Raised on the Radio

Because growing up on 70s television didn't kill me. It just made me who I am today.


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Twisted Mix Tape – Forbidden Love

Twisted Mix-Tape? WHAT??!!! This is what. Me and music, we go hand in hand. I carry earbuds with me everywhere I go. I’m not anti-social (I’m only anti-work), I’m just anti-silence.

Well that’s a bold-faced lie, but when my choices are listening to the drivel playing at grocery, or a bunch of people yapping at Starbuckos, I choose music.

As I mentioned last week, (yes there was a last week and you can read about it here); I think in music. In my current position of soundtrack maker Music Director for Raised on the Radio, I finally get to live my dream. I can share my music musings with the world my readers.

Did you know? Albert Einstein and I, we are simpatico.

“If I were not a physicist, I would probably be a musician. I often think in music. I live my daydreams in music. I see my life in terms of music.”
― Albert Einstein

And so, by the power invested in me by me, behold the Music Director of Break the Parenting Mold and Twisted Mix-Tape! Share your musical musings with me!

I invite you all to join in. Each week we (as in you and I, because I know you will feel an undeniable need to join us) will be creating a mix based on a different topic emotion.

My plan is to keep the list to 5 songs; as hard as that may be, just incase you’re a music geek like me, and want to prepare. I would love for you to share your choices in the comments, surprise me, enlighten me, shock me!

Next week’s topic will be Unlikely Lullabies (as in songs not meant to be lullabies, but can do the trick). However if the topic doesn’t move you, create your own! Link up in the comments, and I will happily place your link in the post! Join the party!

Forbidden Love

She’s a Beauty – The Best of The Tubes

Stacy’s Mom – Welcome Interstate Managers

 

Don’t Stand So Close to Me / Young Girl (Glee Cast Version) – Glee: The Music, The Complete Season One

Come a Little Bit Closer – The Best of Jay & The Americans

Love Story – Fearless


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Memories of Casey Kasem’s American Top 40

When Tiffany sang “you put your arms around me and we tumble to the ground,” could I really have pictured a boy and girl tumbling down a hill—like, rolling down it log-style, maybe just before engaging in a potato-sack race?
I’ve spent a lot of time trying to imagine how I sang that song without once stopping to wonder what the boy and the girl did after they “tumbled to the ground.”

I had plenty of other moments of lyrical-content naiveté. I was in my 30s before the words to one of my favorite tunes from the era really hit me. Somehow, Cyndi Lauper’s references to men in tight pants–

