(Pictured: Michael Jackson and Casey Kasem, 1993.)
Even though radio personalities are sometimes called “announcers,” that’s exactly the wrong way to think of the task. You’re not speaking to a crowd in a theater; you’re talking to one person in a car over here, three people in an office over there, and so on. You should talk on the radio like you were in that car or in that office, conversing directly with those people. The greatest radio communicators, with very few exceptions, do exactly that.
I still struggle with this from time to time. The ham in me wants to perform, to show how cool and funny I can be. A talent coach once told me I should not try to be funny at all, despite the fact that it’s how I relate to people off the air, too. A more useful approach might have been to tell me that every radio show is a performance, and that one of my goals should be to hide the fact that I’m performing—to do what I do and be who I am without being obvious about it.
(Someday perhaps I will do an entire post about that particular coaching session, a 45-minute rubber-hose beating that was one of the low points in my broadcasting career.)
A jock who’s coached frequently, or is savvy enough to listen to his own airchecks and critique himself, can usually figure out how to just talk. But those who aren’t coached can get completely lost in their performance. There are thousands of jocks whose schtick is larded with weird inflections, verbal tics and crutches, and stuff that real human beings would never say to one another. (“Twenty-six minutes now past the hour of eight o’clock on this Wednesday morning.”)
So the ideal is just to talk.
I listened to a couple of American Top 40 shows over the weekend, both from the last week in August, one from 1972 and one from 1984. In 1972, AT40 had been on the air for only a couple of years. Casey still sometimes dipped into what I call his FM radio voice, softer and lower than we’re used to hearing from him, an inflection that he stopped using long about 1973. But even with that, the show was a master class in how to talk to people on the radio. His stories about the artists were delivered casually but with humor or seriousness as appropriate; he integrated the various elements of the show skillfully without drawing attention to what he was doing. It was a performance, but you didn’t catch him performing.
Flash forward to 1984. AT40 is by this time an international institution, and Casey possesses one of the most famous voices on Earth. And every time he opened his mouth, on this particular late-August show at least, a listener could not help but be conscious that this man was performing.
Part of the problem came from the padded nature of the four-hour shows. Casey’s bits were written to take up more time, so the first Long Distance Dedication on the show seemed as long as a Russian novel; his chart trivia bits were repetitious, belaboring the main point two or three times. But the problem can’t be laid entirely at the feet of the writers. For this show, Casey slowed his pace noticeably, speaking far more slowly than he usually did, to the point at which he was no longer merely talking on the radio; he was Addressing the World.
Toward the end of the show, he did a bit (a press release, actually) from a group of optometrists who had chosen the best celebrity eyes. It was meaningless twaddle not worth the airtime, but Casey read it at a remarkably slow pace, portentously lingering over every syllable, on and on through a half-dozen different types of eyes, trying to build drama for what had to be a full minute before finally reaching “best doe-eyed celebrity,” Michael Jackson, and using the bit to introduce the Jacksons’ then-current “State of Shock.”
I wanted to pull the radio out of the dash and chuck it out the window.
That particular 1984 show was an outlier. I’ve listened to dozens of AT40s in recent years, and I’ve never heard anything quite like it. It was a master class in how not to talk to people on the radio.
(Pictured: a classroom in the middle of the 1960s, very much like the ones at my first elementary school.)
August 31, 1965, is a Tuesday. In the Caribbean, Hurricane Betsy has been downgraded to a tropical storm. Tomorrow, she will begin to intensify again, eventually striking Florida, Mississippi, and Louisiana. She will be the most destructive storm to hit the Louisiana coast to date and earn the nickname “Billion Dollar Betsy.” President Johnson signs a bill criminalizing the burning of draft cards. A truce is signed in the rebellion in the Dominican Republic. Forty-four American soldiers have died there, 27 in combat, since Johnson sent Marines to defend the government in April. The Watts riots are the cover story in Newsweek. The Atlanta Times, a newspaper launched in 1964 as the editorial voice for those opposed to the Civil Rights Movement, announces that it will cease publication. The financially troubled paper prepared two front pages for August 31: one with routine news if the paper found a new backer, and the other with the headline “Times suspends publication.” The paper will shut down for good next week. Johnson reports that 88 percent of school districts in southern and border states are preparing to comply with desegregation requirements in the Civil Rights Act of 1965. In Monroe, Wisconsin, it’s the first day of school. In today’s Peanuts strip, Sally asks Charlie Brown to defend her from a boy who knocked her down on the playground.
