Here's a short radio play I wrote a few years ago. Wanna read it?

Here's some good advice for us... and for the characters in my dumb play.

The things you find sometimes, huh? I was searching through the files saved to this old computer and happened upon a script for a radio play I wrote a few years ago called A Spot of Tea. Please don't get the impression that this thing was ever, even once, performed on the radio. Oh, no. Never that. This was written for some Chicago-area creative writing contest. I have no remembrance now who exactly was running this contest, but they were asking for people to send in original short radio plays with a horror theme. I'd never written anything like that -- and didn't even know how to format the script for a radio play -- but I thought I'd give it a go. I wrote this up, printed it (on paper and everything!), mailed it in, and... heard nothing. No acknowledgement whatsoever. Maybe a year later, an online acquaintance of mine was trying to set up a website for short fiction and was looking for submissions, so I took this play and slightly reformatted it as a short story. I may post that, too. But for now, here is my one and only attempt at a radio play. At the time, I had probably just started drinking tea. I'm a regular addict now. It's also somewhat inspired by my real-life cousin, who actually did break into people's houses (and did considerable time in prison for his troubles). Do enjoy it, won't you?

Video held for questioning in mysterious disappearance of radio star

The glorious sight of a radio blowing up.

Behold the glory of Wa Wa Nee.

I don't hate the radio. Really, I don't. When I was an adolescent back in those musty, backwards days known as the 1980s and 1990s, I actually cherished the radio. It was, along with MTV, where you went to hear the latest in rock and pop, an essential part of any clueless white kid's life in the Middle West. 

In those days, the go-to stations for teens in the Flint, MI area were WIOG and the ever-so-slightly hipper WWCK. I used to set my alarm on Saturday mornings so I could hear the beginning of America's Top 40 with Casey Kasem. I think Casey's show ran on WIOG, but I wouldn't bet my paycheck on it. With commercial breaks and long distance dedications and such, the show actually ran for several hours. There was no way to listen to all of it. 

But I definitely wanted to hear the beginning of the show (numbers 40 through 30 ), because that's when you'd hear the newest hits -- the ones that had just crawled into the lower reaches of the Top 40. Sometimes, a song would only stick around for a week or two and wouldn't get past #30. Those were some of the tracks I found most fascinating of all. I was intrigued by the phenomenon of getting so close to the big time without actually making it.

In 1987, for instance, there was an upbeat ditty called "Sugar Free" by an Australian funk-pop outfit improbably named Wa Wa Nee. The song peaked at #35 and was Wa Wa Nee's only appearance on the countdown. Casey Kasem only had to say the name "Wa Wa Nee" for a week or two at the most. He'd always mention which songs had fallen off the charts during a particular week; it was always a moment of somber reflection for me when he read that list. "Sugar Free" was nothing special -- I barely remember it now -- but I went ahead and bought (with my parents' money, natch) a cassette of the group's one album anyway. Did I ever even listen to it all the way through? Probably not. It was just part of my weird Top 40 fetish back then.

I listen to a lot of Top 40 radio now, too, though this time it isn't by choice. The sound of a CHR (contemporary hits radio) station wafts across the bank of cubicles at my workplace each morning. I don't know where it comes from, but it's unmistakable nevertheless. The songs are distinguishable, but the rest of the audio registers in my mind's ear as unintelligible background slush. The station must be somewhere in Chicago, since I toil in the Loop, about a block away from the structure formerly known as the Sears Tower. 

From what I can make out of what I hear, the chuckling deejays banter back and forth, take phone calls from listeners, run some sort of daily contest, and play lots and lots of prerecorded sound effects. I don't know what these purpose these interludes serve, but it involves a lot of loud boinging and twanging noises. 

And in between, of course, there is the music. This being Top 40, they're drawing from a very small pool of songs and playing them over and over, several times a day, for months on end. I have heard "Shake It Off" by Taylor Swift and "Fancy" by Iggy Azalea more times than any human ever should. A few months ago, I grew to hate songs like Pharrell Williams' "Happy" and Robin Thicke's "Blurred Lines" with a stubborn, iron-clad passion. Some nights, I still wake up with "Roar" by Katy Perry echoing in my head. That song is my Vietnam. Keep in mind, this is at 7:30 in the morning. Nobody wants to hear Pink or Ke$ha at that hour of the day. Not even their own mothers.

Radio, as a medium, has given us lots of great things. For me, it's Bob & Ray, The Stan Freberg Show, and good ol' Dr. Demento. I listen to a lot of podcasts these days. That's not precisely radio, but it's the bastard stepchild of radio at least. The only time I voluntarily listen to regular, over-the-air FM radio these days is when I'm in the car. Then it's just NPR or maybe some classical or jazz station where the disc jockeys talk in those half-whispery, golf-announcer voices. 

I mentioned Stan Freberg a few sentences back, though. He was -- and maybe still is -- a great believer in radio. In fact, he wrote this wonderful little advertising ditty on behalf of the radio industry. It's sung by Sarah Vaughn and conducted and arranged by Quincy Jones. Give it a whirl, won't you?

One Song at a Time: "I Only Have Eyes for You"

The unique, sophisticated sound of the Flamingos captured my imagination as a teen.