But recently I’ve begun to realize there might be someone other than me to blame for the clueless way I interpreted the biggest songs of  my childhood.
Maybe one reason it never occurred to me that Suzanne Vega’s “Luka” was about child abuse was that the person who introduced it to me probably prefaced it with a fun fact about the number of light bulbs in Las “Vega”s.
My hunch has solidified in recent months, as I’ve turned on the car radio on Saturday mornings to be greeted by the most significant of all the voices from my 80s childhood. A local pop station, Mix 96, plays vintage Casey Kasem countdowns, as stations all over the country have been doing.
mix tape
Like many kids of that era, I collected songs by slavishly waiting next to my mini boom-box to hit “record” when Casey (or a local DJ) played my favorite song. But unlike most kids I knew, I had to rely on Casey (and radio in general) for my connection to the pop world. We lived on a farm, and out in the country, getting MTV was out of the question. (Though I doubt my parents would’ve sprung for cable if we could’ve received it. My dad forbid us from watching The Facts of Life because he believed the title was a reference to, you know, the “facts of life.”)
Racing up the stairs to my room after church and Sunday school to catch the Top 10 of Casey’s Top 40 was as much a ritual for me as church itself. As “the numbers got smaller and the hits got bigger,” I’d feel a little pang for any song that had “slipped a couple of notches,” as if the song itself had feelings, as if Whitney Huston or George Michael was sitting by a radio, too, hands clasped, desperate to see where he or she stood.
As the vintage countdowns have become a staple on weekend modern-day radio—and in the utterly surreal experience of re-hearing these childhood moments through adult ears—I’ve been astonished by the diversionary tactics Casey used to draw attention to anything but the actual content of the song. He must have known kids like me were clinging to our Walkmen, and wanted to protect us. (Or Westwood One told him to).
How else to explain the lead-ins I’ve heard when I’ve been relishing these re-broadcasts?
One weekend earlier this year I was driving across the state to visit my sister, and found myself chuckling, alone in my car, as Casey gave a teaser for Salt-n-Pepa’s “Push It” before the commercial.
Here was one of the first and only popular female rap groups, not to mention one who sung openly about sex. But when the commercial was over? There was Casey: “And now we’re up to a tune that was saved by a deejay.” His spiel detailed how the song was actually the B-side to another song, which a deejay didn’t think was a hit.
Later, to introduce Paul Carrack’s “Don’t Shed a Tear”: no mention of Squeeze or anything about Carrack’s pre-80s success. Instead, “And now we’re up to a song about ‘lacrimation’. It’s not illegal. It means ‘shedding a tear.’”
Now, on Saturday mornings in the kitchen when I tap the I Heart Radio app and tune in to a countdown, I can’t help but focus on the whitewashed way the scripts were written.
Before “Infatuation” by the ever-horny Rod Stewart? A long-winded anecdote about Rod’s manager receiving a pile of Billboard magazines due to a mailing mix-up. On a recent weekend, when it was time for a big hit by Whitesnake, (otherwise known as the band whose video introduced Tawny Kitean to the world), Casey gave a lesson on—you got it—snakes.
I will probably always suffer a metaphorical forehead smack every time I think about Suzanne Vega and Tiffany.
But I should remind myself that when Casey introduced me to “She Bop,” he probably said, “And now we’re up to a song that inspired a New York City woman to choose the name for her cat, a cat named Bop.”

Alison McGaughey was raised on the radio and remembers buying her first “album”–Wham!’s “Make it Big”–on cassette at a Woolworth’s in Keokuk, Iowa. Now a community college instructor and literacy-program coordinator, McGaughey writes about music, books, and Midwestern life at welcometoforgotonia.com. Her work has been published in Creative Nonfiction magazine, Midwestern Gothic, Hippocampus Magazine, and others, and has received awards from the Midwest Writing Center and Illinois Associated Press. Follow her on Twitter @Rural_Rose.


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It’s been a while since I’ve been here, so I thought I might remind myself what Raised on the Radio is to me.

Hello Friends,

Many moons ago I had an idea. This idea was based on the fact, the assumption, that there were more people like me – as far as music tastes go – than the growth of mediocre pop music would suggest. My idea was to create a space that celebrated the music of my past, our past. 

For me, the music of my past was the music of the late 60’s through the mid-80’s. Admittedly much of what was good in music began to die in the early 80’s, some might argue the late 70’s, but we can debate that later. The music of my past also includes pop music, because pop music of the 60’s and 70’s was good. Music was good. Work went into it, blood, sweat, talent and knowledge went into making original music. You had to work much harder to be a star. Sure you can look backwards and find a decent amount of cheese. But let’s be frank, back then it was innovative.

What I have realized in all of these moons, but not been able to formulate into a coherent sentence, is that Raised on the Radio isn’t only about music. It’s about a time. A monumental time. An iconic time. Those decades of innocence and decadence. Yes – delicately intertwined memories of Brady Bunch and Hugh Heffner, Romper Room and Suzanne Somers, The Sound of Music and A Clockwork Orange.

It wasn’t either…or, each was a part of our collective unconscious. Pigtails did not discriminate, you could be a 6-year-old school-girl or a 19-year-old sex kitten. It was all good, and there was no shame.

I admit it. I yearn for those years. For the nights we spent running through the street playing kick the can; while some kids battery-powered transistor radio sat skewed in the grass on the curb blaring Dream Weaver or You Should Be Dancing on the one FM station that played good music.

I miss hanging out in friend’s basements, talking, laughing, plotting, listening to the radio and just waiting to hear your favorite song. Even being so bold as to phone in a dedication every once in a while and actually hearing your own!