Following the retirement of Casey Stengel yesterday, Wes Westrum takes over as manager of the New York Mets. The Mets drop both ends of a doubleheader to the Houston Astros. Four other doubleheaders are played in the majors today. In one of them, the San Francisco Giants split with the Philadelphia Phillies. In the second game, Lew Burdette gets the win over Warren Spahn in a matchup of former Milwaukee Braves aces. The Braves, playing their final season in Milwaukee, beat the Cincinnati Reds 5-to-3 behind home runs by Hank Aaron, Eddie Matthews, and Gene Oliver.
Just off a two-night stand at the Hollywood Bowl, the Beatles play the Cow Palace in San Francisco. After the show, their limousine is mobbed by fans and its roof is crushed. The Rolling Stones play in New York City. Barbra Streisand records “He Touched Me,” from a forthcoming Broadway musical called Drat! The Cat!, which stars her husband, Elliott Gould. The show will run for only eight performances in October; the single will reach #53 on the Hot 100 in November, although the song will achieve greater fame in the 70s when it is used in a perfume commercial. At WOKY in Milwaukee, the Beatles’ single “Help,” backed with “I’m Down,” is at #1 for a second week. “I Got You Babe” by Sonny and Cher holds at #2. Also on the chart: “California Girls” by the Beach Boys at #5, “Heart Full of Soul” by the Yardbirds at #9, the Righteous Brothers’ “Unchained Melody” at #14, the Four Tops’ “It’s the Same Old Song” at #19, and “Do You Believe in Magic” by the Lovin’ Spoonful at #24.
Perspective From the Present: I confess that I do not know for certain whether Tuesday, August 31, was actually the first day of school in my hometown. (We always started the week before Labor Day, but not always on a Monday.) But whenever it was, this particular first day of school was my first day of kindergarten. The lone image I have of the day is peeking through the grate on the screen door as I hung on to the red-and-blue plastic “resting mat” we were required to take, and watching the bus pull into the driveway. Outside, the world was simmering in ways I could not comprehend, and this was my first tiny, protected step into it. A half-century later, there is much about the world I still can’t comprehend; for example, how 50 years can seem like both an immeasurably long time and no time at all.
(Pictured: KC and the Sunshine Band in action. Get down tonight, baby.)
Here we go with the second half of the American Top 40 show from August 23, 1975.
19. “That’s the Way of the World”/Earth Wind & Fire and 18. “Holdin’ on to Yesterday”/Ambrosia. About as classy as the Top 40 got in the 70s.
17. “Feel Like Makin’ Love”/Bad Company. After which Casey does a “where are they now” feature on Dee Dee Sharp, who had hit in the early 60s with “Mashed Potato Time.” She was married to Philadelphia mogul Kenny Gamble by 1975 and was preparing to make her first record in 10 years. What Color Is Love was released in 1977.
Extra: “Eighteen With a Bullet”/Pete Wingfield. I will never fail to be impressed whenever anybody busts out this record, although AT40 announcer Larry Morgan botched the definition of “bullet” and missed an opportunity to mention that during one week in November 1975, “Eighteen With a Bullet” was actually #18 with a bullet on the Hot 100.
13. “Love Will Keep Us Together”/Captain and Tennille. In 1975, 35 different records would reach #1. In such a volatile era, “Love Will Keep Us Together” staying four straight weeks at the top back in June and July was a remarkable accomplishment.
12. “Midnight Blue”/Melissa Manchester. I could listen to the first nine seconds of “Midnight Blue” on a loop for about an hour, but that would delay the gratification that comes from hearing the rest of the song.
11. “Fight the Power”/Isley Brothers. With which Casey corrects an error that was caught by a listener. The previous month, Casey had said that the Miracles had the longest current span on the charts, going back to 1959. But a radio station GM in South Carolina wrote to say that the Isley Brothers had put their first hit on the chart two weeks before the Miracles’ first hit, which gave them the longest span. That’s an impressive fact to command, especially in an era when it was necessary to dig into actual issues of Billboard to do such research.
10. “Please Mr. Please”/Olivia Newton-John. In its eighth consecutive week in the Top 10. It was the 1970s. We couldn’t help ourselves.
6. “Why Can’t We Be Friends”/War. Like “Black Superman,” this is another record that never fails to amuse me.
4. “Jive Talkin'”/Bee Gees. Last week’s #1. It’s worth remembering that this was a modest comeback record for the Bee Gees, who hadn’t scored a big hit in the States since “Run to Me” nearly three years before, and a major change from their Beatle-inspired acoustic style. It wasn’t Saturday Night Fever yet, but that was coming.
Extra: “Miracles”/Jefferson Starship. Three minutes of crazy-good sex, happening right there on your radio. Seven minutes if you get A) the album version or B) lucky.
