The Guy In The Next Car

The trades have been chock full of stories in recent months revolving around radio’s continued value as a marketing vehicle.  Many of these studies in media buying effectiveness package broadcast radio into various combinations with other digital platform to create an unbeatable media mix.  In all cases, AM/FM radio is treated as the complementary medium it has become.  Like a starter in the sports arena who is moved to the bench as it ages, radio has become a part-time player, albeit with special skills.

It all makes me miss the days when radio truly dominated, all the way up to L.A. and New York, radio had a starring role.  It was taken seriously, too, by other media – especially the hometown newspapers.  You couldn’t be a serious daily paper without a full-time radio reporter as part of your entertainment staff.  In larger markets, there might have been two or more journalists assigned to cover a combination of music and radio stories.

These writers had a certain power base, a cache, if you will.  They were read – and discussed – by readers all over the metro.  And as a radio person, a call from one of these folks was an important occasion to be taken seriously.  Back then, they didn’t mindlessly reprint your press releases.  On the contrary, they asked probing questions, and were always looking for a better story.

And in many cities and towns, there were two (and even three) daily papers, in staunch competition with one another to get the best story first.  Here in Detroit, it was Gary Graff with the Free Press up against Jim McFarlin of the News.  And these two were like heavyweight boxers fighting it out for the best stories, day in and day out.

But there were others, too.  And remarkably, I remember their names – and their tastes and tendencies – even though it’s been nearly a half century since I’ve spoken to any of them.  They’re memorable because they were important players in my station’s brand and image.  The agencies and advertisers read their stories religiously, too, so there was always pressure to elicit coverage, and a strong story.

John Smyntek, W. Kim Heron, Susan Whitall, and Tim Kiska were among the core Detroit journalists, along with daily feature stories from the likes of Bob Talbert, perhaps the most influential player on the Detroit news scene.  If you “made Talbert” on any given weekday (or even over the weekend), it was more than a little ink.  And if Bob actually grinned about something you and your station were up to, it was a glow that would last all day.

The competition between these journalists made them better.  And it made those of us in radio better, too.  There were people critically listening to our stations.  If we screwed something up, everyone in town would soon know about it.

That’s why when one of these “scribe survivors” – the aforementioned Tim Kiska (pictured) wrote a rare story about radio in the Free Press last weekend, it was notable.  It also stood out because a number of you sent it to me, always an omen.

In “Good morning, Detroit! Radio used to bind us. Now we’re all in our own worlds,” Tim takes a look back at AM/FM radio in my era, five or so decades or so ago when radio ruled in the Motor City.

It’s a great read (hopefully, not behind their paywall), and while you may not know some of the names, chances are they if you’re old enough to have been a regular radio listener back in the 70s and/or 80s, or lucky enough (like me) to have worked in radio during this era, you’ll especially appreciate Tim’s point of view.

Back then, radio was part of the shared experience of living in America during this era.  We all listened to the same personalities, laughed at the same bits, civilly debated the news stories of the day, and enjoyed the same play-by-play announcers who covered our hometown teams.

There were phenomenal little moments back in the day that may seem insignificant or even forgotten now.  But in the moment, they were huge, creating tremendous buzz, all generated by three or four rock stations.

I’m thinking of the incredible excitement and massive hype surrounding the debut of the Knack back in 1979.  There was a strange Beatles-esque mystery to the band, while their music permeated the Motor City airwaves for weeks and weeks, culminating in a concert at the small, intimate Royal Oak Music Theater as newly minted Knack fans camped out for tickets.  That’s right, no Ticketmaster in those days.

Of course, it helped that front man Doug Fieger and the rest of the bad were Detroiters.  While the rest of the country sang along to “My Sharona,” here in Motown, the Knack were “the next band up” in a long series of hometown stars.

None of this would have/could have happened on the scale that it did back in the late 70s in today’s environment where there are tens of thousands of steaming “radio stations,” billions of playlists, a couple hundred satellite channels, countless profiles and short videos on social media, band websites, and other online resources.

Back then, you stood in line for tickets and saved up to buy albums.  Contrast that with today where $12 gets you access to smorgasbord of singles and albums you can access or delete while you’re waiting at the car wash, the checkout line, or to get your teeth cleaned.

Tim talks about that strange sense of community you’d get knowing the guy in the car next to you was laughing right along with you as George Baier gave voice to his cast of characters on the “J.J. & the Morning Crew” show or were co-“drumming” on your dashboard to AC/DC as Arthur Penhallow played his “rock n’ roll over horn” on a steamy summer day in Detroit.

I’ll go you one better.  As a program director, outside of a great rating book, the most rewarding and satisfying experience you could have was pulling up to a red light only to discover the person in the car next to you was jamming on your radio station.  While it was admittedly a small sample size, it always was affirmation the locals were enjoying your radio station.

The chances of this bit of radio kismet happening in today’s world is sadly infinitesimal.  Most of the time when I look at the person in the car next to me, chances are they’re fiddling with their phones.  They are most certainly not enjoying the same station or show as me.

While radio is of course impacted by this rampant entertainment and information fragmentation, I believe it’s the music industry that’s been most affected.

In my radio days, there were always multiple stations playing, exposing, and promoting the same songs and the same bands.  That collective firepower helped launch thousands of bands and hundreds of thousands of hit songs and albums.

I suspect that when Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin'” was released in 1981, there had to be more than a dozen rated stations playing it in medium or hot rotation in a market like Detroit. Bands can now only dream about that level of exposure.

That’s because in today’s world, everyone’s on a solo journey, and the technology has made it possible for us to play DJ and program director any time we like.  Thus, new performers and new songs are “discovered” very inefficiently.  Ironically, at a time when “scale” is a necessary ingredient in launching and growing companies and brands, it is virtually non-existent in the music environment of this era.

That shared experience of listening to the same music is all but gone.  (It’s another reason why Taylor Swift’s accomplishments are even more impressive.)

But the debate is about whether today’s music and the roster of new artists and groups could hold a candle to the stadium-filling superstars from decades past.  That’s about as futile as comparing Larry Bird to Michael Jordan to Lebron James – all total superstars, but from different eras under much different conditions.

In other words, very different games.

So, I won’t fall into those comparison traps. It solves nothing, it’s a futile discussion, and we’ll never honestly know.

I can only wish today’s PDs could experience that elation at a red light when the dude or gal in the next car is loving your radio station in precisely the way you designed it.

We’ve lost that shared experience of people listening to the same radio.