Dave and Brad: In the Listening Room

This will interest absolutely no one except my best friend (Dave Allen) and yours truly, but really the purpose of my website is mostly the self delusional aggrandizement of my pathetic life. So if you don’t want to participate then go and check out the topless photo of Melanie Griffith that accompanies my review of Something Wild.

Fine, now that the shallow people are gone lets all go back to the wonderful year 1986.

The Place – The Northwestern University Radio Station

Fuck, I haven’t heard this in at least 10 years, this should be interesting, well for me at least.

The tape begins with Randy Newman’s Sigmund Freud’s Impersonation of Albert Einstein in America …

which means we’re popping in right at the end of what we derisively called the Ben Show

I of course know this because there was no fucking way either Dave or I would ever play that song. Since we were a freeform show and we were supposed to log our generous eclectic output, we might have claimed to have played that song, but again no fucking way.

My guess here is that every song played by me will be either from 1977-1979 or 1954-1969. Every song Dave will play will be punk and most will be really annoying.

The real show always opens with squeals of feedback that only two morons who had barely any idea how to work a studio and little interest in maintaining sound balance or decorum could.

Dave pops on laughing at our incompetence and after being instructed by Ben to turn off the record player eventually says “Oh gosh, beautiful, it’s the Brad and Dave show as you can probably tell from the instant chaos.”

I start talking. This would probably be a pretty good place to introduce myself, but for some reason I’m not really talking into the mic, I’m making fun of Ben’s entire pretentious being about in another direction entirely. Ben was a nice enough overweight guy, who already had the voice of an 60 year old mellow Jazz DJ.

Dave reads the call letters 89.3 WNUR of Evanston, Chicago. I immediately pop in and applaud him for finally getting it correct, which was a weekly ordeal for Dave. Apparently, I wasn’t really paying attention. Either that or I too thought that Evanston, Illinois was part of Chicago.

We ponder the only formal section our show ever had, which was the Ben goodbye. Dave feels that it’s a little early for that so we put it off for a little while, because I’m sure our audience of 20 or so cocaine addicts up at 4 AM in the middle of the summer listening to a college freeform show were just dying for the weekly Say Goodbye to Ben segment.

Dave tries to start the show when Ben interrupts and tries to clarify some inane point about the John Waters movie Pink Flamingos from earlier in his show. I immediately interrupt him and let him know that I don’t listen to his show and therefore could care less. It’s Brad and Dave time dude get over yourself!

I immediately start in with what I claim is my plan for World Domination.

Unfortunately, this plan involves taking a transistor radio tuned to our show and putting it up to the microphone. I soon learn how really shrill annoying feedback is made. Apparently, I was stupid enough to think that with the stations delay I could create some kind of genius infinite building loop of the show.

Undeterred by my failure to build radio’s first Wall of Sound, I decide to make do with what is and create more shrill annoying feedback. We are now down to 18 cocaine addicts, which Dave notes. He doesn’t stop me of course. Hell, he enjoys the feedback as much as I do.

Again undeterred by my failure, I suggest that we just pretend that we made the Wall of Sound happen by repeating everything we say over and over again. It’s pretty annoying and goes on far too long, but again we’re amused and really that’s all that counts.

It should be noted that although I was cleaner than Nancy Reagan at the time, I sound completely stoned. Yes, this was how my mind operated 24-7.

I try to announce our show’s theme, but Dave immediately mocks me for my inability to control my microphone, which happened constantly on our show. Dave had a wonderful professional mic. I had some shitty little model that someone probably stole from a church social. I was always extremely dismayed with my inferior mic and never let Dave forget it. Not that there was anything to do about it, but he was the one that got the radio show so he got the good mic.

Tonight’s theme is Dave and Brad in the Listening Room. Essentially, we’re going to play records, probably one request and the rest our stuff, and rate them from 0-100.

This is hardly an original theme because essentially 90% of the Brad and Dave show is always us whining about how bad the music the other guy is playing. Really all we are going to be doing is adding numbers to our usual shtick; Dave tells me I’m taking having a theme a little too seriously. Unimpeded I tell him that tonight will be a monumental night in radio. Let me warn you in advance, it won’t be.

