gotten the full album what seemed like a year before the preview disc people thought the song was popular enough to include.
We were happy, we were boasting, but I just don’t think anyone cared at that point.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
86’d
(Subcircus)
Subcircus
From the album Carousel
1996
Ripping open the package, the directors scanned the disc to see what was salvageable. Even though the discs had 10 to 20 tracks, the music ranged from what was considered adult alternative to loud rock. The music director would then decide which songs, if any, we would put into rotation. Sometimes we featured over half the songs on a disc, other times we played only two out of the twenty tracks, thereby wasting a lot of space in the control with a rather useless disc.
Still, we were on the mailing list of some prominent record labels and, from time to time, we did receive some prominent albums. Nothing was more "prominent" the week that we found an album from some English-sounding group called Subcircus. What was special enough with either that band or our station to warrant this album be sent our way out of a whole slew of other possibilities? The music director and I listened to a few of the tracks and decided to add the strongest sounding one into rotation. We really liked the second track, a somewhat catchy tune called 86'd.
Subcircus was indeed from England, a quartet of musicians that included Tommas Arnby, Nikolaj Bloch, Peter Bradley, Jr., and George Brown. The foursome came together in the mid-1990s, making a name for themselves on the club circuit before releasing their debut album, Carousel, in 1996; it hit the United States market the following year. And that’s about all we heard from them. The group became another random band, one nobody had heard of prior and I don't think anybody has heard much from them since. Well, I see they released their follow-up in 2000 but I don’t think it was enough noise to grab anyone’s attention this side of the pond.
While I liked the track and it got moderate airplay on the station, it never blossomed into the hit that I think the band or label hoped. However I did get a chuckle many months later when our Tuesday preview disk arrived and I noticed that 86’d was included on the disc. Wow – were we really that far ahead of the game for once? While I now see this might be due to album being released at different times in England and the United States, at the time, the music director and I found it a triumph for the station. We had gotten the full album what seemed like a year before the preview disc people thought the song was popular enough to include.
We were happy, we were boasting, but I just don’t think anyone cared at that point.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
86’d
(Subcircus)
Subcircus
From the album Carousel
1996
Sunday, August 5, 2007
The Late Late Show with Tom Snyder
As undergraduates it was inevitable that we would be required to enroll in the advanced television course where our chief assignment was to create our own television program. The most time-consuming aspect wasn't writing or shooting but rather editing together our various clips of video. Because the video editing bays were always in use during the day - either by television station staff, lab practicum classes, or someone else enrolled in the advance television course – we had the option of signing up for "overnight editing," which I must confess could be as miserable as it sounds.
Once you requested this nighttime shift you were expected to be at your video bay that night at ten o'clock and working – be that until midnight or six the next morning. But cooped into the closet-sized space with noisy equipment and a just-as-annoying collaborator for more than thirty minutes easily took its toll. Breaks were frequent, as were the late-night delivered pizzas from the local joint a few blocks away (with Zero bars for desert from the machine upstairs). When it was time to get away, students stumbled in a daze toward the newsroom for fresh air, something to eat, a chance to chat with whoever else was still around, and catch some late night television. The program of choice?
Tom Snyder.
During the spring of 1997 and the following 1997-98 school year, those of us stuck in the communication building had regular visits with Tom and The Late Late Show. Usually a couple nights each week we were Tom's audience, lounging on bulky furniture or sprawled across the floor with our minds unwinding after hours of school and work. How we managed to frequently miss our bed times (and still make it to class later that day) still amazes me a decade later, and so I assume there must have been some magic in those pictures flying in the air. How we first found Tom is an answer lost to the ages but there was something about this erudite man that we all gravitated toward. Even students who seldom fraternized with others during the day, and who would be working overnight to complete a project, might meet by chance and soon find themselves sharing a laugh with Tom and the rest of us. One thing that made it special was the fact that there wasn't then – and isn’t now – anything else like the colorcast: the atmosphere of the studio, the long-form topics discussed, and the wide spectrum of guests whose discussions could evoke a difference of opinion or a giddy laugh from the host. We never called in – we often thought about it – and so we just listened. And if the guest wasn’t grabbing our attention for whatever reason, we just listened to Tom.
We in the audience laughed a lot, too – at stories about trains, dogs, the Companion, or whatever else; at his banter with the stage crew; at the quick-witted mockery when things went awry; and the jokes he shared from other viewers:
When did Pinocchio realize he was made of wood and not a real boy?
The day his hand caught on fire.
And then somewhere in the mix we remembered we were there for a reason and we had work to do. Out of courtesy we waited until a commercial to make our less-than-energetic exit.
