Radio Free Boston (49 page)

Although relatively new to the market, the inheritor of “The Rock of Boston” (and indeed the new “Sports Hub”), program director Mike Thomas, respected '
BCN'S
forty-one-year legacy enough to propose a four-day farewell broadcast, inviting the station's long list of personalities to play music from all the different eras, offer up choice observances from the past, and say their goodbyes. In respect to the last Class of
WBCN
, Adam 12 and Hardy would get to do their own regular shows on the final day. Longtime '
BCN
production director John Reilly assembled collages of audio memorabilia, including best bits from standout broadcasts, epic interviews, choice station
IDS
, and hilarious comedic episodes. The material spanned the distance between Bruce Springsteen's first visit to '
BCN
in 1973 to the Dropkick Murphys crashing Nik Carter's show in 2002 and Adam 12's interview with Howard Stern on '
BCN'S
fortieth birthday. Any historical audio stamped with greatness that could be found was rushed into Reilly's production studio to be organized and readied for a last appearance on 104.1. Invitations went out to
WBCN'S
DJS
and alumni to return and share their memories and impressions before the forum to do so vanished. As everyone received the grace of a final farewell, the response was nearly unanimous.

A directive came from the head office, addressed in a final memo to the staff, to curtail any degree of on-air negativity, “bitching,” or standing on a soapbox to complain about the reasons such a Boston institution would shutter itself. But the corporate powers needn't have worried; the time to complain about
WBCN'S
demise had passed. Like popular tastes and culture, the station was a moving target that had already entered the history books. The occasion called for respect and recollection; grumbles and grievances
would merely tarnish the memories and distract from the greatness of forty-one innovative years. Whatever animal the station had become to any listener, whether they still enjoyed '
BCN
or abandoned it years earlier, was forgotten in the last four days as '
BCN'S
jocks told their stories and selected their music the old-school way—by whatever suited the moment. Sam Kopper,
WBCN'S
first program director, returned to reminisce with Steve Nelson, early manager of the legendary Boston Tea Party, about the days leading up to the creation of
WBCN
in 1968 and the effect the station had once it dropped into the scene. Generations met generations: with eyes agape, late-term
DJ
Mark Hamilton manned the controls for Kopper and Nelson, drinking in every revelation, and then hosted a one-time only
WBCN
“supersession” with Kopper, Charles Laquidara, Norm Winer, Tom Couch, and Danny Schechter. Adam 12 chatted with Tank, and Hardy welcomed me into the studio to speak about my years of being music director and '
BCN'S
key involvement in the careers of artists like Led Zeppelin, Bruce Springsteen, Stevie Ray Vaughan, and in a personal case,
U2
. Steve Strick checked in on the phone from
LA
and then Chachi took a seat to help field
a suitably ridiculous call from Duane Ingalls Glasscock, who attempted the impossible task of listing in one hour, by name, every person who had ever worked for
WBCN
.

Mike Thomas is handed the keys to
WBCN
, but its fate is already sealed. (From left to right) Carter Alan, Dan O'Brien, the Edge from U2, and Thomas, March 2009. Photo by Leo Gozbekian.

Oedipus spoke of the cultural edge his '
BCN
tenure embraced and shared, from Sex Pistols attitude to the astonishing vocal agility of Jeff Buckley, before hosting a final edition of “Nocturnal Emissions.” The last episode of
WBCN'S
local-music haven, “Boston Emissions,” united a few generations of hosts including Albert O, Shred, Hamilton, Juanita, and Anngelle, who all enthused about the history and importance of the area's homegrown rock and roll scene. Maxanne, Billy West, Joe Rogers, Ken Shelton, Jerry Goodwin, Tami Heide, and Lisa Traxler offered glowing tributes. Jonathan Kraft called in to express his sadness over the station's passing but praised the Patriots' continuing association with
CBS
. Flexing his hometown roots as a struggling Boston comic, Jay Leno also took the time to reminisce and thank the station for being an early catalyst to the New England comedy scene.