3. “Get Down Tonight”/KC and the Sunshine Band. Reporting that this record made a mighty leap from #12 to #3, Casey says that it looks like it’s headed for #1, and it would get there the next week. It’s no wonder, really—the Sunshine Band lays down a smokin’ hot groove, and KC sounds like he’s got all he can do to escape the party so he can sing.
2. “One of These Nights”/Eagles. From the #1 album in the country for a fifth week. In a piece earlier this month in Rolling Stone, Cameron Crowe said that one of the proposed titles for the album was Wallet on the Snare, after a production trick Philadelphia super-producer Thom Bell is said to have used. Glenn Frey read that Bell would get the sound he wanted by having the drummer set his wallet on the snare drum. In a radio interview clip found on the Eagles Selected Works box set, Frey tells a DJ the same thing.
1. “Fallin’ in Love”/Hamilton Joe Frank and Reynolds. Casey reports that Tommy Reynolds is no longer in the group, replaced by Alan Dennison, but that the group continues to use Reynolds’ name “with Tommy’s permission.” And why not? “Hamilton Joe Frank and Reynolds” is the single most euphonious group name in pop history.
(Pictured: James Garner and Joe Santos in The Rockford Files.)
In my hometown, school is starting before Labor Day this year. That used to be the norm, but not anymore; Wisconsin obliged the tourism industry’s workforce requirements a few years ago by passing an idiotic law forbidding school to start before September 1, apparently without realizing that it takes only a couple of snow days before schools are in session until Father’s Day. In most years, it’s September 4th or 5th before schools open. But Labor Day is as late as it can be this year, so kids go can go back next Tuesday.
I was always ready to go back in the fall. Before I had a driver’s license, I saw very little of my friends during the summer because I was out on the farm, and I missed them. The opening of school also got me out of having to do farm work, which I mostly hated.
So: 40 years ago this week, I was about to begin my sophomore year in high school. I was listening to the radio all the time during the last days of summer, but I don’t recall whether I listened to American Top 40 in that season. I don’t think so; it was never on one of my primary radio stations, so I had to go looking for it, and I don’t remember doing so. The odds are good that I was hearing the August 23, 1975, show for the first time when it was a recent rerun. Some notable tunes are on the flip.
(Pictured: Peter Frampton and his fabulous hair, 1976.)
Earlier this month, in “A Summer in Six Songs,” I suggested that I could probably write the same post about the same summer with six different songs. Keeping in mind that sequels rarely live up to the original, here are six more songs plucked from the WLS survey dated August 21, 1976.
“The Boys Are Back in Town”/Thin Lizzy. In the summer of 1976 I remember now, I am in the car by myself, listening to the radio by myself, on the tractor by myself. I didn’t run with a gang of friends, apart from the softball team, and I only remember a few of their names today. The all-for-one, one-for-all camaraderie of “The Boys Are Back in Town” was yet to come.
“More, More, More”/Andrea True Connection. The sweaty business Andrea True was getting up to remained theoretical to me in the summer of 1976. I knew what it was, but how I’d contrive to get into some, I couldn’t quite see. It wouldn’t be long.
“You’ll Never Find Another Love Like Mine”/Lou Rawls. I did not grow up among the kind of people who joined the Klan, but in a place that was 100 percent white, where the vast majority had never even spoken to a black person. It led to a casual racism that came from ignorance rather than malice, and I was as ignorant as everybody else. But I loved soul music, too, and I would like to think that somewhere within me, I understood that people capable of such magnificent art were worthy of everyone’s respect.
“Baby I Love Your Way”/Peter Frampton. My wife grew up in two different houses; her parents moved away from her hometown when she was in college, so when she visited them ever after, she wasn’t “going home.” To this day, my parents are in the same house I grew up in, which has been their home since 1959. Let “Baby I Love Your Way,” and its strong images of sunsets, falling shadows, fireflies, and moonlight, stand for the place that anchors each of us, ancient or recent, wherever it might be.
“Young Hearts Run Free”/Candi Staton. A middle-class upbringing, then as now, continually pushes teenagers forward in time. Decide what you want to be. Make good grades so you can get into college. Put some money away. Be in a damn big hurry to get wherever you’re going. But Candi Staton says hold on a minute. Although she’s speaking specifically to young women, telling them not to be quick to tie themselves down with a man and a family, she’s saying to everyone that there will be time enough to accept the mantle of adulthood and the self-sacrifice that inevitably comes with it. While you’re young, be young.
“If You Know What I Mean”/Neil Diamond. “Here’s to the songs we used to sing / And here’s to the times we used to know / It’s hard to hold them in our arms again but hard to let them go.”