The Late Late Show with Tom Snyder debuted on the CBS Network in January of 1995, and ran for over 800 episodes, coming to a close on a Friday night in 1999.
While we mourn his passing, we quaff a colortini to the man who helped get us through those late, late nights.
Good night, Tom.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
The Late Late Show with Tom Snyder
Theme Music Composed and Performed by
(David Sanborn)
Once you requested this nighttime shift you were expected to be at your video bay that night at ten o'clock and working – be that until midnight or six the next morning. But cooped into the closet-sized space with noisy equipment and a just-as-annoying collaborator for more than thirty minutes easily took its toll. Breaks were frequent, as were the late-night delivered pizzas from the local joint a few blocks away (with Zero bars for desert from the machine upstairs). When it was time to get away, students stumbled in a daze toward the newsroom for fresh air, something to eat, a chance to chat with whoever else was still around, and catch some late night television. The program of choice?
Tom Snyder.
During the spring of 1997 and the following 1997-98 school year, those of us stuck in the communication building had regular visits with Tom and The Late Late Show. Usually a couple nights each week we were Tom's audience, lounging on bulky furniture or sprawled across the floor with our minds unwinding after hours of school and work. How we managed to frequently miss our bed times (and still make it to class later that day) still amazes me a decade later, and so I assume there must have been some magic in those pictures flying in the air. How we first found Tom is an answer lost to the ages but there was something about this erudite man that we all gravitated toward. Even students who seldom fraternized with others during the day, and who would be working overnight to complete a project, might meet by chance and soon find themselves sharing a laugh with Tom and the rest of us. One thing that made it special was the fact that there wasn't then – and isn’t now – anything else like the colorcast: the atmosphere of the studio, the long-form topics discussed, and the wide spectrum of guests whose discussions could evoke a difference of opinion or a giddy laugh from the host. We never called in – we often thought about it – and so we just listened. And if the guest wasn’t grabbing our attention for whatever reason, we just listened to Tom.We in the audience laughed a lot, too – at stories about trains, dogs, the Companion, or whatever else; at his banter with the stage crew; at the quick-witted mockery when things went awry; and the jokes he shared from other viewers:
When did Pinocchio realize he was made of wood and not a real boy?
The day his hand caught on fire.
And then somewhere in the mix we remembered we were there for a reason and we had work to do. Out of courtesy we waited until a commercial to make our less-than-energetic exit.
The Late Late Show with Tom Snyder debuted on the CBS Network in January of 1995, and ran for over 800 episodes, coming to a close on a Friday night in 1999.
While we mourn his passing, we quaff a colortini to the man who helped get us through those late, late nights.
Good night, Tom.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
The Late Late Show with Tom Snyder
Theme Music Composed and Performed by
(David Sanborn)
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Crazy tv dreams might be true, not what it seems
When we last left Nat Bernstein and his Wright at Night program, the zero-hit wonder group the Ska-Bees had stormed out of the studio after one program as house band, swearing to never return, and therefore throwing a wrench in Nat's plans (see Theme to Wright at Night). Wright at Night, like everyone’s program, was contractually ordered to produce five episodes. Perhaps "contractually ordered" is a bit strong here; let's say, instead, your grade was dependent on your ability to complete a 15-or-30-minute program every other week.
Nat did the only thing he could for his live-to-tape, sans-audience late night talk show: he just reused the tape from the first episode for each opening and closing on subsequent weeks. Yes, at least three out of the five episodes featured the same shot of the Ska-Bees playing the same theme song. Word around the department was that some of the Ska-Bees eventually caught a later episode and all but demanded their likeness be removed from the program. Their request was honored.
Wright at Night did not really gel as a late night talk show because Community Channel Seven did not have late night hours – they usually signed-off student programming between 9 and 10 p.m., making Wright at Night more of a prime time talk show that aired before the all-night Community Bulletin Board. In turn, guests were hard to come by, there was no band, and any thought of spontaneity was lost on the multiple takes during taping. By the last program, Nat had apparently given up all hope and taken his J.T. Wright character onto campus one afternoon for silly "man on the corner" type confrontations. It was painful, not just because the last show was a total flip of format from the previous episodes, but more so because it was apparent the cast and crew was just going through the motions to fulfill class requirements and vomit out a final show. Soon the semester was over and there should end the fateful tale of Nathan Bernstein, and more so, J.T. Wright.
