Face For Radio

Too Much Sex & Violence #3 is almost upon us. To keep you going in the meantime, here's a little strip me and Chev put together last year for The Sorry Entertainer anthology. Click the image to read it full screen. Enjoy, pop-pickers!

Everyone's A Critic And Most People Are DJs...

As I've mentioned before (should I start every blogpost with those words from now on?), I have some very good friends who are DJs. They do tend to be the exceptions though. They tend to be pretty normal people who just happen to like playing records and talking in between. They're not arrogant, vain bullshit merchants with rampant egos, hugely mixed up inferiority / superiority complexes and sadistic BO. No, that's just all the DJs who aren't my friends.

You might think that avoiding annoying DJs is easy - just don't turn on your radio when they're on. But it's not that simple. Recent restructuring in the radio industry has meant loads of despicable waffle-merchants having to seek other forms of employment... and now you never know where you're going to bump into one. Take this phone call I had from my insurance company this lunchtime...

(Names have been changed to protect the idiots.)

"Mr. Hirst? Hi, it's Bob from Waste Your Money Insurance here. I'm just calling to tell you about some great new policies you might be interested in..."

"OK, Bob, but I am at work at the moment - I can't really talk..."

"Don't worry, it won't take long. At work, eh? I understand you work in radio... I used to work in radio myself, you know? A little station down in London - I was on air too..."

"Really?"

"Yes, Death Of The Soul FM - do you know it? It started out as a hospital station but then it went online. I'm hoping to get back into it actually. I've got an application in at the moment..."

"Good for you. I really--"

"But I'm based in Glasgow at the moment. Still, there are plenty of stations up here too. One of the biggest radio groups - Crass'n'all - they've got new studios just down the road from here. I pop in sometimes on my way home from work, just to remind them I'm here if they need me. Out of sight, out of mind - so the opposite must apply too, eh?"

"Yes, I suppose. Do you mind if I--?"

"I'm not limiting my options though, I've also got an application in with KWRAP Cincinatti - that's actually one of the biggest Country Music stations in the US, did you know that? They only broadcast to about 20 different states. Radio's big business over in America, you know, the starting salary for a DJ over there is like $20 million, but if you can get into it--"

"Well, good luck with that--"

"I'm on the waiting list - though it can take up to ten years to get an interview. I'm only 50 though, so there's still time before I retire, eh? For an opportunity like that... well, you don't mind waiting, do you?"

I could feel my life slowly ebbing away. The only thing that stopped me from being a little firmer in my interruption was the sure and certain knowledge that as soon as he stopped talking about himself... he'd start trying to sell me insurance.

(From Almost Killed Me)


And finally for today... another cute cat pic. This is Wispa (who you've already met) and Murphy. Wispa and Murphy are in love, though sometimes Murphy is more in love with biscuits. They're both good as gold whenever Louise as around... but the second she steps out of the house, they show their true colours. Here's what they really think of me...

Friday Flash - Don't Touch That Dial

At last, an all-new Friday Flash short story, rather than just another dip into my greatest hits. The oldest thing here is the title, Don't Touch That Dial, which I've used for a number of speculative projects over the year including a sitcom, a comic strip and a novel. None of those went where I wanted them to, so at least I get to use the title for something.

This story is about DJs, but it shouldn't be seen as a slight against the few good friends I have in that particular profession. It could just as easily have been written about advertising copywriters, though that wouldn't have made for quite as strong a set piece.

I do hope you enjoy it.

Don't Touch That Dial

“Idiots,” said Dean.

“Morons,” said James.

“Idiots!” said Dean again.

“Morons!” came the reply.

“Idiots.”

This would have gone on…

“Morons.”

Much, much longer…

“Idiots.”

Had Hailey not interrupted.

“Guys…?”

They should have known from her tone that she wasn’t in the mood.

“Morons.”

After all, the estate agent had agreed to come out well after her normal working hours to show them round these recently closed studios that Dean and James had visions of buying. They planned to start up their own music- and personality-led radio company that broke away from the tight formats and strict playlists that were strangling all the fun out of an industry they both loved. They weren’t messing around here, they were each prepared to risk their life savings to get this venture off the ground. Radio was in their blood and this was their chance to do it the way they’d always believed it should be done.

“Idiots!”

But, at heart, they were still disc jockeys.

“Morons!”

They’d have happily kept this stupid routine going all night if they thought they could get away with it.

“Guys, please…”

Or at least until someone fed them the straight line they were looking for.

“What are they arguing about?” asked the estate agent. Her name was Meredith and she had high hopes for this evening too. She didn’t mind humouring these egotistical blowhards if it got this blasted radio station off her books once and for all. Six months now she’d been trying to sell these premises, and though she’d had any number of promising enquiries, nobody ever came back for a second visit. Still, there were other ways of making it pay…

Hailey ran a hand down her face with an expression that screamed “I wish you hadn’t asked that question”, but it was too late now.