Walking up town to the Record Store. Yes kiddies, if you’ve never been to an honest to goodness Record Store, that was the place to be. To see and be seen. Flipping through the rows and rows of albums, checking for the one Bay City Rollers album you didn’t have; checking any new customers out of the corner of your eye every time the opening door caused the bell to ring. Swooning over Peter Frampton posters and not giving a flip that he was an amazing guitar player too. (you guys know you did it)

That time will never be again. That peace, contentment that the world was only as big as we could see. There was a feeling of safety then, the world was digestible, reliable, you had the 5 o’clock news and the Newspaper to feed you information, and that felt right.

The overwhelming reach of media now only makes me long for those days more. To wish that our unfortunate chillins (that’s 70s slang for children) could experience it too.

Raised on the Radio started as a place to share our love of music from a time when your only choices were listening to the radio or heading to a Record Store to buy the album.But I realize now, it is so much more.

Raised on the Radio is about an era gone by, nostalgia, comfort, something that if you lived it – you long for – a place to remember it all. We knew what patience was. We waited through 5 mediocre songs on an album to get to our favorite, rather than picking up the needle and trying to drop it on just the right place. To us, fast forward was holding a button down on a cassette deck and taking an educated guess that when you lifted your finger you would be at the song you wanted, you were often wrong.

Station Wagons, The Mandrell Sisters, Hee-Haw, The Dean Martin Show, Carol Burnett, Johnny Carson, The 10,000 Pyramid (because 10,00 dollars was A LOT of money!), Password

We were the first generation to be completely raised on television, and it didn’t kill us.

Raised on the Radio is a site about me.* I am inextricably intertwined with the pop culture of the 70s. Like it or not, I would sooner watch Three’s Company or Hogan’s Heroes than Game of Thrones or Modern Family any day of the week. In fact I do.

Everything I think or do is subconsciously compared to The Dukes of Hazzard or Charlies Angels. What comes out is my own version of reverse homogenization.

Come take this ride to me. Welcome to the New, Improved, Raised on the Radio.

*I’m not selfish, Raised on the Radio is also for you. Maybe you want to share your story or stories, I welcome that. I get that your own turf might not be the right place for you to share your inner Paul Stanley or Donny Osmond.

New Raised on the Radio.jpg


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A New Wave Dance Playlist

New Wave Playlist

 

For me, Dance Music is New Wave 80’s music. Because that’s when I was disturbed and dancing.

I did some dancing in the late 90’s, but that’s when Dance music was just plain old disturbing to me.

Here are some notables:

Ministry with Everyday is Halloween – By the way, this song was our anthem. “Why are you dressed like its halloween?”

 

The Cult – She Sells Sanctuary

 

Siouxsie & The Banshees with Cities in Dust

 

The Cure – Close To Me

 

Sorry I just got so darn nostalgic I couldn’t leave this one out.
The Cure – Love Cats

 

New Order – Blue Monday

 

What was New Wave to you? Did you even know it existed? What makes you want to dance? Speak up!

Tell me about the Music New Wave in your life.

 

Jen Kehl often finds herself stuck in the 70’s with the all the rainbows and unicorns. Where life just drifts away as she listens to her favorite 60’s and 70’s music. She blogs at My Skewed View and created the music site Raised on the Radio, where she invites other writers to share their music experiences with you. She is also a published author as part of the anthology The Mother of All Meltdowns available on Amazon.
Connect with her on twitter @jenkehl.


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There Must Be Some Misunderstanding – How a Missing Genesis Album was Eclipsed by Van Halen

guest dj 200 dark

This week’s Raised on the Radio Guest Post, is by Doug Foster. Doug and I go waaaay back and I am thrilled to have him on Raised on the Radio.

Please click this link to read this post about love and loss and Van Halen,  There Must Be Some Misunderstanding

As much as I have loved having Raised on the Radio as it’s own site, we will now be moving back to where it all began. If you want to stay on top of all the newest posts from Raised on the Radio guests, regular contributors and me, please click over to My Skewed View and subscribe.