Visiting campus four of five years after graduating (and after my dive into and surfacing out of graduate school), I ran into the faculty advisor for the radio station who, in the course of our conversation, mentioned Bernstein. I was surprised to hear that Nat had surfaced not long before at the department's spring awards ceremony, trying to bask in his former glory. Why he showed up in the first place never made sense but, never the less, as an alumnus he was allowed to present one of the awards and did so – after prefacing his remarks with a comedy routine a la J.T. Wright. He bombed, or so said the faculty advisor, since no one knew who he was or understood his jokes.
When I heard that sad little story all I could envision was Nat alone on stage, grasping a golf club the same way that Bob Hope would, trying to get a rise from people who didn’t understand who he was or why we was wearing that god-awful sweater. An easy target of ridicule, indeed.
The Foo Fighters, or at least Dave Grohl, sang about being Alone + Easy Target on their debut album, one whose tracks easily fit our station’s sound and got plenty of airtime the summer and fall semester of 1995. After that, most Foo Fighters became popular currency at the station, and rightly so.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Alone + Easy Target
(Dave Grohl)
Foo Fighters
From the album Foo Fighters
1995
They knew all along
They're not dumb, they were so wrong
She's not always fun
Hate it now, call when i'm done
Pieces fell in place
Puzzles suck, laugh in my face
Turn and swing the pace
I'll give this, keep the good waist
Head is on
I want out
I'm alone and i'm an easy target
Metronome
I want out
I'm alone and i'm an easy target
Crazy tv dreams might be true
Not what it seems.
Food and cavities, chewing words
Tear at the seams
He don't feel so good, don't feel bad
Not that he should
I don't feel so good, don't feel bad
Not that i should
Did you ever listen?
Get out
Nat did the only thing he could for his live-to-tape, sans-audience late night talk show: he just reused the tape from the first episode for each opening and closing on subsequent weeks. Yes, at least three out of the five episodes featured the same shot of the Ska-Bees playing the same theme song. Word around the department was that some of the Ska-Bees eventually caught a later episode and all but demanded their likeness be removed from the program. Their request was honored.
Wright at Night did not really gel as a late night talk show because Community Channel Seven did not have late night hours – they usually signed-off student programming between 9 and 10 p.m., making Wright at Night more of a prime time talk show that aired before the all-night Community Bulletin Board. In turn, guests were hard to come by, there was no band, and any thought of spontaneity was lost on the multiple takes during taping. By the last program, Nat had apparently given up all hope and taken his J.T. Wright character onto campus one afternoon for silly "man on the corner" type confrontations. It was painful, not just because the last show was a total flip of format from the previous episodes, but more so because it was apparent the cast and crew was just going through the motions to fulfill class requirements and vomit out a final show. Soon the semester was over and there should end the fateful tale of Nathan Bernstein, and more so, J.T. Wright.
Visiting campus four of five years after graduating (and after my dive into and surfacing out of graduate school), I ran into the faculty advisor for the radio station who, in the course of our conversation, mentioned Bernstein. I was surprised to hear that Nat had surfaced not long before at the department's spring awards ceremony, trying to bask in his former glory. Why he showed up in the first place never made sense but, never the less, as an alumnus he was allowed to present one of the awards and did so – after prefacing his remarks with a comedy routine a la J.T. Wright. He bombed, or so said the faculty advisor, since no one knew who he was or understood his jokes.
When I heard that sad little story all I could envision was Nat alone on stage, grasping a golf club the same way that Bob Hope would, trying to get a rise from people who didn’t understand who he was or why we was wearing that god-awful sweater. An easy target of ridicule, indeed.
The Foo Fighters, or at least Dave Grohl, sang about being Alone + Easy Target on their debut album, one whose tracks easily fit our station’s sound and got plenty of airtime the summer and fall semester of 1995. After that, most Foo Fighters became popular currency at the station, and rightly so.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Alone + Easy Target
(Dave Grohl)
Foo Fighters
From the album Foo Fighters
1995
They knew all along
They're not dumb, they were so wrong
She's not always fun
Hate it now, call when i'm done
Pieces fell in place
Puzzles suck, laugh in my face
Turn and swing the pace
I'll give this, keep the good waist
Head is on
I want out
I'm alone and i'm an easy target
Metronome
I want out
I'm alone and i'm an easy target
Crazy tv dreams might be true
Not what it seems.
Food and cavities, chewing words
Tear at the seams
He don't feel so good, don't feel bad
Not that he should
I don't feel so good, don't feel bad
Not that i should
Did you ever listen?
