And you'll be sure to knock a few years off your time in purgatory by making a pledge sometime this week. Miracle Man and longtime radio co-conspirator Jon Solomon kicks off the festivities at 7 PM, so get your dialing/mouse clicking finger warmed up now!
Jon's got an interstellar lineup of live performances and special guests slated for this opening volley of the '09 fundraiser, including Jennifer O'Connor, Obits, Screaming Females, Danielson, Caterpillar, Rebecca Gates, and Tim Midgett. And really, do you need more incentive to support creative independent broadcast media in the Delaware Valley? (If so, I suggest hanging out at Quakerbridge Mall for an entire day. By mid-afternoon, the mere mention of a Death of Samantha record will summon all kinds of inexplicable jitters.)
All the pledge and swag info is available for your perusal right here. Allez!
I started slimming down my collection of WPRB aircheck tapes years ago, but would often fall victim to the common dilemma of keeping a whole 90 minute tape for the sake of one good song or bit of transitional banter with another DJ. Mercifully, with MP3 encoding now a routine practice in my own home, I'm able to salvage the good bits and unload boxes of moldy old cassettes without guilt. (Several years ago, during The Great Materialist Freakout of My Early Thirties, I unrepentantly filled a large trash bag with such cassettes, only to be awakened by a homeless man loudly fishing them all out of my trash at four in the morning. As I watched him sling the heavy bag of tapes over his shoulder and disappear down the street, I wondered what he thought he could really get in exchange for them. Where did those soundtracks to a thousand of my Saturday nights end up? Hopefully with someone who really likes the Angry Samoans, Gaunt, and Lydia Lunch!)
Anyhow, as I've been plowing through the airchecks, I've taken extra care to encode every station ID I come across. These pre-recorded spots were not only the result of hastily absorbed production skills (there was no ProTools back then... Everything was either mixed live or cut on actual tape), but also regular harbingers of the station's humor and irreverent aesthetic. More importantly, they were terrific tools for transitioning between songs that would otherwise be jarring to hear back-to-back. I remember being genuinely shocked—and a little bit disappointed—when I arrived at WFMU and discovered that pre-recorded IDs were almost universally frowned upon by the airstaff.
Since I'm a glutton for preserving this kind of audio detritus (but also recognizing that they aren't really interesting enough to warrant individual blog posts), here are a bunch of WPRB station IDs for your aural appreciation. Most of these were originally played in-studio by way of a now-mythologized device called a cart machine. Carts—a pile of which are seen above courtesy of mauradotcom—were the pinnacle of stone age broadcast technology. Any radio geek old enough to remember FCC licenses being required by law is likely to get frothed up at the mere mention of carts, so use discretion when bringing them up in mixed company. That is, unless you're in the mood for an earful about other stimulating technologies such as... the bulk eraser.
The corruption scandal that tore through Brooklyn and north Jersey last week had me on the edge of my seat along with everyone else in the metro NYC area, and I've greeted the followup stories with appropriate astonishment. (Organ trafficking with crooked rabbis and Jersey politicians? Seriously?! That sounds like the Sopranos AND the Wire! Where's the HBO development team when I need them?)
Anyway, rumors have begun circulating that Hoboken's mayor, who is accused of accepting a $25,000 bribe, may be announcing his resignation sometime tomorrow. However, I'm more interested in the idiotic widget that NBC's website is running next to their coverage of this breaking story. Readers are asked to "rate" the news in much the same way that Indian restaurants on 6th Street ask diners to rate their meals with those "how was the service?" cards. As of this writing, 67% of the respondents claim to be "thrilled", and 33% are "laughing", yet 0% report any sensations of fury, boredom, sadness, or intrigue. (As I recall from my last voyage to 6th Street, the options there are no less confusing. How does one distinguish between food that is "sumptuous" versus that which is merely "exquisite"?)
Meanwhile, at yesterday's council meeting in Jersey City, it seems that some WFMU fans were among the concerned citizens who showed up to pressure resignations from the accused. Pow to the people! [Screengrab via NJ.com]
Regular readers know that I've recently begun digitizing the mountain of WPRB aircheck tapes I've accumulated since becoming a listener to the station back in the mid 80s. PRB DJs from that era like Josh Goldfein, Helen Petroff, Mr. Mike Shmelzer, and Rockin' Tim Kastelle remain some of my earliest FM heroes—not far behind Mr. Magic and DJ Red Alert—and certainly played a key role in setting my mind upon radio while still in my very early teens. I joined the WPRB airstaff in 1992 thanks to the encouragement of a few peers in whom I recognized a shared love for independent music and broadcasting. But the shift from idolizing DJs whom I only knew as on-air personalities versus those who would become close friends and creative collaborators was peculiar, to say the least. I still trade emails with many of them several times a week, whereas others vanished into the ether without leaving a single clue as to their next destination. One example of the latter was a woman named Corey.