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I Wanted My Own Bitchin’ Camero

 camero

 

It’s the mid 1980s. Bands like REO Speedwagon, Foreigner and Wham! ruled the charts. But there’s an underground movement bubbling up — punk rock.

Listening to my Sony Walkman late at night, the local college station would spin strange songs and bizarre artists. Sometimes, the songs were so awful my ears hurt. Other times, the music seemed plain boring and vanilla. But some magical nights, the DJ was speaking directly to me.

One evening while laying in my bed, staring out at the darkness, two sarcastic whiney voices popped through the headphones. A walking bass played in the background while these kids just shot the breeze, making fun of Motley Crue and talking about nothing of importance. What kind of song was this?

Then suddenly, the tone of the song changed. Fast guitar. Banging drums. Staccato voice. The Dead Milkmen’s Bitchin’ Camero took over. Welcome to punk rock.

Check out Bitchin’ Camero. The song takes a crazy turn around minute #2. Although Bitchin’ Camero was The Dead Milkmen’s breakout song, their most popular tune by far is Punk Rock Girl.

The Dead Milkmen introduced me to the idea that music could be irreverent, sarcastic, silly and funny for the sake of just being fun. Songs didn’t have to be about love. They didn’t have to have a deeper meaning. Bands could inspire and move an audience with their acerbic wit and raw musicality.

About the Author:

Jennifer is the moms of boys, the better half (occasionally), a family cruise director, a short order cook, a techie and always evolving. When she’s not playing house, you can find her at The Jenny EvolutionGeneration iKid and The Sensory Spectrum.


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How On Demand Is Cheating Our Kids

In an age when it’s too easy to become a Ninja Netflix addict, stealthily clicking “next episode” on the iPad at 2am, knowing that you’ll regret it, and not being able to resist doing so, because it’s RIGHT THERE, right NOW, on demand, it’s hard to imagine that there was a time when life was so completely not on demand.

There was a time when television and radio controlled what and when you watched, and listened to.

When On Demand didn’t exist.

Let me take you back. To pre-1981, and before MTV even existed.

In 1979, music had become an important part of my life. Big important. I’d hear a song on the radio, love it, and then have to wait for the next time they’d play it to find out the name of the band, if they didn’t announce it afterwards.

And, they usually didn’t announce it afterwards, as the practice was to introduce it beforehand, play it, and then fade out the music while the DJ said what he thought about it while immediately going into the next introduction. The next new song.

Back then, the radio made or broke bands. Enough airtime meant that we – the public – would have a shot at hearing it, before, or after, school hours.

Enough airtime meant that we’d have a shot at knowing what the band’s name was. It meant bicycling to the local Walgreens after babysitting for 8 hours to afford a purchase of the next coveted LP. It meant bicycling home, LP mostly-safely tucked into a backpack, finally gotten home, and then, it meant a dedication to listening to the entire record. Back, and front. Over and over again.

Ah. Can you even remember listening to the entire record? Front and back? I think we’re missing out, a bit, now….

We put up holiday lights, on our ceilings, because we didn’t have You Tube, or anything else, and our holiday lights were beyond festive. We made magic. Before You Tube and MTV magic existed, even. We saved up to see bands, live. To buy their records.

Teenage girl lying on floor 80s floyd_edited-3

I miss those days.

Back then, it meant that liking a record was an investment. That when you “LOVED” a band, that it mattered.

Years later, when tapes came out, and you could drive, it meant that liking a song meant rewinding that tape in the car, to the song that you needed to hear again. And again, and again.

It meant that when your parents told you that your stereo – that took up half of the wall because you had speakers and an amp and a tape thing and a record player on top – was too loud, that you could put on hubcap-sized earphones. Shut them out.

And just listen.

It meant that when you found out how much you loved U2 and Billy Idol, that you’d spend hours in front of the radio, waiting to record your new favorite song, and that, often times, the DJ spoke over the beginning and the ending of it.

Which meant that your favorite songs, before you could bicycle to Walgreens and purchase the record, were listened to with a DJ’s voice wrecking the beginning and end. It meant HOURS, sitting in front of your too-large stereo, waiting to tape your favorite song.