Get out
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Theme to Wright at Night
Being communication majors meant we were expected to put some time into the student-run television station just as we did the radio station. One of the class requirements, usually for upperclassmen, was to produce some sort of weekly television program. Some people created movie review programs, some attempted game shows, and others tried their hand at artsy dramas that made little sense outside the creator's mind. Nathan "Nat" Bernstein aimed to emulate David Letterman with the creation of "Wright at Night." J.T. Wright was Nat's radio name that he carried over to his television program, a sort of hip persona that he thought would mesh well with the supposed hip and trendy guests he would have on his show (see It feels like I'm talking to a lonely man without a vision).
Admittedly it was an interesting idea; however you have to realize that for something of this caliber to be successful you have to have a dedicated staff. Meaning, you either put everything else aside to make it work or you did it half-ass and let the viewers see through the whole mess for what it was. Nat envisioned a grand production with a house band and special guests and contests and becoming a minor campus celebrity. Again, I emphasize: we were college students with shoestring budgets. Our imaginations spit out grandiose ideas that time and money constraints dried out instantaneously.
I think the concept of the house band is what did the show in, sadly from the get-go, no less. Let's list some of the pitfalls, shall we?
A band must be found.
A band must agree to perform, for little or no payment, weekly.
A band must perform live-to-tape.
A band must perform in the only studio we have, already short of usable space because of other set pieces.
A band must be on time.
A lot of people hung around the first night of taping just to see what would happen and how Nat was going to pull this off. How was he going to be able to host his dream show as well as produce it from afar? How was he going to act when nothing went right that night?
The band wasn't on time to the first taping, by the way. They showed up late, which made the production crew mad. Then the band, an eight-piece local group called the Ska-Bees, got mad – they wanted to practice first. By no surprise, this riff was worsening at nearly the same rate as the riff between the host and guest. Soon both riffs were combined in an effort to save time and the single, larger riff was now between any two people in the studio. Thankfully there was no riff involving the audience because no audience existed. So there was a riff involving the non-existence of the audience, or where the audience-to-be should be located, which convoluted the whole show and made for a bigger mess.
For the record, this was my only encounter with the oddly named Ska-Bees, some local pains-in-the-brass third wave ska fanatics. I can only wonder how and where Nat found the band (consisting of a couple of guitars, drums, keys, trumpet and trombone, and a singer who was crossly regulated to tambourine for the instrumental theme to Wright at Night). The Ska-Bees didn't stick around long enough to sell any self-released album or do any radio promotions that first night. In fact, it was everybody's only encounter – the Ska-Bees were so pissed off about the whole thing they reportedly swore off the program and said they would never return.
Or so they thought.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Theme to Wright at Night
(unknown)
The Ska-Bees
From the television program Wright at Night
c.1997
Admittedly it was an interesting idea; however you have to realize that for something of this caliber to be successful you have to have a dedicated staff. Meaning, you either put everything else aside to make it work or you did it half-ass and let the viewers see through the whole mess for what it was. Nat envisioned a grand production with a house band and special guests and contests and becoming a minor campus celebrity. Again, I emphasize: we were college students with shoestring budgets. Our imaginations spit out grandiose ideas that time and money constraints dried out instantaneously.
I think the concept of the house band is what did the show in, sadly from the get-go, no less. Let's list some of the pitfalls, shall we?
A band must be found.
A band must agree to perform, for little or no payment, weekly.
A band must perform live-to-tape.
A band must perform in the only studio we have, already short of usable space because of other set pieces.
A band must be on time.
A lot of people hung around the first night of taping just to see what would happen and how Nat was going to pull this off. How was he going to be able to host his dream show as well as produce it from afar? How was he going to act when nothing went right that night?
The band wasn't on time to the first taping, by the way. They showed up late, which made the production crew mad. Then the band, an eight-piece local group called the Ska-Bees, got mad – they wanted to practice first. By no surprise, this riff was worsening at nearly the same rate as the riff between the host and guest. Soon both riffs were combined in an effort to save time and the single, larger riff was now between any two people in the studio. Thankfully there was no riff involving the audience because no audience existed. So there was a riff involving the non-existence of the audience, or where the audience-to-be should be located, which convoluted the whole show and made for a bigger mess.
For the record, this was my only encounter with the oddly named Ska-Bees, some local pains-in-the-brass third wave ska fanatics. I can only wonder how and where Nat found the band (consisting of a couple of guitars, drums, keys, trumpet and trombone, and a singer who was crossly regulated to tambourine for the instrumental theme to Wright at Night). The Ska-Bees didn't stick around long enough to sell any self-released album or do any radio promotions that first night. In fact, it was everybody's only encounter – the Ska-Bees were so pissed off about the whole thing they reportedly swore off the program and said they would never return.
Or so they thought.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Theme to Wright at Night
(unknown)
The Ska-Bees
From the television program Wright at Night
c.1997
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