Month: August 1997

A Crazy World

8/22/1997

It’s a crazy world, but I live here…

Mac MacAnally, a friend and songwriter of some note, penned those words several years ago.  Since then, nothing has happened to prove him anything less than prophetic.  I was reminded of Mac this week when I read an article about the MIssissippi Sovereignty Commission.  Mac and I grew up near the shores of Ol’ Man River and shared many common experiences.

From the mid-1950s until 1972, an agency called the Mississippi Sovereignty Commission existed to protect the people of the state from “subversives.”  Actually, that’s a nice way to say the state government spied on its citizens to make sure they were living the good, clean, segregated life.  The commission was a secret…whispered about by many, but known about only by a chosen few.  Several years ago, under the Freedom of Information Act, the commission was officially acknowledged.  Bits and pieces were made public.  Some of this information was used to convict the murderer of Medgar Evers…documented in the movie, Ghosts of Mississippi.

All of the documents kept by the Mississippi Sovereignty Commission are about to be made public…including the names of those “sympathizers” who were spied upon and the informants who provided information.  Every person mentioned is being notified before the documents are made public.  Why are you reading about this in a Network 40 Editorial?

Because my name is supposedly listed in the documents as one who was sympathetic to the Civil Rights movement.  I was spied upon.

I find it amusing that anyone would bother spying on my “activities” as an elementary school child and teenager.  When I found the reasons why I was listed as a “sympathizer,” it became downright comical.

My parents, as most middle class families in Mississippi in the 1960s, had a house-keeper.  Lela Maye Woodson most definitely “kept” our house.  More often than not, it was Lela Maye whose approval I sought instead of my parents.  To say she “raised” me is not much a stretch.

Lela Maye had two sons and two nephews that she often brought with her to my home.  Nearly every afternoon, I was in the side yard playing some kind of sport with the Woodsons.  They played hard.  In that yard, the Woodsons didn’t teach me the difference between black and white.. I learned black and blue.  All four went to college on football scholarships and two made it in the NFL.

I recall several of the neighborhood boys objecting to playing with “coloreds.”  I didn’t.  I was always on their team and we generally won.  It was by ball…my yard…end of discussion.

I was branded a possible future subversive by the Mississippi Sovereignty Commission at the tender age of eight.  I wonder who turned me in?

Probably my brother.  He hated to lose.

In hindsight, I guess the commission was accurate in their assessment.  Who knows why…maybe through Lela Maye’s constant singing…but I was drawn early on to R&B music.  I used to lay awake late at night under the covers in my bed, tuning my little transistor to WLAC in Nashville and listening to the latest R&B songs spun by Big John R.  After he signed off, I spun the dial to XERF in Del Rio, Texas and the famous Wolfman Jack.

Something must have happened.  Years later, I was working the night shift on WRBC in Jackson.  The “RBC” in the call letters stood for Rebel Broadcasting Company and the station signed off every night with “Rebel Rouser” so you can understand it was no favorite of the Civil Rights movement.

I didn’t care.  I just liked R&B music.  So I played it…a lot of it.

My generation loved the music…of course.  I was a favorite on the campus of Jackson State University…the all black college located a few miles…and 100 years…away.

The Ku Klux Klan, however, wasn’t amused.  I got calls nearly every night from some redneck who objected to the type of music I was playing.  I wasn’t  worried.  I was young, cool and bulletproof…until one particular Friday.

The station was located on the outskirts of town, isolated in a huge field.  The control room was a fishbowl…I could see out, but others could also see in.  Since the station signed off at 1 am, I was alone in the building.

Just before midnight, I go another crank call from a particularly intelligent inbred who identified himself as an official member of the K.K.K. I asked what Kate Smith song he wanted to hear, then hung up.  He called right back.  “Boy,” he hissed, “if you don’t stop playin’ that music, we gonna fix you up.”  I told him to take his sexual aggressions out on his favorite farm animal and turned up Aretha.

A short time later, I noticed a glow coming from outside.  There, on the front lawn of the station, was a burning cross.

I called the police…who probably set the fire to begin with…and waited.  In the meantime, I went on the air live and described the scene.  Fortunately, a large group of Jackson State students came down to the station in a show of support. We even roasted marshmallows before sousing the flames.

This, according to the official who called, is duly noted in the documents set for release.  I was contacted because those who are mentioned may petition to keep their names from becoming a part of public record.  I don’t have a problem being labeled as a supporter of the Civil Rights movement in Mississippi, proud of it in fact…though I like the term “subversive” much better.

And I wondered why I didn’t get elected when I ran for Congress.