It meant laser light shows. If you’ve never seen one, I highly recommend it.

Mostly though, being raised on the radio means that we were, actually, raised on the radio.

Being raised on the radio was special, in a way that being raised On Demand, is not. It means that I want to teach my son the art of patience, and practice, and practicing patience.

It means that I will never let go of how it felt, waiting with anticipation for a station to play A Song. It means that although we live in a life of On Demand, that I’ll do my very best to teach my son that the best things in life are not clicked with a button.

That they’re worth waiting for.

That they’re not on demand.

Kristi and Tucker November 2009_edited-1Kristi Campbell is a semi-lapsed career woman with about 18 years of marketing experience in a variety of national and global technology companies.  More recently, she was a co-host on a hilarious (and under funded) weekly radio show.  Once her son was born, she became the mom who almost always leaves the house in either flip-flops or Uggs, depending on the weather.

While she does work part-time, her passion is writing and drawing really stupid-looking pictures for her blog http://www.findingninee.com.  Finding Ninee (pron. nine-ee for her son’s pronunciation of the word airplane) started due to a memoir, abandoned when Kristi read that a publisher would rather shave a cat than read another memoir.  Its primary focus is humor and support in a “Middle World,” one where the autism spectrum exists but a diagnosis does not.


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Deep Sleep: In Remembrance of DEVO’s Bob 2

Devo bob2

Unlike he, I had by then passed the Bauhaus test, you see.

Having previously purchased, initially hated, then grown to respect and finally admire their seminal album “Mask,” I was already well versed in the true nature, flavor and potential of what would eventually be coined as “alternative music.”

My little brother, however, had no such tutelage, no such pedigree. And as a result, he revolted in a sulking fashion over the tape that I had just purchased and listened to via my Walkman – the sort that came complete with TWO headphone jacks – as we traversed over the bridge that brought us back from “The Falls” (Niagara, that is) to good old Buffalo. The tape in question was DEVO’s “Duty Now For The Future,” and the track that finally made Alex pull the minimally foam-covered plastic hubs from his ears in disdain, was track # 7 – better known as “S.I.B.” – or “Swelling Itching Brain,” to those of you who aren’t fluent in the Devolutionary tongue.

I liked it – connected with it – because it spoke to me on a wholly different level than my usual punk rock fare. In lieu of the generic anger, frustration, and pissitude I was used to, this went far deeper in. It went to the core of my hurt. The connect of my disconnect. The point of my pain. The feeling of my feeling of being all alone in a world full of people, all of whom were trying very hard to ignore the fact that they were all alone. You see, those silly Spuds from a planet wholly foreign – known simply at the time as “oHIo” – in some ways knew me far better than even did the biological life forms who shared DNA with me, and the same car, as it and we traversed a bridge between The Falls (of Niagara) and The Depths (of Buffalo.)

And of those Spuds, Bob 2 was one of them.

Bob 2

Much like his other fallen cohort, drummer Alan Myers, Bob 2 spoke to me, even though he never knew me. And much like the other three gentlemen still standing today – those who felt that wearing flowerpots atop their heads and toilet seats round their necks was their best option in order to avoid becoming “plugs without sockets” – Bob “2” Casale helped me to understand that while I still was all so terribly alone, I wasn’t quite so “all so terribly alone” as I imagined.

Now, to my continued melancholy, I learned that Bob died last week at the age of 61 due to sudden heart failure (see, it’s NOT always drug abuse, you know). He now joins one other Spud, three (or is it more?) Ramones, a whole slew of New York Dolls and Joe Strummer of The Clash in what could be presumed to be the BESTEST band that Heaven has ever heard.

And as with all the rest, I cry a little bit more with each passing. Not so much because he (or any of the others) is merely gone – I mean, as noted before, I didn’t even know the guy, after all – but because I appreciate that he opened windows for me that no one else could’ve. That he let me know, at a time when it was most important, that I too could “rip away the gates of steel.”

So rest in peace, Bob Casale. Rest in peace, Bob 2. Thanks for the knowledge you shared with me. For the record, I totally understood – and will now forever miss – your  unique potato.