My claim that we are using the same scale as Dick Clark’s American Bandstand is refuted by Ben who claims that Dick uses the scale 35-98. I admit that I do my best to avoid American Bandstand at all costs, laugh at Ben and say that we’re using 0-100 anyway because 35-98 is way too hard for either Dave or I to remember this early in the morning.

I offer the audience the chance to call in and participate. Ben says that the three of us are the only “viewers” around. Dave mocks Ben for thinking that people can see radio, while I insist that they can and think that Ben’s green hat is really stupid looking.

Dave acts annoyed and tells me to be serious about tonight’s theme. He then laments the fact that last week our listeners were largely dominated by Corey Hart fans. Who are we kidding, fan, and that he hopes that our audience will be a little more hard core tonight. We didn’t say hard core back then, but that’s essentially what he meant by “serious listeners.” The Ben show was hardly a great lead in for Dave’s usual Bauhaus and Joy Division sides.

 There was a Best of Corey Hart????

Dave tells me to be serious and laughingly I insist that I’m always serious. I tell the audience that we will be choosing the best record at the end of the night and the record “Dave picked out.” Dave makes a guttural scoffing noise, which essentially means “Fuck you, it’s on.” Peace and harmony on the Brad and Dave show has yet again fallen apart by the 7 minute mark.

The Beatles “I Don’t Want to Spoil the Party” comes on. This was obviously my choice. I was really into songs decrying my romantic loneliness. Sadly, in 22 years nothing has changed.

The next song is The Rutles “Hold My Hand”

You might think that I held a lot of sway on the show’s music since the first two songs are both mine, but this is likely more of a reflection of the fact that I pulled my records beforehand and Dave has no idea what he’s going to play and if it doesn’t come to him he’s going to play the first nasty thing that he sees. Cred wise Dave is looking much cooler than me right now.

The Say Goodbye to Ben segment starts – it’s really a wonder that this segment wasn’t sponsored by Snickers or someone. Notice it’s already been like 20 minutes and we’ve yet to play a PSA cart, which were actually sometimes really funny.

I offer Ben the chance to rate the two records before he leaves. 

Ben gives the Beatles an 89 and then calls the Rutles song “so so”

Dave warns Ben that he will in all likelihood be defining the “so so” rating for the rest of the night and to be careful. Really this is a lot funnier with the two of us snickering like we’re Beavis and Butthead the whole time. Actually, in a lot of ways we were.
Ben defines the “so so” bar at 78, which Dave and I immediately are appalled by because it’s way too high. I say, “I thought it was great and I was gonna give it a 78!”

Ben introduces two friends of his who have stopped in, which causes Dave to suddenly remember that he has a phone message for Ben from his boss. I can’t tell you how amazing it is that this message actually got delivered.

I ask Ben if he’s going out to meet one of his female listeners, which would like huh uh huh “be cool”

Ben informs us that he does in fact have no female listeners and we both immediately tell him that we’re not at all surprised. And we actually sort of liked Ben.

We then brag about how we have tons of female fans, which means we got like one fan letter from a girl once. I posit that the letter said, “I can’t tell you how close I was to the heights of depression after listening to Ben and then you guys came on.”

I then describe your average depressing Ben show as nothing but a bunch of dreary long piano solos.

Dave then gets off his most inspired bit of word play ever when he calls them “piano soliloquies” 

We were morons, but we were in college.

Ben then honestly in pain and not kidding at all says, “Wow, that’s kind of degrading, guys.”

Sensitive souls that we are we react to this by laughing.

Ben brings up George the Sandwich man. This was a guy with a truck full of junk food that sold his wares from building to building.

Ben tells a story about how George once came upon a young girl who said that she was going to kill herself.

I immediate pop in with a less than concerned, “Did he give her a pizza?”

Really, you should have some Beavis and Butthead laughter going on in the background to get the pure sense of what a waste of university funds this whole thing is.