A tape of Laquidara talking to Al Pacino; Hardy's irreverent and streetwise co-conspirator Robbie Roadsteamer jawing on and on about life with and without “The Rock of Boston”; the rare single “Psycho” by Jack Kittel; a 1979 interview with an unknown John Cougar; Oedipus telling Bradley Jay that his secret was not hiring good people and letting them do their jobs but hiring the
best
people; Mission of Burma's “That's When I Reach for My Revolver”; a discussion concerning Timothy Leary's contribution to culture; “21st Century Schizoid Man” from King Crimson; a seventiesera John Lennon station
ID
; Bono expounding in a 1997 interview from Foxboro Stadium; and even the station's very last commercial—Gene Simmons hawking Dr. Pepper—all made the four-day farewell a mandatory listening event. Musical moments fit for
WBCN'S
free-form legacy included Hamilton's parting “We'll Meet Again” by Johnny Cash; Juanita's last song, “That's Life” from Frank Sinatra; “Farewell Ride” by Beck; Jimmy Cliff's “The Harder They Come”; “Around the Dial” by the Kinks; “Breathing” from Kate Bush; and Adam 12's parting “I Shall Not Walk Alone” by Ben Harper.

Bradley Jay volunteered for, and received, the momentous job of closing
WBCN
down, completing a chain that began when Joe Rogers had lugged a box of records up '
BCN'S
long stairway at its first Newbury Street location, his feet unknowingly initiating a forty-one-year string of
DJS
arriving for their shifts, plugging in their headphones, creating magic for as long as the schedule gave them, and then making way for the next guy or girl, gay
or straight, black or white, stoned ragamuffin or alert teetotaler. It didn't matter; they all had the best gig in the world: a headful of ideas and the vehicle to use them. Now Bradley Jay arrived with another load of “records.” Of course, now they were all digitally compiled in a computerized storage platform, instantly accessible as fast as fingers could locate them on the screen. Although this new-world
DJ
didn't need to worry about a hernia as much as Rogers had, he still lugged as heavy a weight of tunes around in his head. In four days of celebration, the license to freely use those songs and express any thoughts that came to mind had been reestablished.
WBCN
came around full circle, and the days of celebration became days of closure for the staff and for Boston.

Jay's choice for the final song, “Shine on You Crazy Diamond,” originally an accolade to Pink Floyd's fallen acidhead bandmate Syd Barrett, was now transposed to describe the loss of another, also slightly deranged, (radio) icon. The lyrics uncannily fit their new context while the dreamy fourteen minutes of music allowed time for those listening to ponder the station's imminent end. Slowing fading, the song gave way to a brief parting collage of '
BCN
voices and fleeting moments before the late Darrell Martinie had the last word. Snipped from the closing of his “Cosmic Muffin” reports, a simple “Over and out!” abruptly marked the end of
WBCN'S
reign, before static and a
WBMX
station
ID
previewed the beginning of a new and very different era. “Nothing lasts forever, especially rock and roll,” Jay later said of the final moment. “To think that we were going to go on forever is just the antithesis of what rock is. So, goodbye to
WBCN
; it was just my great honor to be involved.”

AFTERWARD

Wednesday, 12 August 2009: It's the morning after
WBCN
has gone silent. I push on the main air studio door at 7:00 a.m., expecting to stick my head in on a bustling morning team from the new sports talk station. But I forgot: tomorrow is the day that '98.5, “The Sports Hub,” will occupy this studio while
WBMX
assumes
WBCN'S
former 104.1 frequency. This is a quiet day of preparation before the two stations erase any remaining vestige of “The Rock of Boston.” The room is empty, while a recorded message alerts the listeners to the impending arrival of the “hot adult contemporary” sounds of ‘
BMX
. I'm actually relieved; I wasn't really ready to socialize with the folks that were taking over
WBCN'S
turf. I'm here merely to locate two
CDS
I lost when I did my four-hour chunk of
WBCN'S
farewell broadcast. The control board is idle, the silence deafening. Posters and photos tacked to the walls testify to past glories. On the long coffee table, made from one of
WBCN'S
bumper-sticker-covered studio doors, are piled haphazard stacks
of
CDS
with some empty beer bottles in between. I find my missing discs fairly easily and turn to leave. But I can't. No one is asking me to go; indeed, there's not another soul on this entire basement floor of the
CBS
building. All of the
WBCN
people are gone, everyone who came through the station's doors for over forty-one years.