•••

About the Author:

She calls me “Tweetless” because I suffer from a Twitter deficiency. In fact, other than WordPress and Facebook, I’m pretty much a social media recluse all together. I am however, as I like to call it, a Wanna-be Writer who “writes weakly, thrice-weekly.”
Mostly fiction and flash-fiction, I intersperse these two with a smattering of pieces on musical history, culture and memories. You may also find me doing what I would term an “inspirational piece” now and again, though most others would likely just call these works “woe-is-me mope-abouts.” 
As well as that, I am the father to three beautiful, smart, and wholly pain-in-the arse children (side note: normally I would never use the word “arse,” but in writing the bio, I felt it’s use made me sound much more “continental.”) All three of whom have provided me with much more joy than sorrow – much more love than pain. So I suppose I’ll keep them around.
For now.
If you’d care to dig deeper into my writing weakly, thrice-weekly, or just want to see what’s currently floating about in my head  – pop on over to http://aslongasimsinging.wordpress.com


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FirstNotes and ForeverMusic

lizzi guest post ROTR

I was raised in a pretty shut-down household, where the music available was a strict diet of Classic FM (which I now love), Classical CDs (I love some of them), ‘Churchy’ music (still not that keen), and Gilbert and Sullivan (hate it with a passion).

There was one exception (other than the stalwart ‘sung Times Tables’ tapes) – one copy of a hearkening back to my Dad’s childhood; a ‘Hello Children Everywhere’ CD. I listened to it obsessively, whenever I was allowed to use the (gigantic old monster of a) stereo system, in brushed steel, with heavy dials and buttons which swirled deliciously in my hands and would land me in trouble, because somehow the volume always seemed to end up louder.

danny-kaye

So thanks to the lifeline of this one CD, I caught a tiny break and spent my childhood having my mind blown by such wonders as Suzi Miller’s ‘Bimbo’, Burl Ives’ ‘Big Rock Candy Mountain’ and Danny Kaye’s ‘Little White Duck’.

My musical world exploded into life when I went to secondary school.

I’d chosen a school in a town outside the city, which meant being bussed in with a bunch of other local kids. We were herded onto a scabby old, white mini-bus, with a snarkastic driver who tended to be either overly friendly or overly mean, but the journeys had one HUGE redeeming feature, which quite made them a favourite part of my day. The radio.

Tuned for the first time in my LIFE to something beyond the realms of the classical, 103.2 Power FM gave me my first taste of what I’d been missing, and just what depths of wonder there were to explore. Chaka Demus and Pliers ‘Twist and Shout’, D:Ream ‘Things can only get better’, UB40 ‘(I can’t help) Falling In Love With You’, not to mention Rednex, who I can probably hold fully responsible for my ongoing love of countryish music, since then broadened to include such gorgeousness as Bill Monroe, Rascal Flatts and Blake Shelton

I remember with absolute delight my very first tape.

It was given to me for my birthday by neighbours over the road. It was Robson & Jerome’s version of Unchained Melody, with B sides of ‘I believe’ and ‘Saturday Night at the Movies’ (so deeply ingrained in my mind that I didn’t even look it up to check the B sides – I’m probably right, and if not, well it was 18 years ago…). I can’t remember how, but I got a tape player, and discovered, to my delight and awe, that I too, could get Power FM tuned in, directly into my bedroom and began listening at home, ignoring repeated shouts to “Turn that horrible noise down!” as often as I could.

I then discovered (oh sweet day) that a store nearby actually SOLD the music I’d heard on the radio (yes, I was *that* sheltered). My pocket-money immediately became a hugely important deal, and I even began forgoing my weekly Beano comic to buy tapes and tapes…and then I discovered CDs, back when a single was still 99p. To my shame, I can’t remember my first single. Or my first album.

Buying blank tapes and sitting hunched over the radio waiting for my favourite songs to come on, with my finger hovering, poised, over ‘Play’ and ‘Record’ was a massive pastime for me. The irritating DJ or radio jingle forever intertwined with the intro and outro, the missing first three seconds when my attention span had waned.