“It’s a crazy world, but I live here and if you can hear me singing, so do you.  I’m turning on my nights lights feeling satisfied that there’s nothing anyone of us can do…no there is nothing any one of us can do.”

A Little Knowledge Is A Dangerous Thing

8/15/1997

I had one of the most interesting conversations in the past five years this past weekend.  I got the opportunity to spend almost six hours with the PD of an L.A.station, and the information we shared was informative and enjoyable.  The first question you’re asking yourself is why would anyone spend six hours talking with me?  The obvious answers would be: my wit, my charm, my intelligence.  Of course, it was none of those.  The poor  fool agreed to go for a car ride and after the first red light, there was nowhere for him to go.  Trust me on this one:  There are no exit signs in a Porsche going 110 miles-an hour through the California desert.  He wouldn’t ask me to slow down…especially after I showed him the loaded revolver I keep in the glove compartment.

In the course of our conversation, we got around to the problems concerning the radio and record industries and how the two relate to each other.

One of the biggest areas of confusion is a result of the changes taking place at radio.  With stations being bought, sold and traded faster than Marvin Gardens on a Monopoly board, programming has adjusted accordingly.  To quote a phrase:  “It ain’t like it used to be.”

Many of the executives in record companies today worked their way up (or at least are familiar with the process) through the promotion ranks.  Although relationships still drive promotion, the way business is done has changed drastically.  Couple the buying and selling frenzy with the advent of BDS and SoundScan, and PDs have an entirely different set of criteria to judge music in the ‘90s.

Although most music executives pay lip service to the new criteria, many don’t know how the changes have affected the way promotion people deal with radio today.  it might taste like chicken…but it’s definitely frog legs.

Promotion people spend a lot of time explaining to their bosses why a record didn’t get added at a radio station.  The reasons are often quickly dismissed as excuses, when, in reality, those asking the questions don’t understand the answers.

I know someone who had a solution. Gather round the fire, my friends, and let me tell you a story.  Some of it is even true.

In the mid-‘70s, Mo Ostin was President of Warner Bros.  Records.  Although already a legend in the business, Mo wasn’t spotted at many conventions.  Programmers knew who he was, of course, but most had never met him. Mo let his lieutenants do their jobs.  He was occupied with signing some of the greatest acts in history. He didn’t have time to personally deal with radio.

Mo wanted each executive of Warner Bros. Records to know what was expected of the people under their supervision.  To know what to expect, you have to know the job.  And to really know the job, you have to do it.

Mo told each Warner Bros. executive to “work” a new release.  This meant the executive, not a promotion person, had to visit a radio station, talk to the program director and try to get the record added.  Mo chose the record.  Each executive was given a major Top 40 station to visit.  To make sure every executive knew the edict was serious, Mo even went out himself.  Once.

To my knowledge, I’m the only programmer ever promoted on a record by Mo Ostin.  I was the 17-year-old (I told you only some of this was true) PD at KHJ Los Angeles at the time.  When the local Warner Bros. Promotion person asked if Mo could come down and talk with me, I quickly agreed…not knowing what the conversation would be about…and not caring.  Meeting Mo was quite enough.

Mo came to my office and we spent over an hour talking about different aspects of our business.  I learned more in 60 minutes than I had up to that point in my career.  I’m sure Mo will tell you he learned as much from me.  (I told you not all of this would be true!)

At the end of the conversation, he told me of his plan.  He asked if I would listen to the record he had brought with him.  I did.  He then asked if I would add it.

At that time, KHJ was the flagship station of the successful RKO chain.  On a great week, we added maybe three records.  Usually, it was one or two.  Nothing…absolutely, positively nothing out-of-the-box.  If we really believed in a record, we would put it on one of our smaller stations first, then chart its progress before even thinking about adding it at KHJ.

So what did I do?

Added it right away.

Did I know it was a smash?  No way. I added it for two reasons.  First, I figured if Mo Ostin was asking, who was I to say no?  He had never personally asked for a record to be added and it was doubtful he ever would again.  I wasn’t worried about setting a precedent.  And besides, I figured if Mo Ostin can ask me for a favor and I say yes, maybe one day the favor would be returned.

Second, I knew that my adding the record would make the life of every other executive and promotion person a living hell.  I could see Mo going back to his office, picking up the phone and saying, “I got on KHJ, how did you do?”

If Mo could get the record on the tightest, most important station in the nation out-of-the-box, what excuse could any other person use?  I couldn’t wait until the local and regional people were working other records later to give Mo excuses.  I could hear him say, “You need me to go down there?”

It was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up…an opportunity more record executives should option.  How often do you get to teach and learn in the same meeting?

Oh, did the song Mo worked become a hit?  Oh, yes.  The artist?  I won’t tell you…but I think he could dance.