Diary of the Red Queen, Mama & Lunatic
Diary of the Red Queen, Mama & Lunatic
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2001-07-28 - 10:52 p.m. I had heard somewhere that every relationship, no matter how bad or dysfunctional, has a good side, one thing you get out of it that redeems it and makes it worthwhile that you spent your time on it. My second boyfriend was not a nice person (well, let's call it like it is--he was emotionally abusive and knocked me down once), but what I got from him was radio, which became my own personal therapy session once a week. After he graduated from college and left to go back to Rhode Island, I was free to pursue my new hobby. My first show was at 5:00 AM, and once I actually got into the studio and stared at the vast expanse of mixer board for awhile, I knew I could handle it. I put on the first track from The Doors movie soundtrack, and began the show in what would become its traditional fashion. Jim Morrison intoned: The movie will begin in five minutes, the mindless voice announced. All those unseated will await the next show. We filed slowly, languidly into the hall. The auditorium was vast and silent. As we seated, and were darkened, the voice continued: The program for this evening is not new; you've seen this entertainment through and through. You've seen your birth, your life, and death. You might recall all of the rest. Did you have a good world when you died, enough to base a movie on? "Good morning, Chicago, and welcome to The Radio Dimension." I loved that show. For some reason, no matter what time of night it was on, and start times varied from 2:00 to 5:00 AM, I still had plenty of listeners and people who called in to answer my silly questions, even for no prizes. "Name three recent movies the song 'Sweet Home Alabama' appeared in." "Which one of these three songs is playing in the movie The Rock when Nicolas Cage's character finds out his girlfriend is pregnant?" "What was the shortest Top Ten song of all time?" There were the stoners, of course, who'd call up requesting movie clips from Clerks or songs off Side 2 of The Beatles' Abbey Road. There were the lovelorn teenagers, who'd dedicate tracks from Labyrinth to their three-week significant others. There was Adnan, a particular lovelorn teenager who called me every week for a whole summer, pouring out his heart about how much he was in love with his best friend, but found himself unable to speak to her about it. He always requested "The Lady of Shalott" by Loreena McKennitt and "It Can't Rain All The Time" by Jane Siberry (from The Crow). Sometimes I'd bring guests on. That was the way I trained my friends John, Steff, and Audrey how to use the station. They all became DJs in their own right, eventually. We'd read Dave Barry excerpts, make up sketches, and create new National Weather Service announcements. One particular night, the weather alert had gone off and printed out a tape detailing what was going on (which was normal). However, the tape said "The National Weather Service has issued an UNKNOWN EVENT for Cook County" (which was not normal). We therefore instructed all our listeners to call in if they had any "UNKNOWN EVENTS" to report. We'd have themes, like "Annoyingly Long Song Night" where we'd feature "Alice's Restaurant" and some choice extended U2 remixes. There was "Divine Inspiration Night" with everyone's favorite Goth boy, Vestan (it's Steven spelt sideways, you know). That night, we followed Pigg's "Sinsation" with The Clovers' rendition of "Devil or Angel". There would be '60's nights, '80's nights, and nights where we only played requests. It was great fun. The nights I was alone, I'd make a playlist consisting mainly of songs that had some relevance to my life at that moment. Checking through the playlists from some of my shows is a very telling experience, but not for the faint of heart. Leaving the radio station was the saddest thing about leaving Evanston in the fall after I graduated. It was my way of putting my worldview out to the Chicago public with almost complete impunity. It's interesting, the kind of fame and anonymity that radio can afford you, because there are people out there who wouldn't dream of going to sleep without listening to your show, but they wouldn't know who you were if you passed them on the street. It's radio that makes that second relationship I had worth all the pain. I have all my radio tapes, and sometimes I pop one in the car stereo, and remember... I'd love to do radio again. TRQ
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