I developed some serious musical crushes, my ears, mind and soul being touched in ways I’d never felt before – thoughts and emotions expressed in ways I’d never considered possible. I became a cray-cray fan of such acts as Robbie Williams, Alisha’s Attic and All Saints.

And gradually the radio became my companion.

I branched out, finding new stations which weren’t all pop. I discovered rock, house, trance, dance, disco, and later on, music from generations slightly before my own, which is where I feel my musical soul now lives, courtesy of my new-found favourite radio station – 106 Jack FM. They play music from about early in my own musical introduction back to a generation or so before my time, mixed with a few newer tracks for good measure – Aerosmith, Queens of the Stone Age, Dave Edmunds, Faith No More, Queen, Reef, ELO, T-Rex, Tommy James and the Shondells …. But even though it’s my favourite, I can’t stay faithful – my car (which is my ‘Radio Place’) has an old-fashioned stereo/tape player, with a different station (yes, including Classic FM – shh!) programmed into each of its five buttons.

(Small Victory – takes a while to get going; if you want to skip straight to the Good Stuff, head to 2:22 for a guitar riff which just *does things* to me)

In spite of that, my musical ‘old soul’ still has to resort to the not-the-radio resource of YouTube to supply such gorgeousness as The Andrews Sisters, The Beach Boys, Elvis, Flanders and Swann; usually with one or two tracks hitting my ‘favourites’ list on YouTube, as opposed to loving everything the band produced, as in the heyday of First Discovering Music.

But it’s not the same. YouTube is cold and clinical, and sometimes highly irritating (although everything’s ‘on tap’). The DJs on Jack FM have become my pals – I know the ins and outs of their public personas. I follow their news. I even follow the station on Twitter and Facebook. I recognize their voices. I dance in my car to their music choices, and I love it.

The world of music has become an outlet – I can use music to describe how I feel far better than I can use words. Music speaks to the soul rather than the intellect, and since my very first introduction, I knew that radio and I would get along, though it’s definitely moved up in status over the years from ‘companion’ to ‘Forever Friend’. Thank you Radio, for giving me so much.

About the Author:

Lizzi Rogers is a non-professional blogger over at Considerings. Her aim is to Think Deeply, Tell Truths and Actively Seek the Good in life. Creator of the weekend-long ‘Ten Things of Thankful’ hop, she blogs about her thoughts, her world and being a member of The Invisible Moms Club. She finds that when she runs out of words, music can be used to speak for her, and if she had to lose four of her five senses, would keep her hearing, for the idea of a world without music would be far too desolate to contemplate.”

You can follow her on Twitter: @LRConsiderer and on Facebook


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Duran Duran Made Me Hungry like A Wolf For A Second British Invasion

They weren’t as talented or even as wary of what was happening as their British forerunners, The Beatles, but Duran Duran changed music in so many different ways in the early 1980s, that even the most hardened music snobs acknowledge their impact. The five art school fashion plates who intentionally presented style over substance are not under serious consideration for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2014. And they just might deserve it.

DuranDuransongPics1W7sxNOJi6hpj9M

Duran Duran did something between the years 1981-1986 once thought impossible. British glam rock (other than David Bowie), New Wave (other than Blondie) and punk (other than The Clash, although they were never mainstream in America) had all failed in the United States. But what none of those movements had were a video music channel to showcase five good-looking guys, willing to sell themselves as much, if not more than their music.

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The radio and music stores in the early 1980s looked like dumping ground for every corporate now classic rock band of the time. Journey, Styx, Foreigner, Toto, and Reo Speedwagon could burp on record and it will stock my local Turtles. The shelves were R&B, sixties music like The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, The Who and the rest of the first British Invasion, and hard rock like the aforementioned bands and metal such as Ozzy Osbourne, AC/DC and Van Halen. Alternative was considered a lifestyle. College rock was whatever your friends older brothers and sisters were smoking pot with and it all sold maybe twelve copies each. But when MTV came on August 1, 1981 with “Ladies and Gentlemen, rock and roll” and then The Buggles’ Video Killed The Radio Star, mainstream America said, huh?