Apparently, George was wearing a Santa Claus outfit so she cheered up and lived, which immediately gets me laughing about how some wrestler friends of ours emptied out a similar non-George truck one night. I think they had like one guy steal a Twinkie and run. Of course, while the guy ran after him, the rest of the wrestlers emptied the entire truck. I place their haul at like 40 pizzas and a wide assortment of pop tarts.

Both Dave and I find this behavior to be not only inspirational, but also hilarious. I miss college hooliganism! Dave continuing with his mastery of word play on this night refers to the poor dude’s empty truck as his “sandwichmobile!”

Ben then points out that Dave has stolen someone’s Danish, which is bad because not only is it stolen, but we aren’t supposed to be eating in the studio, which Ben immediately points out.

“We’re totally not eating in here,” Dave says mockingly at which I scream into the microphone with an insane cry of “BEN TOLD US WE COULD!”

I’m so amused with myself that I start making feedback with the transistor radio again. 15 cocaine addicts!

Dave announces that again it’s utter chaos and that I’m fired. I’m laughing so hard that had I been stoned I probably would have dropped dead.

Dave starts berating Ben for not writing down his PSAs. In fact, he accuses him of not playing any at all. Notice of course that it’s now been about 30 minutes and we haven’t played one either.

I continue to mock the Ben show. I recall that Ben once interviewed a band during his show and the band essentially treated him like they were the Sex Pistols and insulted him for every question that he asked. “They were like ask us some interesting questions and Ben was like what do you want me to ask you? And they were like ‘we don’t know you’re the interviewer retard!” I’m in hysterics remembering this moment, which Ben remembers as “being quite chaotic.”

Notice that Ben still hasn’t left even after close to a half hour of us berating him. You’d think after the “That’s kind of degrading, guys” that he’d either be gone or hanging himself in a broom closet by now. Much too his credit he never once falls out of his low key Jazz guy groove.

Dave and I dreamed of having Mojo Nixon on our show, but other than that our guest list was whoever was up and wanted to stop by, which was usually nobody.

I continue to mock both Ben and the punk bands.

“Ben was like trying to play them Al Dimeola and crap like that and they were like no no play this Clash song Stay Free it’s about Mick Jones, he was once a heroin addict.”

I announce it to have been one of the most hilarious things that I have ever “seen,” which makes me wonder if I heard it on the radio or if I was actually there because I’ve completely forgotten this hilarious moment in radio history.

Dave, in turn, announces that the Danish is gone and apparently loudly throws a plastic plate across the room, which leads me to about my twelfth straight minute of barely being able to talk through my incessant giggling.

I note that Dave’s going to get us thrown off the air, to which Dave reminds me that if anyone from the station ever heard any 30 seconds of our show that we’d already be off the air.

About a minute and a half of me continuing to giggle hysterically and you can audibly hear Dave trying to swallow the Danish.

It’s the best I can do to giggle out, “Oh, no this is a farce!”

Dave calmly announces a request.

It turns out to be This is England by the Clash. Apparently, Rate a Record Night is over because neither Dave nor I ever rated the first two records. Actually, it’s a wonder that we even remembered the theme long enough to have Ben rate them.

Odds that This is England was actually a request? I’m guessing about one in a hundred although it could have been the choice of either one of us. We both agreed about the Clash. Actually, I think it’s pretty brilliant that we follow up a mention of Mick Jones with a Clash song that he didn’t play on.

We’re back. I’m describing Dave who is talking to someone on the phone and explain that we actually wanted to play Know Your Rights, but “someone probably wanted a copy of Should I Stay or Should I Go and ripped off the stations copy of Combat Rock.”

I think Dave and I were pretty good about not stealing records. Actually, there are a couple records that Dave is still upset that he didn’t steal.

We start to rate the records again going all the way back 20 minutes to the Beatles song which I give a 90! Dave says, “I think they maybe took simplicity a little too far in this song.” “I insist that is exactly what was good about it.” I have no idea what either of us are talking about.

Dave gives the Beatles an 82 saying that he couldn’t snap his fingers to it. I’m offended wondering how or why you would want to snap your fingers to a song that embodies my constant romantic despair. This is definitely high class music criticism here.