She was one of WPRB's two music directors at the time I weaseled my way onto the air schedule. Corey was only a year or two older than me, but in many ways came across as the fearsome matriarch of the station. Though she never told me so, I'm sure she thought I was a dork. And she was right—I was a dork. I was a major dork. But I was also enthusiastic, willing to helm an overnight time slot, plus I had a vocal hatred for the band Primus (and therefore promised to deny any telephoned requests for them). It may sound strange now, but in 1992, that last detail was a major asset for townies hoping to land an airslot on the lauded commercial college station.
Corey was into really difficult music, for a student or otherwise. It's almost absurd to think of any current college-age DJ having her musical taste, which had somehow bypassed all the stuff I thought was cool at the time. Her aesthetic was rooted in the musical realm of John Giorno's Poetry Systems, the Dry Lungs noise comps, New Zealand weirdness like the Plagal Grind, the early Homestead Records catalog, and nobody garage bands who'd come and gone without a trace of recognition in their time. Unlike many of WPRB's programs (mine included) which were heavily mired in punk, pop, or indie rock, I recall Corey's show being truly freeform, and bound together by her brilliantly sardonic mic-breaks. After I got to know her, the sense that she was not one to trifle with became even more apparent. Corey was intimidating, she could be wicked mean if she felt like it, and she possessed an amazing ability to whip a bunch of unruly motherfuckers into shape in no seconds, flat.
Sadly, any airchecks I had of either her solo program, or the one she hosted with another female DJ (whose name I forget) called "The Three Bad Sisters" (each host comprising 1.5 of the sisters!) are now long gone, but I did manage to scare up this promo for a Cleveland-centric edition of WPRB's Spotlight which she hosted sometime in 1992.
Spotlight Promo from WPRB-FM
Although it has long since disappeared from WPRB's schedule, Spotlight was a fantastic program in its day. It was hosted by a different DJ each week, and one had to sign up months in advance (on a clipboard in the station's lobby, of course) for a date and artist to focus on. Subsequently, each week's edition of the program was like a crash-course in rabid obsession over a particular band, label, or scene. I fondly recall listening to overexcited DJs drool fanatically over entities as varied as Einstürzende Neubauten, the Feelies, Flying Nun Records... I once hosted an edition of it that focused entirely on the band NoMeansNo, but 15 minutes into my one hour segment, I discovered that an electrical storm had knocked the transmitter off the air and that not a note of my meticulously selected music had been heard. With only 45 minutes left to cram in the hour's worth of music, I raced through the entire thing without doing a single mic break, thusly wiping out any educational value that might've been foisted upon newcomers to the band's catalog. Oh well.
In honor of Corey's more lasting contribution to Spotlight's legacy, here's a classic Cleveland track from the vault:
Sosumi - "Art Party" [MP3], originally from the brilliant Crash Course in Cleveland Life compilation.
and here's a more modern take on Cleveland [via WFMU's Lou Z]. Part of me really wants Les Black's Amazing Pink Holes to cover this.
Anyone reading this who's enjoyed a regular pulse over the last fifteen years has probably heard their share of Pixies songs, whether they wanted to or not. In New York City, CDs by the famed alt-rock band are a ubiquitous presence on jukeboxes from Cobble Hill to Hell's Kitchen—long having supplanted barfly standards like London Calling and Inner Visions with Surfer Rosa and Come On Pilgrim. I'm not quite sure how it happened, but I've long-contended that at some point between their breakup in 1993 and reformation in 2004, the Pixies somehow seized the peculiar distinction of becoming my generation's Led Zeppelin.
Chiding any band for their popularity (whether they deserve it or not) is too easy, so I will admit that I like the Pixies well enough. They're not a band I give any regular consideration to anymore, which I guess puts them in the same category as Bullet Lavolta, the Nervous Eaters, Slapshot, or any of the other popular underground bands from the Pixies' hometown of Boston. I bought the first couple of Pixies records when they came out, saw them perform live exactly once, and then they just sort of faded out from my consciousness. (I couldn't name you a single track from Trompe le Monde or Bossanova if I tried.) Although my personal interest in them was apparently fleeting, I've continually marveled at the incredible traction their music enjoys with both aging hipsters, and kids way too young to have seen them in the first place.
