92.1

Sanford, Maine is a small city close to me here in Acton. It has had a radio station transmitting at 92.1 on the dial for quite a few years. It has gone through more than a few changes; call letters, formats and owners over the 47 years I have been listening. But it is still there because of the impressive height of the tower that sits on a hill called Mt. Hope, overlooking the old mill town.

The big ass tower up on Mt. Hope, uh,Mount Rialto used to rock our socks off.  The disc jockeys spun every tune by hand.  Hard Rock, Jazz, Blues, Alternative and once in awhile even some cutting edge Country.  I remember a Merle Haggard set once.  Along with the opening line, "We don't smoke marijuana in Muskogee", while in the background the disc jockey sucked in hard on the mic, and in almost a whisper, "Sissssssss, ah that's some good stuff man."  

Immediately came the sound of lungs coughing as they expanded past their red line and drowned out the first few lines of the song. They might not be smoking marijuana in Muskogee, but apparently they did smoke marijuana up on Mt. Rialto.

Every night was a theme night.  Blues on Mondays I think.  Jazz owned Sunday mornings.  Alternative, mixed with Pop which mixed with AC/DC and Black Sabbath most daylight hours.  Tie a Yellow Ribbon around Ozzie while Steely Dan waits his turn.  Never knew what to expect. It was great.

The last DJ, Ken Ridley - R.I.P.

The radio at the bike shop was locked on the Mount; we didn't move it. I think it was around 1994 when a Massachusetts concern bought the station and began feeding music to Mount Rialto from somewhere deep in the Commonwealth. 92.1 is still pumping out music as an "oldies" station that has someone knowledgeable programming it. But 92.1 is just another spot on the radio dial broadcasting pre-programmed music without the fun that happens between songs when manic jocks lose their shit and go verbally postal. That was always half the fun of listening to live programming, the chance to hear someone say something outrageous that would twist the panties of any older generation who happened to be within earshot.

This gradual transformation and eventual extinction of the solo radio station pumping out tunes one song at a time at 10,000 watts is almost complete now. I thought we had hit rock bottom when the radio stations were bought up by tone deaf venture capitalists. Almost over night spinning platters were replaced by pre-programmed tapes punched up at corporate headquarters 200 miles away and 50 stations began playing the same songs at the same time.

As it turned out, rock bottom was still years away.

Now all our music is stored, cataloged, and broadcast out of the memory banks of millions of computers sprinkled around the planet through internet cables hanging on poles or buried in the ground. Radio waves now days are mostly reserved for talk radio that often spend their time spewing hate and discontent. There are some older all music stations hanging in there, but the heart of music radio has been torn out and now exists on the Internet. I-tunes, Sirius, Spotify and other music purveyors charge a per song fee or monthly fees to hear the music we used to listen to for free.

It may sound as if I am complaining. It may seem I am not happy about how the Past let me down with the Present it left me. There is no reason to complain, but plenty of reason for at least a moment or two to be nostalgically sad. I grew up on music pumped out of honking big radios filled with rectifier tubes that grew hot and glowed as music worked past the static to make us smile until we were out of range and had to fiddle with a dial to find a new station. I don't miss those days now so much as I appreciate they were there setting the stage for what would come into my life 60 years later. 

Later Gator ............................................

__________________________

Naturally or not, I am picking Merle Haggard's "Okie From Muskogee" 

( Orig - 2/7/2012 )