Dave relates out of nowhere that he was made to call people for donations to Northwestern last night and that three of them were dead and that he had enough depressing crap for the week.

He calls the Rutles song a joke and not a good one and is unimpressed when I relate that it incorporated licks from 8 Days a Week, She Loves You, and I Want to Hold Your Hand.

Dave claims the song sounded like a joke parody and does his best to cover his ass when I point out that the song is EXACTLY a joke parody, by claiming that it was repetitive and annoying.

He gives it a 42.

We go to This is England which I point out to be the only good song on Cut the Crap. Dave repetitively calls this one repetitive too and gives it a 90.

“You don’t like it and you gave it a 90. You expect a 100 from Joe Strummer every time! See those kinds of expectations are why Joe Strummer just got arrested for driving too fast.”

Dave tells me that I’m an idiot and I accuse him of wanting too much from his pop stars.

Dave plays a slow metal riff. After about 20 seconds it becomes the Beasties Boys’ She on It, once he realizes that it should be played at 45 not 33. Does anyone even remember what that means anymore?

This is going to make me look bad because I may be about to go off on a semi racist anti-rap diatribe if my memory suffices. I don’t think I was converted until Fight for Your Right came out, which Dave and I performed together in our room for like an hour an a half with my guitar and a mic that god knows we must have stolen from someone both plugged into my stereo for amplification. That probably wasn’t very annoying.

Dave follows it with World Destruction by John Lydon and Afrika Bambaataa. Dave is looking very hip in retrospect I must say. You gotta like hearing Johnny Rotten and a rapper going “Kaboom Kaboom!”

“The human race is becoming a disgrace” – Jesus this was 22 years ago. No one is ever happy with the state of the world, but then again why should they be?

I immediately start mocking the guitar solo on the Beastie Boy songs and mock them for being white and trying to rap.

I then begin my rap diatribe “That Beastie Boys song was terrible and I think rap is corrupt as an art form!” I explain that it’s merely white critics trying to deal with their guilt over slavery, proving myself to be about as insightful in retrospect as the people who built the Corvair. The first rap song I ever liked was Me, Myself and I and its about 3 years away.

I compare the Beastie Boys to the Paul Collins Beat trying to rap. “I hate white boys trying to rap, it makes me sick, I give it a 32.”

Uh oh, I then mock World Destruction for the “Kaboom Kaboom section,” which I of course raved about only four paragraphs ago. I’m quite the student of music aren’t I?
I then tell Johnny Rotten that it’s time to hit Vegas, which Johnny actually probably would have enjoyed. I go on to compare the rap punk paring to Julio Iglesias and Willie Nelson’s To all the Girls I’ve Loved Before. Chances are that I actually liked the song and just didn’t want to let Dave know it.

Dave says something about the song invigorating the entire funk rap soundscape!

Dave says “I like it because it moved me!” Well, you certainly can’t fault him for that.

I then go on a rant about drum machines. I still actually agree with this one. I haven’t totally flip-flopped with the times.

 I Wanna Be With You by the Raspberries comes on!!! And yes we’re still commercial or at least PSA free!

Everybody’s Girl by Rick Springfield; this should be an interesting fight. I’m guessing it’s because I compared the Beastie Boys too him, but actually this song sounds fairly good to me right now. I suddenly realize that while I’m still a loser, I’m at least a slightly different loser now!

Dave tries to do the call letters and fails completely. I knew the opening was a fluke.

Wow, Dave starts to read a PSA!

He then plays a cart for the Peace Corps. Nice it only took about 50 minutes. We’re probably supposed to play these things every 10.

“Why are you putting those head phones on?”

“I was trying to be like a DJ,” from Dave, which elicits nothing but laughter from me.

Chances are he was probably trying to cue the next song up properly, which maybe happened with like 1 out of 10 our spins. Kids have it so easy with MP3s these days. No speeds. No cueing. Where was technology when we needed it?

