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in this compact thrill-ride that i call the computer, one of the enduring heart-pounding moments is losing an entire outpouring of mental debris when the bastard decides to lock up and vaporise unsaved musings... especially when you're no where near it. i love you, Pandora's Box! consequently, i'm going to rewind the mental tape, back to Friday... because broken mower belts, blown circuit-breakers and cats who learn how to open refrigerator doors late in the night are not particularly noteworthy. i do find such events excellent for exercising verbal abuse, however. upon no one. ___________________________________________ for most of these last few nights, sleep has been fitful. interrupted. dreams, shadowy. it isn't enough, it seems, to be morose and preoccupied while awake... the subconscious wants some catharsis, too. Thursday night, particularly... not conducive to good radio, or a feeling of well-being. i awoke, Friday, with that long-gone and unmissed queasiness in the belly that i first had occasion to enjoy in my first years behind the mike. those were stressful days, walking into the spotlight of a well-established show with absolutely no radio experience. i still am extremely thankful for those souls that stuck with me through my early stumbling... and there was plenty. it seemed like this was going to be a reprise of that former Hell. having learned to follow the routine of gathering music, slapping together a list of concerts, and making the house weathertight helped tame the butterflies, somewhat, but it was the forty-five minute drive to CVille that was really the best medicine. straightening curves and blasting music on the Mission From Bob... better than coke, i swear. good thing, too. the latin selector (M*I*G) had contacted me, weeks previously, excited to have me interview two "artists" from Philly, a young Jamaican and ex-Cuban, respectively. unfortunately, nobody coughed up the bio information i needed, so this was going to be purely seat-of-the-pants broadcasting. years of interview experience with Culture/theWailers/Toots&TheMaytals/Meditations/SisterCarol/and a cast of dozens, thankfully, left me with some breathing room. with a little cooperation, it would be ok. of course, having your shit together in the attempt at self-promotion goes a long way, too. Rootsie, the ex-pat Jamaican that i've been training for the past few weeks arrived early to be my ambassador while i took care of the business of keeping the playlist flowing, and breaking the ice. it took more that an hour to get to that point, since they seemed content with making a fashionably late appearance outside the studio door. in shuffled three: t-shirts down to the knees, dead-looking eyes, baseball hats askew, and handshakes particular only to Philly, signaling to them that "cool", i was not. uh-oh. i tried to take the semi-professional route, when i got past the introductions and opened the mike... gerneral questions about musical influences, their origins, who they wanted to reach with their music: Du_Rek, the Jamaican, was going to be cooperative... el_Santo, the other, wanted to play hard-to-get. holy fuck. Du_Rek was lots more forthcoming, and brought a collection of his music to interperse with the commentary: home-burnt cds... though unable to tell me which tracks to play on the unlabeled discs. all they could do was head-shake when i chose the "wrong" selections. they mentioned wanting to do some rapping to their tracks, so i gave up my headphones so both could hear, and opened up the mike to let them have at it. one minute, two minutes, three went by... head-bobbing, shuffling, not a word escaped their lips. after five went by, i decided put the brakes on the trainwreck, and let them back out, gracefully. by this time there were nine people in this tiny studio. most of them, boring their eyes into the back of my head. i thought i was a dead man. (people: if you want to connect with a radio audience, know what you want to say about yourself. pre-plan the tracks that put you in the best light. volunteer more than nods and shoulder-shrugs. and please, arrive more than thirty minutes before the show concludes). i had to laugh, when it was all over, as M*I*G asked me, "They didn't do anything Bad, did they?" yeah, i'm glad i got over my butterflies, early. stepping out into the post-show afternoon, i'd completely forgotten about the wounds and preoccupation... and the fact that the students were returning. and the gridlock. Rootsie, passing me a bottle of roots wine, helped take the sting away when reality rushed back in... ...as did Biggles, who invited me to dinner, later... to share some time with him, the very pregnant VargaGirl, my godson, a few bottles of Fuller'sESB, and the GreatRockAndRollSwindle. yes, DanjerusKurves, it is your friends that help you with the deep cuts... which won't soon be healed over. just less festering. |
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