The air is still and heavy in here. It's the weight of thousands of hours of history: the hundreds of bands that visited and the tens of thousands of songs played—from vinyl to digital, “I Feel Free” to “Shine on You Crazy Diamond.” It was from a
WBCN
studio that many heard about the end of the draft and the Vietnam War, the sobering announcement from Matt Schaffer that the space shuttle
Challenger
had exploded on takeoff, or that U.S. troops were crossing the border into Iraq (and years earlier, clandestinely, into Cambodia). This was the place where Mark Parenteau had hosted a young Adam Sandler and Jerry Seinfeld in the same interview years before their fame; where the fictitious April Fools' Parade emanated; where Bruce Springsteen performed; where John Belushi clowned; where the members of
U2
played guest
DJS
; and where everyone from Abbie Hoffman to Pee Wee Herman had popped in. '
BCN
watched Peter Wolf earn his wings, Danny Schechter tool his craft, Eddie Gorodetsky and Billy West initiate comedy empires, Maxanne launch Aerosmith and the Cars, Oedipus mother-hen punk rock along, Tony Berardini introduce Metallica, and Charles Laquidara preview the “Morning Zoo” approach that served as the model for just about every wake-up show on American radio and
TV
. It's the home of psychedelia from Tonto's Expanding Head Band to Radiohead, soul brother Al Green to bluesy jammer Dave Matthews, Desmond Dekker to Matisyahu, Iggy Pop to Scott Weiland, The Who to Pearl Jam, Grace Slick to Alanis Morissette, and Captain Beefheart to Beck. '
BCN'S
studio heard and played all of these artists and several thousand more in forty-one years. Now, all is calm, like a midnight to six in the morning shift, at about 4:00 a.m., with all the in-studio guests and hangers-on departed and the next
DJ
on his way. But this time, there's no one coming in. It's over.

Sam Kopper continues the fight. Using a radio channel made possible by the digital technology that allows
CBS
to broadcast two additional signals on the same frequency, he is the catalyst that helped launch “Freeform-
BCN
.” A potential listener does need to purchase a new
HD
radio and tune in
WZLX-HD-3
to hear the station, but anyone with a computer can pick up the online stream by logging onto
wbcn.com
and following the link.
“FreeformBCN” debuted as an automated digital station soon after
WBCN'S
demise in 2009, but since then familiar voices from the past including Albert O, Lisa Traxler, and Karen Fox have done live shows. Maybe that's the future, I don't know, but the music is certainly exciting and reflects the spirit of adventure that
WBCN
always exhibited.

August 2009.
WBCN'S
previous home on Boylston Street becomes a memorial. Photo by Tom O' Keefe, courtesy of Bostontweet.

With
CDS
in hand I leave the
WBCN
studio for the final time. Maybe Hardy, Dan O'Brien, John Reilly, or Chachi, who have retained jobs on the floor at the new “Sports Hub,” will visit after me. In the ensuing weeks and months, the sports talk station will launch with enormous success, building on the back of the Patriots legacy that
WBCN
pioneered and on
CBS'S
association with the Boston Bruins. Toucher and Rich's morning show, augmented by sports expert John Wallach, grows only larger in ratings success. The station becomes a monster, serving as an example for similar sports-minded radio franchises launching around the country. Meanwhile, if a
WBCN
listener—who had left the Boston area years earlier and just returned—were to tune his dial to the familiar 104.1, he would receive
a severe shock to the system, as the sounds of Madonna and Katy Perry throbbed hotly on the frequency where his favorite station had been. But it has worked out for “Mix 104.1,” which now has much better reception in Boston and has found that its audience followed them over from its old frequency without any problem.