Dave and I argue about the Raspberries and I point out how we’re both from Cleveland. I give it a 93 making it my choice so far. Dave walks out in protest. I couldn’t care less and announce that it’s now the Brad show.

I then rant that indeed the Springfield song and the Beastie Boys sounded alike minus the James Brown grunts on She’s on It.

I do a James Brown grunt and Dave points out how annoying it is when I over modulate the equipment with sudden bursts of sound. He’s right.

We announce our love for the local half black punk band 007 that played about 85% of the parties that Dave and I threw for the pathetic fraternity we accidentally joined.

Dave plays Going Down to Florida by the Butthole Surfers, which seemingly goes on forever, followed by Drunken Stupid by Love Canal.

I’m not pleased with either choice. I do some whining and Dave claims that I’ve already hit my 5 o’clock lull. Essentially, we usually had a lot of energy from 4 AM to 5 AM, and then crashed just about every week.

I mention a story I read about the Butthole Surfers hating their bass player. Dave claims to have also read it. “There again is Dave Allen dispensing with the myth that he can’t read.” Dave points out that dispensing isn’t the proper word in that context and that I can’t talk. Actually, either I’m still ignorant or he was wrong. Dispensing is correct isn’t it?

Too Much Too Soon by I’m not sure because the tape ends and by the time it was flipped over that info is long gone. I think it was by the Slugs.

I’ve become bored with Rate a Record Night and suggest that we rate Rate a Record night and dispense with the whole concept. Dispense is correct. Fuck you, Dave!

Dave tells me I’m free to go home any time I wish. I respond that I’m going to sleep.

Hey, it was the Slugs!

Dave plays No Fun by 007 and manages to sing in with the chorus basically inferring that I’m no fun. Unfortunately, he leaves the mic on the whole time and you can hear him berating me for nearly ruining a $1,000 turntable by putting my head down it’s arm in an attempt to close my eyes. Some punk he turned out to be.

We’ve definitely hit the 5 o’clock lull. The laughing has stopped. Dave tells me to fight the slump. I yell an “I’m sick of this” which sounds very much like Bill Hick’s use of the same phrase imitating Judas Priest deciding to convince their fans to commit suicide from a number of years later. I may have a law suit here.

I tell Dave that the whole thing has gotten old and that we should just sit here in silence for a while. We’re very professional, aren’t we?

Dave turns my mic off and I start yelling at him. Dave for some reason has a megaphone and starts to chant the Northwestern Fight Song. I start a kazoo like accompaniment and decide that my use of vibrato was very tasteful.

Hey, it’s Blank Generation by Richard Hell and the Voidoids and yes the first 30 seconds are played at 45 instead of 33. Since, it’s likely to have been my choice I have to take responsibility for this one. By the way Brian Setzer totally stole the Stray Cat Strut riff and the even the “ooo ooo” cat howls from this song by Richard, which would be bad except I’m sure Richard stole it from someone else first. God, Robert Quine rules!

The Ramones Somebody Put Something in My Drink plays which about halfway through Dave decides is terrible and says so while it plays. We continue to agree that the song sucka and wonder when the damn thing will end. Dave decides he can’t wait and lifts the needle. As I listen now this entire song may have been played at the wrong speed, because it sure sounded slow for the Ramones.

I’m now totally exhausted and offer up with the less than DJ like, “Let’s not play any records any more let’s just sit here and wait for the next guy to come in. Not talk. Not play any records. No one calls. No one is listening.” This is a bad omen because this thing has about 50 minutes left to it.

Some classical music comes on which means it has to be another PSA. No wait it’s Tom Waits’ Burma Shave, by supposedly a request. God this is dreary. This isn’t likely to wake me up. Obviously, I like depressed lyrics; I just need the upbeat tunes with them so I don’t kill myself. Some things never change.

After about three minutes, you can hear me complaining about how tired I am and how no one is listening. I blame it on the Beastie Boys song. I do an imitation of Jim Morrison’s Soft Parade Intro, “Wake up! You don’t remember where you’ve been.”

