Radio is a Flashlight

(this post has been de-fanged and replaced with a cheerier version)


I wasn't surprised to open up a local activist newspaper and see an ad for our station, but I didn't expect to see my name on it. (Clicking makes it bigger)
There's my show, The New Breakfast Snob, sandwiched between the Gospel and the Jazz.

At first , it was very difficult to adjust to waking up at 5:30 am, but I've been doing it for five months now and I've grown used to it.

In fact, I've grown quite used to the station in general.

For two years the station has been my anchor to the real world. When I got out of the hospital I threw myself into my radio work- it was my sustaining passion. When things got bad , I always had the radio to fall back on- there was always another show to produce, another playlist to program...and at home I could listen to my friends playing good music. There's a special security and comfort in listening to the announcer and not only being able to put a face on the voice, but being able visualize the entire studio. I can hear the music and in my mind's eye I can see all the buttons and knobs and that's a good feeling.

One evening I did an entire two hour show of bands that I had recorded , played in or worked for ..that was a uniquely enjoyable two hours of narcissism. I didn't announce what I was doing on-air but a couple friends noticed and that made it worthwhile.

One savvy friend asked: " Did you just do a two-hour guerrilla tribute to yourself?"

Why yes, I did. And I never played the same band twice.

Yeah , it's vain, but so what?

Check this out:

I have followed my songs all the way from the first scribbled chord progressions and words through the endless failed bands, crap rehearsals, marginal gigs, medieval recording dungeons and personal meltdowns and somehow managed to escort those very songs onto the airwaves where I used to fantasize they would one day be played.

In other words: A dream came true.

I was so busy brooding I almost didn't notice.

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I find inspiration in odd places.

One show consisted mostly of songs inspired by my blogpals- I have even played music by blogpals and their offspring. This is more indicative of my lack of imagination than any benevolence in my character, but it was still a neat feeling - a real mingling of worlds, if you will. And the music was good, although it's also part of the saddest episode of my sad blooging career...eh,well.
Live and learn.

Every once in a while one of my blogbuddies listens to me live on the webstream and when I get their emails or comments, I feel connected in a way that radio or blog alone doesn't quite provide. (Hello and thanks to Em and JP and Lorraine and Barb and Amy and everyone else who's ever tuned in!)

I often have this almost overwhelming conviction that I am a failure in every way that matters, but then I think about my pitiful little dream and how it actually did happen. No fame, no fortune, just the knowledge that it happened because I made it so, which is more than some people ever get.

When I play my friend's music, I am helping them with their dreams in a tiny, tiny way... it's small and I know that in 'real life' it doesn't change their world or anything, but it is what I can do and it is real.
When I play songs that I grew up with sometimes I talk about those memories. I never know what I'm going to say- music moves me in unpredictable ways, but the emotion is always real.
Real radio- not a podcast. It's personal. Every song has a point.
To me, it's beautiful.

I get to share those feelings every week.

That doesn't feel like failure. That feels good.

So why am I so sad?