Sunday, January 11, 2004

My Milkshake Brings All the Boys to the Yard

Or: My Blog Is, Like, Whoa

I'm sick of WFPK, the local public radio station that doesn't play opera or NPR or both. It's "Adult Alternative" and some jazz.
I like the Jazz, but my only complaint, which they can't really do anything about, is that Phil Bailey is dead. He hosted the afternoon Jazz show for years, always had an interesting tidbit about the songs and musicians he'd play, and was my introduction to the station. None of the Jazz djs have the flair Bailey had, so I tend to avoid the Jazz programming these days.
But I stuck around for the "Album Adult Alternative" format a few hours a day. This mostly meant I could hear stuff I couldn't hear on commercial radio, like, say, The Flaming Lips. I still hear bands like this, Southern Culture on the Skids, Cracker, and so on, but it's becoming less frequent. The order of the day seems to be whine-rock, like Coldplay and John Mayer, and over-filtered bullshit like The Strokes. Things I can hear on ANY FIVE OTHER commercial radio stations in the area, or any area.
That's not really the problem, though. I don't feel like someone has found out a secret I was trying to keep. I don't think they should stop playing songs on WFPK just because they can be heard on commercial stations. I just think these bands and bands like them suck. Hard. Relentlessly. Unapologetically. And, typically, commercial success bears this out. 16-year-old girls swoon over John Mayer when they wouldn't even talk to him if he were in their schools. This is not music for "adults." And it's certainly not an "alternative" if I can hear it fucking everywhere.
And Joss Stone sucks, too, by the way. Don't tell me some pasty British girl is the rebirth of soul when the Reverend Al Green is still alive and recording. And don't tell me she's any better than Britney Spears; Stonemerely sings in a different style, but the thin voice, "vocal acrobatics," and histrionics are the same. But no one seems to notice, because she's 16, and gosh ain't it keen that she can sing?
So I've been listening to the rap-leaning pop station for the day. I got to hear Outkast, which pleases me greatly, and there's plenty of stupid shit to make fun of, as my clever title for this entry does show.
I wonder if I'll buy any new cds this year. Maybe after I (finally) get Speakerboxxx/The Love Below I'll spend the rest of the year buying old vinyl. Like the Roadie soundtrack.

(I'd just like to add that I still listen to Woody's Roadhouse on WFPK, Friday and Saturday nights from midnight to six, or whenever I fall asleep. It's great old rock 'n' roll, rockabilly, real country music, and soul. Best show on any radio anywhere.)

3 comments:

Morgan said...

You know, it's funny. I bet you barely even remember writing this post. But I was searching for my dad on Google, and your entry came up. Phil Bailey was my dad. I'm glad he meant something to you :)

Mark W. Hale said...

I remember most of my posts, Morgan, and I still miss your dad on WFPK.

Steven said...

Phil was my uncle, and like Morgan, I'm glad he meant something to you. His love of jazz was infectious, and I credit him with turning me on to it.