The song: "I Only Have Eyes for You"

Artist: The Flamingos

Released: 1959

This will be a brief one, I promise. I just wanted to write about this song while the mood was still with me. And, yeah, it's another doo-wopper, a tune released only a year before The Passions' "I Only Want You," the song I wrote about yesterday. The titles are almost identical, I admit. If my goal with this feature was to bring you a diverse selection of songs from different genres, so far I'm not doing so hot. But you know what? This is my blog, and I'll write about what I damned well please.

The song "I Only Have Eyes for You" goes back to 1934, and it's been recorded by everyone from hell to breakfast (fuzzy-haired Artie Garfunkel had something of a hit with it in the 1970s), but the only waxing that really counts was the one done by The Flamingos in 1959. You've probably heard their version in a movie or playing on an oldies radio station or something like that, and it's tempting to lump this record in with all the other kitschy '50s detritus, like poodle skirts and hula hoops.

But "I Only Have Eyes for You" stands out from the pack. It's unlike most doo-wop and R&B from the era. It's different from just about everything. The Flamingos took a tune that was already a golden oldie by the time they got their hands on it, and they tore it down to the ground and rebuilt something beautiful and weird from the rubble. To me, the record still sounds like it was recorded tomorrow.

The lead singer really does seem to be in a dreamlike trance, so in love he's unsure of whether or not he's in a garden, and the other singers and musicians sound like they're recording in a different dimension altogether. I get chills every time.

If I can pin the greatness of the record on any one factor, I'd have to say it's one of the simplest things: those repeated piano triplets, what Stan Freberg disparagingly called "that clink clink clink jazz." Never has "clink clink clink" been so mysterious or so lovely.

My official blackmail photo.

"I Only Have Eyes for You" had probably been in the background of my life for years without my really noticing, but I can distinctly remember the very night that this recording became one of my all-time favorites.

It was the early 1990s, let's say '91 or '92, and I was a teenager in high school. In those days, one of the main driving forces in my life was marching band. Yeah, I was one of those kids. I was in it all four years -- halftime shows, pep rallies, those funny faux-military hats with the plumes on top, the Sgt. Pepper-esque tunics. That was my life. Hey, I'm not ashamed of it. Semper fi. 

Anyway, we were a competitive band, which meant that on the weekends during the fall, they'd load us onto school buses and take us to other towns in mid-Michigan for these big outdoor contests (usually called "invitationals"). On these busy Saturdays, we'd go to football stadiums at other schools and do our choreographed eight-minute halftime show. Other bands would do their eight-minute halftime shows, too, usually based around a particular theme or a composer. Along the way, a panel of very serious-looking judges would watch all these groups, rate them in a dizzying variety of nit-picky categories, and hand out trophies at the end of the night. It was all very scientific, I assure you.

These competitions took a long time to complete, as you might guess, and we were often very late getting back to the parking lot of our own high school. It would be cold and dark by then, and the kids who didn't have cars of their own would have their parents waiting to pick them up. (Poor parents! It was past midnight!) While the bus rides to the contests were pretty raucous, the bus rides home were quiet and contemplative. Everyone was pretty much zonked out by then. I can remember just staring out the window at all the traffic lights.

My only entertainment in those primitive days was an AM/FM cassette Walkman. One night, I realized I didn't have enough battery power left to play a tape, so I switched it to the "radio" function. At first, all I could get was static, but suddenly a song coalesced out of the chaos! It was "I Only Have Eyes for You" by The Flamingos, and I was hypnotized by it. It's one of those transcendent experiences you hope to have while listening to music, and I don't know that any record could affect the 38-year-old me the way that song affected the 15- or 16-year old me. Maybe I'm still hoping to replicate that feeling, twenty-plus years later.

(today's zomby) AND A WEIRDLY COMPELLING INTERVIEW WITH RICHARD CARPENTER

I don't know whether you heard it or not today, but NPR aired an oddly fascinating interview with 1970s pop star Richard Carpenter (of The Carpenters), conducted by Terry Gross. It's the 40th anniversary of the Carpenters signing with A&M Records (the label co-founded by Herb Alpert), and there's a new CD compilation being released called 40/40 to commemorate the occasion. Anyway, Richard Carpenter talks about all the usual subjects: the band's formation and early years, the Carpenters' unique sound, the stories behind their big hits, etc. But the interview takes a left turn around the 26:10 mark. Terry admits that she used to find the Carpenters' music "corny" and asks Richard what he thought of Sonic Youth's remake of "Superstar." The results are unexpectedly entertaining.

Do yourself a favor and watch this clip: Bob & Ray on "The Tonight Show"

No better comedy team ever existed than that of Bob and Ray.

For over 50 years, the comedy team of Bob Elliott and Ray Goulding -- better known simply as Bob & Ray -- was a familiar feature on radio and television. With their deadpan, mock-serious style, they were hugely influential on a whole generation of other writers and comedians. It's no exaggeration to say that these guys are two of the architects of modern comedy. Ray passed on in 1990, but Bob's still around. In fact, he started something of a comedy dynasty. Bob's son is Chris Elliott and his granddaughter is Abby Elliott.



The clip above is from one of the team's performances on The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson. There's a lot more of the team at www.bobandray.com.