Tony Berardini still works for
CBS
, performing various tasks that we jokingly refer to as “Black Ops,” since we never know what he's up to. Oedipus is happily retired, and the rest of the
WBCN
crew scattered to the wind. At classic rock sister
WZLX
, I find myself in the unexpected position of being one of the last on-air survivors from '
BCN'S
glory days, but Bradley Jay is still here, too, at ‘
ZLX
and
WBZ
. Peter Wolf, Joe Rogers, and “Master Blaster” all live locally. Ken Shelton hangs out in Chestnut Hill, Mark Parenteau in Worcester, and Charles Laquidara swims next to his home along the coast of Maui. Norm Winer still helms
CBS'S
WXRT
in Chicago after more than thirty years, while Tami Heide, Tommy Hadges, and John Brodey all work out on the West Coast. I could continue, for a couple hundred more examples, but time or space doesn't allow for that.

The end of
WBCN
was a critical blow to the exposure of new rock music, which has always been all about expression of freedom and safety from convention. But nearly three years later, the dissolving of
WFNX'S
alternative format after its sale to Clear Channel Communications all but shuts the door on commercial radio's involvement with new rock music in Boston. While
WZLX
and
WROR
proudly display big ratings, their formats choose from the best of rock music past, and Radio 92.9 (formerly
WBOS
), although it spins more recent nineties and new-century sounds, is a jockless jukebox devoted to heavily rotating recent singles.
WAAF
, long a thorn in
WBCN'S
side by touting a younger and hipper playlist, increasingly abandons the bravado of its past by embracing the heritage it once scoffed at. This is not a good indication of the health of new rock, which has fallen on hard times, not just in Boston, but around the world. Although there are some damn good rock bands out there, they alone cannot generate enough interest among listeners to support a major-market radio station with the ratings it needs to survive.

The daring of rock music and the willingness to promote any means to mutate or evolve it is barely heard these days in Boston. Except for lonely
WXRV
(“The River”), alternative rock is left to the listener's imagination on commercial radio. We're back to the scene as it existed prior to
WBCN'S
arrival in 1968: a cloud of Top 40 signals surrounding an inner circle of college radio stations willing to expose the latest sounds of rock. It seems astonishing, but Boston radio has closed an enormous forty-five-year loop. Maybe the new counterparts to Joe Rogers, Peter Wolf, or Tommy Hadges are on the air at
WMBR
,
WERS
,
WMFO
, or one of the other noncommercial outlets right now. Perhaps an entrepreneur to rival the hippie ethos of Ray Riepen is devising the means necessary to foster radio's involvement with a new music scene. That would certainly be a great hope for rock music fans as we continue into this new century.

WBCN
was more than just one
DJ
or program director. It was more than the generations of fine news department staff or the sales people who chased the funds that fueled the whole thing. It included the engineers that built or “Mickey Moused” the equipment together on no budgets and the custodial staff that kept the building running. The trafc department that scheduled the commercials and tracked the revenue to the business department that counted the money and paid the bills: they were all part of it. For both the nonglamorous workers to the spotlit celebrities, '
BCN
was a living organism, functioning best when it didn't become too self-conscious and just kept moving forward, creating history as it went. Then there were the listeners. You were probably one of them. How far would “The American Revolution” or “The Rock of Boston” have gotten without listeners? For the best audience a radio station could ever have hoped for, this book is really for you. And since nearly every person who ever spoke on the air at
WBCN
was a fan of the station before they were hired, I guess this is for us as well. The pleasure was all yours and ours. So, goodbye to
WBCN
, old friend; we now entrust you to our memories. Shine on!