Pictured above is the actor Eric Bogosian who wrote and starred in the Oliver Stone movie Talk Radio. It was partly inspired by the life and death of DJ / talk show host Alan Berg who was killed in the early 80s because white supremacists didn't like his show.
I worked with two main presenters (and a variety of fill-in dudes) during the ten plus years I "produced" the late night radio phone-in. Both had very different styles, but each soon realised that in order to get people to call in night after night, you had to occasionally play devil's advocate and court a bit of controversy. And as a result, for every listener who loves your show, you'll find one who hates it. But sometimes the ones who hate it - if they can be persuaded to call up - can make the most interesting radio. Listening to people agreeing with each other on a variety of subjects night after night soon becomes boring. The best thing of all though is if you can get someone else to do the controversy for you. Let someone with truly outrageous views (listeners will always be more outrageous than any presenter is allowed to be) vent for a while... then watch the switchboard light up and you've got a call log that'll last you till the end of the show.
However, there are certain subjects which are talk show poison. Everyone has an opinion on them and loads of people will call in... but everybody says the same thing and from a listener's perspective it becomes very dull very quickly. (Good radio hosts quickly understand the balancing act between what active callers want to talk about and what passive listeners want to hear.)
Chief poison is dog poo.
Dog poo on the pavements. Dog poo in the park. Dog poo on the bottom of your shoes.
If ever you hear a local radio phone-in where they've resorted to talking about this, I can guarantee you two things:
1. The presenter really doesn't want to be talking about it: they know how boring it is.
2. Nothing else they've tried that night has caught on, so dog poo is desperation.
As a "producer" (I put the term in rabbit ears because I never thought of myself as such and was rarely ever called it: "phone-op" was far more common), your job is simple: keep the calls lined up. One on air, one on hold, a third in reserve just in case either of the first two disappear or say something that gets them cut off. On quiet nights though, you just pray for a call. Any call. You daren't leave the switchboard to grab a coffee or take a toilet break. Not until you have a couple in reserve. And when the switchboard flashes green, you jump on it...
"Hello - the $*£&% phone-in. What would you like to talk about?"
"Dog poo on the streets."
The presenter (who at this point has been talking for ten minutes without a break, desperately trying every trick in their arsenal to drum up calls) then gives you a look of relief tinged with gratitude, a look that also says: "At last! Get them on air NOW!" And you have to break the news to them that... yes, you can have them if you want... but I don't think you're gonna want them.
Still, at least after that you'll have calls for the next hour or so...
(Oh, in case you're wondering, nobody assassinated either of the presenters I worked with. There was the odd psycho and occasional stalker though. We'll get to them.)
36. The Dandy Warhols - Talk Radio
I reckon I have quite a few posts about working on the phone-in (even more if I can find the notebook I kept at the time) but I might spread them out a bit to stop them getting too boring. Believe me, I'm no advocate for talk radio. Like most things I was involved in during my time in radio, I can see how - done well - it can be entertaining... but in the end, I grew to hate it. Kinda like the Dandy Warhols obviously do. Watch this video if you want to see how it affects the minds of impressionable listeners...
Rah = yay. Apparently, Rah is also a derogatory term for the upper classes. Why anyone would want to be derogatory about the upper classes is beyond me. The Rah Band - Clouds Across The Moon
Lynchie has no shame. (It's the only song of theirs that I know too... but I love it unashamedly.)
Another video that screams for your attention.
1. Delta, famous for 15 minute soup and a Queen simile.
Delta = D.
Andy Warhol did pictures of Campbell's soup and told us we'd all be famous for fifteen minutes.
Queen sang Bohemian Rhapsody
Similes, as I keep telling my students, mostly involve like or as.
Somehow, I've never seen the video this before. Can't understand why they never showed it on Top of the Pops. (Clue: it's NSFW.)
Another George victory.
Can't wait for next week's. #9 already has me chuckling...
So, apparently, Ben Folds' dad suffers from somniloquy, a condition where you talk in your sleep... which makes you, apparently, ring up your rock star son and leave garbled messages on his answering machine which he then sets to music and uses to pad out his records. Or so the internet would have me believe.
Big-stetson C&W at its most shamelessly cheesey. Nothing wrong with that.
If you're callin' 'bout the car, I sold it
If this is Tuesday night, I'm bowling
If you've got somethin' to sell,you're wastin' your time, I'm not
buyin'
If it's anybody else, wait for the tone,
You know what to do
And P.S. if this is Austin, I still love you
On the other hand, some exes leave rather less romantic answerphone messages.This one drives David Gedge to callback... no doubt making matters much worse. You've got to learn when to let it drop, Dave.
And when I made that stupid oath About how I was going to Pay for someone to kill you both It was just my way of showing you That I wasn't playing Oh yeah, you're right, I sounded like a maniac But that's just what I'm saying You'll only see how much I've changed If you come back
5. Shirley Lee - The Reservoir
Not the first time I've found a way to include this song in a Top Ten... doubt it'll be the last. A tribute to Shirley's dear departed dad, it's one of the most emotionally devastating songs I've ever heard. Never fails to bring a tear to my eye*, especially when he plays that answerphone message at the end.
(*As proof, I just listened to it again now and my eyes are streaming.)
Wow. Not heard this for years, but it does remind me of my childhood. Guess they must have played it lots on Radio 2 when I was 7.
Evans was an old rock 'n' roller from the 50s - he had a hit with the original version of Seven Little Girls (Sitting in the Back Seat). This was a surprise comeback hit in 1979, another excellent car crash song... with a morbid twist. The answerphone chorus is sung by Lea Jane Berinati. In case you were wondering.