“We’re arguing about the previous owners of this building,” said Dean, “were they idiots or morons?”

“They actually packed up and handed back the broadcast license to a lucrative business like this - just because they thought the place was haunted?” said James. “Idiots!”

“Morons.” said Dean.

“Well, that was the reason they announced to the press,” said Meredith, turning the key in Friendly FM’s side entrance and hearing the bleep of the alarm from down the corridor. “Rumour has it their advertising sales figures were fine, they just couldn’t get any presenters to stay in the studio for more than two records in a row. I presume you’ve heard what happened to their drivetime DJ?”

“Gary Peters?” said Dean. “We used to work with that boob. Dude couldn’t tie his own shoelaces without an instruction manual.”

“It’s very sad,” said James, “slitting his throat with a broken CD live on air like that – right before the traffic and travel, too - but I refuse to believe it was because he was possessed by some dark satanic force…”

“What was the CD, has anybody asked that?” said Dean. “My betting it was either Simply Red, Phil Collins, Celine Dion or the Lighthouse Family. That was pretty much Friendly FM’s entire playlist right there. I imagine playing the same dated MOR shite day-in day-out would make anyone want to gargle blood… I know it would me.”

“We’ll have a strict No Celine policy when we’re running this place,” said James, “and Phil Collins will be shot on sight.”

“Phil Collins,” said Dean, shaking his head, “what a bunch of morons!”

“Idiots,” said James.

“Morons,” said Dean.

“Idiots!” snapped Meredith as she keyed the code into the alarm box. “Idiots, idiots, idiots! There. It’s decided. Can we let that one rest now?”

James and Dean responded with their best two-scolded-schoolboys faces. Hailey glared at them. “See – I told you to knock it off!” She followed Meredith down the dusty corridor towards the studios.

“I like her,” said Dean.

“You should try being married to her,” said James.

“I don’t mean your wife,” said Dean. “I don’t like your wife.”

“You don’t like my wife?”

“No – I like your wife, I like her just fine.”

“You like my wife?”

“I don’t like-like your wife – she’s your wife. I like and respect her as your wife. But this estate agent lady – Meredith – her I like-like, in ways it wouldn’t ever be appropriate for me to think about Hailey.”

“Probably in ways it wouldn’t ever be appropriate for me to think about Hailey. Since, you know, being married…”

“Such things aren’t appropriate any more?”

“Such things just don’t come up anymore.”

Ahead of them in the corridor, Meredith pulled open the first of the huge soundproofed doors, letting Hailey hold it while she pushed through the second. “Well, here we are,” she said, palms up like she was checking for rain, “this is where it all happened.”

As James and Dean followed the two women into the studio, a striking change came over them. Suddenly, they were all business.

“Decent enough desk,” said James, flicking a couple of switches under the mixing desk and brushing dust from between the faders.

“Optimod, Myriad system with built-in Cool-Edit Pro… apparently there’s a half-decent SADie around here somewhere too,” said Dean, checking off the equipment against a list he’d printed off at home.

“I think that’s in the second studio,” said Meredith, recalling this query from a previous viewer.

“At least they cleaned up all the blood,” said Hailey. “In the back of my mind, I had this really gruesome image…”

“Apparently there are people you can hire to do that sort of thing,” said Meredith. “Like CSI, only with scrubbing brushes.” She expected a joke from the jocks in response, but they were lost in their anoraks.

“CDQ Prima codecs, Neumann mikes, Denon CD players…”

“Eleven swans a swimming and a partridge in a pair tree,” said James, slipping the headphones over his head and taking pole position in front of the mic.

“Is this thing on?” said Dean, going round the desk to the guest mic and giving it a one-two tap.

“It is now,” said James, dropping a CD he’d brought along into the player and opening both mic channels. “Come on, mate, let’s take this baby for a ride!”

The intro to Bachman Turner Overdrive’s cheesy 70’s anthem You Ain’t Seen Nothing Yet began playing from the monitors and both jocks’ faces lit up with huge grins, turning to catch the reaction from their audience. “Let’s rock!” said Dean.

Meredith favoured them with a polite but confused frown. Hailey – who knew them only too well – remained hands-on-hips non-plussed. Secretly though, she was holding her breath and praying.

“We’re kidding!” said James, switching quickly to the second track on the CD. Song 2 by Blur.

“Woo-hoo!” screamed Dean, expecting the same response from his partner in crime. And that was when it happened.

They all felt it. The temperature dropped by ten degrees, the lights flickered, the monitors crackled and a shadow fell across the desk. Then James started screaming.

Thinking back on it later, Hailey compared the change on her husband’s face to the switch from Bachman to Blur. It was just as sudden, just as jarring, though much less contrived. One second that corny publicity shot grin she’d grown to loathe more with each new day of their marriage. The next, a look of total, wide-eyed hysteria as he tore the cans from his head and stumbled, panicked, away from the desk.