As the Waits song keeps meandering its way home in the foreground, we discuss what kind of music we prefer to be woken up to. Dave starts to mock me because I have to listen to Larry King at night or else I can’t fall asleep. I claim that Little Richard was a recent guest and do a too loud impersonation of him, which again jolts the sound system.

We then discuss Little Richard for a while, not so much for the radio; we’re passing time at this point. We’re tired and we want to go home. I point out that Little Richard isn’t gay anymore and I may have said something homophobic. This was probably a really bad choice of a show to transcribe. Then again, no I said something asinine and insulting just about every show. Let’s not even get into the apartheid gaffe from maybe the second show we did.

We start discussing Alexander Hamilton for some reason and whether he was gay. Wow, it’s getting worse. I claim that Hamilton had a gay lover before getting married and how disappointed I was because before reading that he used to be one of my heroes. Wow, maybe I was sent to San Francisco for all those years as a sort of karmic revenge. Please, hang up the phone and stop calling GLAAD. I have no problem with gay people, except for the fact that they seem to think that they have the right to put their hands all over your women any time they want.

Burma Shave finally ends as I mock Hamilton for being a legend until he got himself knocked off in a duel.

Dave decides that since its 5:18 and I’m asleep that he might as well do a PSA. Yawning I offer to read it and then quickly change my mind.  It’s some art museum announcing something arty which Dave abandons half way through as sounding like “deplorable behavior.”

I then decide to tell a joke. “Jim is trying to get Alex to stop gambling.” I’m referring to the show Taxi, but hey why point that out. I remember this one though, it’s pretty good. Jim tells Alex that he was doing peyote with a high priest on a mountain top on they were both fighting over the last hit and that he thanks god to this day that he let the priest have it. “And not just because the priest jumped off the mountain because he thought he could fly.” I then devolve into another “Oh god, this a farce!” type laugh.

Dave announces that he’s going to play something by someone with the same name as him, which I ponder could be any number of children across the country.

He plays something really annoying, which is by Shriekback or any of the other 20 bands that once had someone named Dave Allen in it.

Dave follows with You Drive Me Ape (You Big Gorilla) by the Dickies. This is actually a legendary song for us, because we once played the entire thing on 33 instead of 45 the whole way through and never noticed. Some Dickies fan was miraculously listening and was less than pleased. In our defense, you slow down most punk song and it sounds like Black Sabbath, who knew? This time we played it correctly. See we care, sort of.

I’m now on the phone with my mother. Not on the air of course, we didn’t have that technology, but in the background. She can’t be listening to the show, because she’s in Cleveland, but she seems to be of the opinion that Dave is more radio friendly than I am. I tell her that I’m going to have to hang up one her.

Oh Christ, Dave plays some fucking a capella Irish Jig. God, I hate that crap, did then do now. Just because the Pogues are cool didn’t mean I wanted to listen to all this other traditional nonsense. Fuck Dylan Thomas!

Dave was totally into the Irish thing, which annoyed me to no end especially the week that he had his girl friend on instead of me and played all Irish music. I’m still pissed about that. I came into the studio and made them play Heart by Rockpile, but the rest of it had no me and was unlistenable. Well, at least that’s how I remember it.

I’m talking on the phone to someone else. I’ve given up on the show. 

Eventually Dave makes me start rating records again; I call Blank Generation Punkabilly an idea whose time has come. Dave said he was bored and I get mad at him.

We start ragging on the Ramones song again although I claim the background vocals were ok.

I’ve been off mic for the last 8 minutes by the way. Finding this out I call Dave a Bastard and threaten to kick his ass. Dave tells me that I can’t swear on the radio and I tell him to Fuck off.

We play The Smothers Brothers’ Pretoria, which is about as freeform as we were ever going to really get. I actually have always loved the Smothers Brothers, but I’m not really pleased with the cut that Dave has chosen.

The Alarm sing Johnny Come Home

Oh god, more god damn Irish crap, I’m clearly asleep by now, because I’m not stopping this. It’s a song called Green Fields of France by The Men They Couldn’t Hang, if anyone cares. The lyric, “I hope you died quick and I hope you died clean,” is sort of cool though. 