That stated, I submit for your enjoyment this interview with Pixies bass player Kim Deal, which aired on Princeton's WPRB twenty years ago this September. (About three years prior to my becoming a DJ there.)
Kim Deal on WPRB, airdate 9.26.89 [All music breaks have been removed intentionally, so as to skirt the wrath of major labels and copyright owners. You probably have these records anyway.]
Kim and her band performed at Trenton's City Gardens later on the same evening, and I actually won tickets to that show by calling in during the guest-pass giveaway at the end of this segment. The opening band was The Blisters, whose t-shirt and 7" single I purchased following their set. Many years later, Tom Scharpling informed me that he had been the one hawking the Blisters' merch that night, and so had presumably sold me the t-shirt and record in question years prior to either of us meeting or being associated with WFMU. New Jersey is kind of small like that, apparently.
The interview is conducted by WPRB hosts Greg Savage and "Cousin" Dave, two of the more exemplary DJs on the station's airwaves at that time. Kim's rapid-fire commentary is quite entertaining, so listen up as she dishes on everything from the Belgian festival circuit, working with producer Steve Albini, and her general indifference towards the poetry of Henry Rollins.
Pictured: The battered husk of a telecom junction box that I came across somewhere
in suburban New Jersey. Is this an example of poorly directed populist rage? A random act of artistic protest? Maybe it's just local cable technicians pulling a McNulty
and getting wasted on the job. Whatever the logic, it's a good reminder of just how fragile the technology is that
keeps entire suburban neighborhoods wired up to Bravo, Turner Classic Movies, and the Playboy Channel.
It's
an idea worth pondering, as one of
the most striking observations to be made when visiting the 'burbs is the apparent lack of people who spend time outdoors, even on nice days. It can be downright jarring to see someone out for a walk, or smoking a cigarette on their front stoop, or doing any of the other things I see people doing (and do myself) on a regular basis in New York. And then weirder still, when you do see someone on a suburban street who's lacking an apparent destination, they often seem suspicious and alien and make you wonder if maybe the police ought to be summoned.
Granted, this is a common remark made by arrogant city folk all the time, so I know I'm not blazing any new trails with this discussion. But I do believe the reasoning behind it goes deeper than mere lifestyle or cultural differences. In the suburbs, there is a designated place for every desired activity. (You drive to the park to walk your dog, or you drive to the gym to run on a treadmill.) City life is more hastily thrown together, and the structures and spaces are constantly being re-purposed to suit the changing needs of the population. (We live in apartments that used to be warehouses, and we eat in restaurants that were formerly banks or brothels.) All of this has convinced me there must be something that hinders suburbanites from using the ample space they've left between themselves and their neighbors. Yards, parks, baseball diamonds—They'll brag endlessly about the enviable amenities of their environment,yet they rarely seem to use them. So what is it? What's inside their homes that's got their rapt attention? Money? Drugs? Video games? Since the behavioral line of demarcation is so apparent when crossing from a city to a suburb, I think it's got to be something that city people either don't know about, or wouldn't care about in the first place. Something like the Playboy Channel.
I don't believe I've ever seen the Playboy Channel, even back when I was 12 and had friends whose fathers kept dirty magazines and unmarked VHS tapes stacked away in secluded cabinets. For all I know, the Playboy Channel may not even exist anymore, what with adult entertainment now being more commonly sought on the internet. But something about the mere idea of the Playboy Channel—that one can tune it in and possibly see something naughty—just seems more wholesome and suburban than the porn-packed internet, which I'd argue is used more deliberately by those seeking to quell their prurient urges. Even saying the words "The Playboy Channel" out loud just sounds silly and like a thing that only very mild people would find risqué—much like the magazine itself, I suppose.
Anyway, the next time you're driving through empty suburban streets and notice that the houses on most every block have only a faint blue glow emanating from behind the drawn curtains, I recommend giving this theory a moment of consideration. The vacant backyards, empty swimming pools, and abandoned basketball courts may be symptomatic of something even more peculiar than we ever imagined.
By way of dispensing with my barrage of recent threats, I'm pleased to announce that I've begun digitizing the mountain of radio aircheck tapes in my closet. These tapes were accumulated during my years of DJing at and listening to WPRB, the 30,000 watt commercial FM station that broadcasts from the
campus of Princeton University. I'm nearly certain I discovered WPRB during the summer of 1985, and thusly began augmenting my collection of hip-hop radio airchecks with the decidedly more amateur (but no less enthralling) sounds of the international rock and roll underground.