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I lived in suburb of Atlanta, 40 miles away called Grayson. It was Mayberry RFD but our sheriff wasn’t Andy Taylor, yet. He’d show up on our television in a few weeks as the guitar player of an English band named after a character in Barbarella. My part of town didn’t get MTV, or cable for that matter, until February 1982. By then, I’d heard about the racy videos from British bands being shown on the channel. Duran Duran had two, Planet Earth and Girls On Film, from their self titled debut album in 1981. Watching MTV for an 11-year-old sheltered country suburban boy was like watching Marlon Perkins’ Wild Kingdom. It seemed foreign, exotic and completely surreal. Because seventy-five percent of the acts shown in the first year of MTV weren’t at my local Turtles. The metal acts had a few videos on, like Iron Maiden and Judas Priest but most mainstream rock bands hadn’t taken to the medium because it wasn’t “cool”, yet. Then, Duran Duran happened.

Even among music snobs, Rio is a record that almost every ones. Starting in June 1982, it was being issued to the suburbs like Coca-Cola and Pop Rocks. Duran Duran was a boy band that could play instruments, write songs, and they took videos so seriously, you’d swear they were trying to win Academy Awards with each release.

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The first time I saw Hungry Like The Wolf, it changed me. Some people my age go on and on about Star Wars or Star Trek or Raiders of the Lost Ark but I had no attention span, loved music more than any art form, and in three and half minutes I had Simon LeBon and some exotic model with face paint writhing around a Sri Lankan jungle. Then they were in Antiqua in suits and on a boat. By the end of the summer, my local Turtles, the only record story within three towns, was having to back order Rio the album. You could buy pirated video tapes of Hungry Like The Wolf, Rio, and Save A Prayer from backs of dudes’ El Caminos behind the Burger King in Snellville, Georgia. That’s a true story.

Girls loved Duran Duran. I was twelve and thirteen while Duran Duran mania hit. I wasn’t “dating” but some of my friends were. Girls were not impressed with your Van Halen records or the first Motley Crue album but you showed them Rio and suddenly they wouldn’t look at you with disgust.

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Duran Duran was the lead soldiers of a second British (and Australian)Invasion. Spandau Ballet, Haircut 100, Squeeze, Billy Idol, Culture Club, Flock of Seagulls, Tears For Fears, Wham!, Banarama, Eurthymics, Crowded House, and INXS followed. Because of this spur in interest of British bands, Queen, Elton John, David Bowie, T.Rex, Genesis, and Paul McCartney all saw their careers rejuvenated. That’s right, the Fab Five helped some of the Fab Four.

By 1983, my local Turtles’ stacks looked like Central London more than Central Georgia. A year later, on one of my first “dates”, I went with a girl (and her parents) to see Duran Duran in concert, my fifth concert ever, and it was wild, like my parents described The Beatles when they were teenagers.

And the radio? It sounded like MTV looked. Whether you wanted to call it New Wave or New Romantic or British Invasion Music, you could go through three or four stations for an hour at a time and not hear an American band. Duran Duran has expanded the borders of my musical knowledge.

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This didn’t last. The new sheriff in town, Duran Duran guitarist Andy Taylor, as well as drummer Roger Taylor left the band. Solo projects, Simon Lebon nearly killing himself in a yachting accident and the inclusion of Michael Jackson, Prince and Madonna into MTV’s rotation saw things change quickly. But what Duran Duran did to my ears and eyes prepared me for the alternative, punk, and new music phenomena that would happened later in the decade.

Duran Duran didn’t make the Hall of Fame in 2013 but after realizing what they did, in a short amount of time in the early 1980s, and making a comeback in the 1990s, it’s time to forget the pretty boys’ sheen and respect the smart guys’ career.

Darken the city, night is a wire Steam in the subway, earth is a afire Doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo.

Lance Burson is a writer living outside Atlanta, Georgia with his wife and three daughters. He writes at http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com He’s the published author of two books, The Ballad of Helene Troy and Soul To Body, both available on amazon/kindle or in paperback from Lulu.com. His favorite Duran Duran member was Nick, because Nick hated boats.