Wait that wasn’t the Alarm, it was also the Men They Couldn’t Hang, which means that we’ve gotten so lazy that we’re not even changing the discs anymore.

I ponder rating the rest of the songs and decide I can’t bear to think about such agony. We declare the Dickies the winner, probably because we don’t want to piss off the same dude again, and Love Canal the loser.

Dave announces a cart followed by much fumbling. It’s a message about blind people; with some really lame horse sound effects that just puts me on the floor. The PSA claims that they are changing what it means to be blind and I declare that being blind is now defined as “having a big horn in the middle of your head.” Jesus is there anyone I haven’t offended in the last two hours.

I then start giggling uncontrollably as I imitate the sound effects from the PSA, the clop, clop, clop of the horse and an insane whinny. Dave posits that people are turning us off as we speak and I of course deliriously laugh my way into the line of the night.

“People turned us off a long time ago!”

I’m now completely tired and delirious. Dave re-plays the horse into again and I spend about the next three minutes giggling uncontrollably occasionally whinnying until I finally say, “Man, we should have done this show tomorrow night when we were feeling better.”

Dave just starts talking and lets me giggle. I finally beg him to play a song.

“I’m losing control, Brad,” Dave laughs.

“We lost control right after Ben left.”

I again repeat that the Dickies are our winner and that we will be sending them the rest of Dave’s stolen Danish, which reminds me that Dave never really threw a plastic plate across the room, it was the half of the Danish that he never finished. Well done, Dave. No wonder we never got a shift at a reasonable hour.

“If someone calls in, in the next three minutes,” I offer teasingly, “we’ll be happy.”

The Cocaine addicts are definitely all gone by now.

I play Living a Lie by the db’s and boy if you haven’t heard it you should because it’s great!

Hey it’s Jan and Dean with Baby Talk, which means I had probably just seen the made for TV movie, Dead Man’s Curve. Did I even talk to a girl in college?

We’re back and I’m so delirious that I’m singing Baby Talk and begging Dave to leave even though we have five minutes left in the show. I’ve essentially spent the last 57 minutes either giggling or whining about how tired I am, which is SO UNLIKE ME. Sigh, no wonder I’m alone.

Wow, I have an alibi! I reveal that I drove in from Cleveland to do the show. So I have 8 hours of driving in a large black Oldsmobile as an excuse.

Dave plays Billy Bragg’s Here Comes Richard and of course it begins on the wrong speed. Time for an admission: We never bothered looking to see what speed the damn turntables were on we just left it alone and changed it when something sounded funky. I know that you’re saying to yourself that a 45 is about the size of Mickey Rooney compared to the Yao Ming proportions of a 33, but Dave was inept and I’d driven in from Cleveland. What do you want from college radio anyway?

Billy Bragg was special to us. We spent an entire night painting our room to Billy Bragg’s first EP. That’s about 4 hours of really bad English accents and means that we sung each song about 14 times apiece. You ever have really annoying people live next to you in college? Dave was drunk; apparently the paint fumes were my excuse. Dave fell asleep and I had to finish and he still owes me for it.

Do we sing along on the air with Billy, of course we do. Really, there’s nothing quite as fun as singing along badly with the first Billy Bragg EP.

“And heyyy, heyyyy, heyyy, here comes Richard.”

Dave: The man is a God.

The 6 AM guy is not there yet, so we decide to just go all Billy Bragg until the fucker shows up. I tell Dave to just drop the stylus at some random place and it winds up about a minute into Lover’s Town Revisited.

I mention that I have to work in the Browsing Library tomorrow, which means it’s going to be one of those days where I just turned on the radio, left the newspapers on the counter and went to sleep on the couch. Can you believe they used to praise me for being laid back!? God, I miss that job.

Dave is on the phone with our fan, Carmen, while I complain loudly that the Rock guy isn’t there yet.

And …… the tape ends.

C’mon wouldn’t you like to hear radio like this in your hometown! I was less insensitive than Imus wasn’t I.

Be here next time when I’m stoned enough to transcribe our Animal Themed Show!