Many of you reading this were raised on the radio. At twenty-six, I belong to perhaps one of the last batches of American radio babies who might have sufficient knowledge about how the radio works, what a semiconductor is and where is IC programming used in this device (more information about this can be found at https://www.proex1.com/blog/posts/2021/december/what-is-ic-programming/). But I still feel that I wandered along just a little too early for MP3s and Pandora. I wish I had more time to witness the marvels of radio and the bliss that it is known to provide.
But by the time I was born, radio stations had already chosen to make mediocrity their business model. Mediocre radio taught me almost everything I knew about music, melody, and lyrics; that only began to change at about sixteen, when I finally started buying CDs.
But CDs were expensive for this Maine forest-dwelling country boy; major labels had raised the cost of CDs to around $22 at that point. To earn a single CD, you’d have to work a cash register or wash dishes for three or four hours.
Every album was a financial risk. Radio and MTV were two of the only ways to preview music before you bought it at that time, so the mainstream’s power over my buying habits remained strong.
Underground word-of-mouth did have some influence, but only rarely. At sixteen I remember hearing my friend Anna say:
“I listened to Alice by Tom Waits all weekend. He’s amazing.” That’s the first time I ever heard the man’s name. Anna was a smart and beautiful girl that I had a bit of a crush on; her endorsement trickled into a deep, damp corner of my teenaged brain and pooled there.
Not long after, I happened across Blood Money while poking through a CD bin at Wal-Mart.
One of the song titles struck me. “Starving in the Belly of a Whale”? Wow, imagine being hungry and being dinner all at the same time. Quite a situation. Quite an idea.
I looked the CD over front and back, noticing suddenly that the album was by that Tom Waits guy Anna had mentioned. Intriguing. I read every song title and examined the front and back covers for probably five full minutes. I had no way of knowing that I stood at a major life crossroads there in that cavernous store.
Finally, after carrying it around for a while, I wedged the CD back between its neighbors. I was curious, yes, but I either didn’t have the money or the courage to take a risk on an artist I’d never heard. Every new disc had to count; had to be something I’d be able to stand hearing dozens and dozens and dozens of times. Anything too quirky, artsy, or strange might be interesting at first listen but quickly grow tiresome.
I was trapped: by radio, by CD prices, by repetition, by mediocrity. No wonder there were several stretches of time in which I barely listened to music at all. If you’d asked me, I would’ve told you that I didn’t like music. What a nightmare.
As I alluded above, radio masterminds take great pains to plan tolerable stations: not great stations. Not terrible stations. Just universally tolerable stations.
Radio is the lowest common denominator.
Somehow I knew that, and around then I did begin to drift away from the radio. But when tolerable music is all you’ve ever known, sadly you’ll just seek out more of what you know.
* * *
It was ten years-a decade later-when Blood Money finally found its way back into my hands. The album had stood the test of time. I no longer wanted Rammstein or Korn or Limp Bizkit or any of that other stuff that I’d been spoon fed as a teen. Nobody cared about those bands anymore. But friends still found Tom Waits interesting. I’d been hearing his name for most of my life from at least five people close to me. Finally I took Blood Money home.
It knocked me out from the very first listen. The sounds, the lyrics, the performance! It was strange. Dark. Philosophical. Complex. It was not for everyone. You’d never hear a note of it on the radio, but it resonated deeply with me.
And so justice was done, in the end. But this all came only after I’d consciously taken responsibility for my own musical education. At around twenty I know I started going off road a bit, listening to Zappa and various indie bands.
Today I own over 500 albums: Marvin Gaye, Dinosaur Jr., Slayer, Albert Ayler, Sister Rosetta Tharpe, Vivaldi, Thelonious Monk, Electric Masada, Sade, Richard Hell and the Voidoids, Sunn O))), Ella Fitzgerald, The Talking Heads-suffice to say I listen to just about everything I can get my greedy hands on.
I listen for all kinds of different reasons-for education as well as for pleasure-and I can no longer imagine what it was like to not have access to this beautiful life-enriching music. I don’t believe I’m exaggerating when I say that music has made me a better person. A whole person. And it’s helped me to slowly undo all of the preconceptions and formulae I absorbed through mainstream music all those years.
Finally I’ve arrived at the bittersweet truth that all omnivorous listeners know: there is too much amazing music in this world. No matter how long I live, I have no hope of hearing it all.
What a relief.
Brilliant post T and so true. I have my stories too. The web has meant that everyone I know has broadened their genre tolerance. As someone who grew up on metal I couldn’t afford to risk £10 on a jazz vinyl album that might grow on me. we’ve never had it so good!
Matt–write those stories, will ya? I’d be curious to read.
I gotta say, I’m with you here–never before has it been so easy to find a recording by basically anyone you want, and at a price that’s worth risking. Since decent-sounding downloads became feasible, I’ve listened to hundreds of hours of jazz, funk, classical, soul… not to mention Afghan rubab music and Indonesian guitar and and and…
It’s a great time for anyone who loves music.
Great article. I guess I hadn’t thought of the demise of radio a thing to reflect on, I was just glad it was gone. I remember consciously deciding to stop listening to the radio, I took the antennae off my car. I only listen out of curiosity sometimes and to my surprise it has gotten worse. From that point on it was only through the suggestions of trusted friends that I would give music its day in court.
Of course the internet was a tremendous boon to my musical selection range. It becomes a problem when you get deeper and deeper into musical choice and your tastes go toward the fringe. I feel like I put music on that I really enjoy but no one else does. Because they haven’t gone through the same process to get to where I am, alienating. All this choice has cost us our collective experience with music. Good article.