The great thing about this highly-romanticized era in American broadcasting -- and a detail that's often overlooked in the numerous re-tellings it has since suffered -- is that the programming was considerably more freeform than it would become during the alt-rock dominated 90s, when genres were more rigidly codified. At WPRB, as with many other college stations, shows gradually became "indie", "pop", or "punk" in nature, and DJs who were willing to stretch out and really explore a broad cross-section of sounds became something of a rarity. (Thoughcertainlynotextinct.) However, in the years surrounding 1987, such programmers were in full bloom at WPRB. Armed with a brick of z-grade cassettes from the Route 18 Two Guys department store, I was able to lap up everything from British reggae to Big Black to obscure Los Angeles metal bands. (The first time I heard Guns n' Roses was on WPRB, from their Live Like a Suicide EP which was released well before their meteoric ascent in the mainstream.)
As was the case for many people my age, taping songs from the radio was a cheap way to collect new music when money was either scarce or non-existent. My tape making was highly ritualistic, but also tragically disorganized. If I was called away while a great radio show was in progress, I'd load a fresh tape into the stereo, hit record, and leave specific instructions with a family member to flip it over 45 minutes later so as not to miss anything. Later on, I'd review these recordings and hastily decide which songs were good enough to bounce over to more carefully crafted "best of"-type cassettes. Problems only emerged when I neglected to note artist or song titles, even for things I knew I liked. The sheer urgency that is specific to young people at the cusp of discovering their interests was to blame for this carelessness, and in some cases it was years before I learned who the purveyors of these alluring sounds were. In hindsight, however, it's become clear to me that I was just so caught up in the excitement of something that I perceived as new and dangerous, that stopping to care too deeply about any one thing might cause me to miss whatever was coming next. Make no mistake, it was an exhausting time to hang around with me while in close proximity to the stereo.
Listening back to these tapes more than twenty years on, there are three observations that I'm immediately compelled to make. First, I'm struck by the primitivism of it all. The stone-age nature of cassette media adds an evocative layer of hiss to the music, and somehow
validates my then-held notion that such art could only emanate from someplace truly exotic. At the risk of being melodramatic, it's fair to say that I regarded my favorite shows in a way that's probably not too far afield from the amateur astronomer who believes he's just observed a sign of intelligent life from somewhere in deep space. Secondly, I still like almost all of the music these tapes contain. A lot! There's a common theory which identifies one's early 20s as the time in which long-term musical preferences are established, but because of my early exposure to WPRB, my taste for left-of-center sounds was forged a few years in advance of my peers. It would not be at all unusual to hear the songs these tapes contain on my more recent WFMU playlists, albeit surrounded by plenty of genres that weren't prevalent at that time.
But most of all, when listening back through these mini documentaries of my early teens, I'm astonished by the different models of political thought I was accidentally introduced to via WPRB's programming. I grew up in a conservative Italian-Catholic household, and was barely out of middle school at the same time that I was first hearing the radically leftist ideologies contained in some of the music that PRB played -- Ideologies which I don't need to tell you stood in stark contrast to the Reagan models that typified the era (for me). If suburban Rage Against the Machine fans in Che Guevara t-shirts seemed funny to you in 1996, try imagining me as a 15 year old who knew about Blair Peach (the Socialist Worker's Party member who was killed during a 1979 Anti-Nazi League demonstration) because he'd heard about him in a song on the radio. This isn't to say that one listen to Sandinista transported me to the political left, but the music's influence certainly opened the door to my consideration of issues that many others don't get around to until their third year of college, if ever. In the pre-internet age, the arrival of such radical information in my parents' house never would have occurred without the aid of cloak and dagger tactics. As such, it was the music played on WPRB that first clued me in to matters well beyond the confines of the bucolic Jersey 'burbs, and the debt of gratitude I owe to the programmers who enabled this realization is considerable. Although WPRB's DJs may have been nothing more than bored college students who were simply killing time between political science seminars and Buckaroo Banzai screenings, to an impressionable kid who hadn't yet established a strong sense of identity, their voices and the records they back-announced were nothing short of revelatory.
For illustrative purposes, and to invite a long-desired discussion of these matters, I present this selection of songs originally taped from WPRB and culled from the cassette pictured above. This Certron C-90 was one of my aforementioned "best of" cassettes, which is to say it was a collection of favorites originally recorded on other tapes, and then re-dubbed to this one for posterity. The abrupt transitions and lo-fidelity encoding is intentional so as to preserve the music as I experienced it. Furthermore, I'm purposefully withholding the song/track information, so as to symbolize the years of frustration I experienced trying to ID all this stuff. However, you're welcome to shout 'em out in the comment field, should you be so inclined.
LISTEN:
Many thanks to my good pal Chad for loaning me the first working cassette deck this house has seen in more than ten years. This post, as well as similar ones yet to come, would not have been possible without his kindness and generosity.
I can't even venture a guess as to what the backstory on this one is, but for NYC-area locals, it's definitely
cackle-worthy.
It's a (presumably? hopefully?) random intro to one of the songs on Prisonshake's great new "Dirty Moons" double LP, which I reviewed for Dusted Magazine a couple months back. Incidentally, Prisonshake's Robert Griffin writes a great, though seldom updated blog called Where the Rock is. It's loaded with smart and thoughtful ruminations on everything from old Blue Cheer records to 80s Cleveland hardcore bands to Prisonshake's current touring activities.
Enjoy. (That's a download link, but if you'd rather not have this clouding up your precious iTunes playlists, here's a streaming version.)
Inspired by the mushy reminiscence that permeates so much of the internet, and acknowledging that such recollections are something that us bipeds can never seem to get enough of, I am pleased to offer what seems to be the first online photo of The Greatest Record Store That Ever Was: Hoboken New Jersey's Pier Platters. That an institution which is so frequently cited as "legendary" to summon such meager returns on Google is quite baffling, so I like to think this post will apply some much-needed spackle to a shamefully vacant corner of the internet. The photograph was taken by former Pier Platters employee Mr. Otis Ball -- former Bar/None recording artist, former leader of Otis Ball & the Chains, current leader of the Super Karaoke Fun Time Band, and all around splendid human being and proven friend to furry creatures of the greater metro area.
I really enjoyed the record shop recollections that Tracy Wilson had put together over on Lightnings Girl, but when queried via email, she was sad to report that no quality images of Pier Platters were in her stable, either. She suggested I check with Otis, and upon opening the attached jpeg his reply included, my heart skipped a beat just seeing that grimey old window again. Apparently, there is an active Pier Platters remembrance page on Facebook, but after some careful consideration, I decided I'd rather air my laundry in a forum where I can gush without the distractions of irritating thumbnail ads or virtual barfights. So be it.
I honestly can't remember much about the first time I visited Pier Platters, but I'm sure that it was the 80s, I'm sure that I was in high school, and by extension, I'm therefore sure that I had a stupid haircut. I hung out a lot with older friends who went to art school in the city, so by the time I could lie my way out of the house for a night and catch a train to Penn Station, I was able to visit a few of the city's now-mythologized music and alt-culture venues and bars like CBGBs, Mona's, the old See Hear shop, ABC no RIO, and so on. However, as a kid who was obsessed with music and who had a pretty broad-reaching definition of punk rock, my absolute favorite urban destination wasn't in Manhattan, but across the river in Hoboken.
Here's a brief programming note for this coming week. My good pal Jon Solomon will be hosting the 21st annual edition of his 24 hour holiday radio program beginning Christmas Eve at 6 PM, and continuing through the following day at 6 PM. The show will air on WPRB, 103.3 FM, throughout Jersey Centralia and the Delaware Valley, or can be heard online at wprb.com.
Jon's holiday program has become something of a legend to the WPRB listenership, and beyond. Over the years, it's been written up in nearly every Philadelphia alt-weekly, as well as earning acclaim from Idolator, NJ Monthly, and the New York Times. A few years back, even Pseu and Monica called Jon during their show on WFMU, and interviewed him while he was in the midst of his show on 'PRB. (That had to be some kind of broadcasting first... I'm still surprised that the transmission between the two overlapping radio signals didn't create a feedback loop powerful enough to blow Metuchen clean off the map.)
Jon's selection and presentation of left-field holiday music is utterly without peer, so you'll be unloading a pretty great present on you and your own band of merrymakers just by tuning in. For my part, I can say with confidence that it would never be a proper holiday for me if Jon wasn't introducing a Christmas number by the 60s garage band The Wailers during the final moments of the show. You're sure to feel likewise, especially if the buildup includes signature holiday tracks from the likes of Billy Childish, The Dickies, Hasil Adkins, Couch Flambeau, Curtis Mayfield, Crass, Low, Cheech & Chong, Galaxie 500, Kurtis Blow, Loretta Lynn, Carter the Unstoppable Sex Machine, John Fahey, Peanut Butter Wolf, The Hybrid Kids, Esquivel, Sun Ra, and Fishbone. Looky here for last year's complete playlist, and start your regimen of squat thrusts for the main event.
Note: the above photo is of Jon in the midst of the 1993 edition of the holiday program. Visible in the foreground are a Born Against 7", and the more overtly Christmas-y "We Three Bings" compilation LP. Jon would presumably want it known that he still has (and wears) that shirt.