“James?” said Dean, his own grin faltering, “mate, are you…?” And then he saw it too. The scariest thing he’d seen in his whole life.


* * * *

“So… how much did we say?” said Hailey.

“Two fifty,” said Meredith as she reset the alarm.

Hailey counted out the notes. If this had worked out the way she’d heard it did, it’d be worth every penny.

James and Dean were already in the car, sitting together in the back, holding hands and staring into nothing.

“All those wasted years,” said James. “My god, what have we done with our lives?”

“How come we never saw it?” said Dean. “How come we never realised…?”

“My dad wanted me to become a plumber,” said James.

“Gary Peters,” said Dean. “He saw it too, didn’t he? He saw it, and he couldn’t… he…”

The driver’s door opened and Hailey climbed inside.

“I can’t do this anymore, love,” her husband said from the back, his voice breaking, tears still streaming down his cheeks. “I have to get out, I have to get a proper job…”

“We both do,” said Dean. “Retrain or… something. Do something useful with our lives, anything… anything to save us from…”

“I’m so, so sorry,” said James. He was really blubbing now. Hailey’s heart went out to him. She reached over the seat and rested her hand on his shoulder. She hated seeing him like this, but still she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this happy. Relieved. Like maybe they actually had a chance now…

Meredith watched the three of them drive away while folding the money and putting it away in her bag. Then she checked her mobile. Five new messages, all from the wives or girlfriends or significant others of DJs the length and breadth of the country. Word was getting round.

Top Ten People I Don't Want To Follow On Twitter

Twitter has started helpfully suggesting people I might like to follow, presumably based on the people I already follow. Some of these suggestions are making me angry. Very angry. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry...

This blog post is rated 15. Contains images of a disturbing nature and one instance of *very* strong language. Don't say you weren't warned.

10. Derren Brown - smug conjurer who really ought to spell his name with an 'a'.

9. Rich Johnson - arrogant, self-important comics gossip-columnist boob who takes special joy in pointing out errors of subbing, proofreading, continuity et al. Not itself a crime unless one makes far more basic errors oneself - such as not knowing how to spell Electro or that The Lizard was never a member of The Sinister Six.

8. Ashton Kutcher - for this, Demi ditched Bruce?

7. Fearne Cotton - DJ. Makes Jo Whiley sound interesting.

6. Neil Gaiman - ridiculously arrogant "rock star" writer who poses for author photographs dressed in leathers and riding a Harley - which is fine if you're Jim Steinman, but not if you specialise in fey goth-centred gibberish in which every one of your characters goes on endlessly about "the mystical power of stories". I'm sorry, I know you like him. Try not to hate me too much for disagreeing with you.

5. Jim Carrey - gurning "comedy" twat.

4. Russell Brand - another so-called comedian (yes, yes, humour is subjective, blah blah) whose comedy seems based entirely on a) his silly voice, b) his stupid hair, and c) his ridiculous sex-life; career-building popstar husband; and the man who singlehandedly ruined Radio 2 (by bragging about the fact that he once shagged Manuel's daughter, upsetting the Daily Mail, and bringing about the resignation of Programme Controller Lesley Douglas, leading to her replacement by someone who quite clearly doesn't have a clue what he's doing). Yes, he likes Morrissey, but he's still a tosser.

3. Mark Millar - ego-maniacal comics writer who is excellent at writing about how excellent he is... not so excellent at writing comics that don't rely heavily on clichéd shock value, unnecessary cynicism, and sub-Arnie one-liners.

2. Chris Evans* - DJ. Cunt.

1. Tom Hanks - Gump**.




*No, not Captain America.

**I did warn you I was going to use the 'G' word.

Top Ten DJ Songs

A long time ago, in a whole other lifetime, I used to write and publish a comic called THE JOCK. In it, a group of rebel DJs fought for freedom and real music in a world where mindless corporate muzak had become the opiate of the masses. A book where the hero was a DJ...? Why not write a comic about a super-powered traffic warden or altruistic ambulance-chasing lawyer while I was at it? No wonder it didn't catch on.

During my 20+ years in the radio industry, I've known a hell of a lot of DJs. Some of them have gone on to fame and fortune, some have gone on to proper jobs. Some have even been intelligent, sincere, modest, warm-hearted and normal. For every Chris Evans, there's a Mark Radcliffe or John Peel. Well, there used to be. The true DJ is a dying breed, for some of the reasons found in song below... here's my tribute.

10. Faithless - God Is A DJ

There are thousands of dance songs about DJs, but most are about club DJs rather than radio. Still, the principle is the same I suppose - someone passionate about music, passionate about sharing that music with the world. Faithless is as close as I ever got to dance music. If my God was a DJ, he'd mostly play songs with real instruments and proper lyrics. I guess I'm just an old-fashioned guy.

9. The View - Wasted Little DJs / Face For Radio

Who knows why Scottish band The View are so obsessed with DJs that they wrote two songs about them on their debut album ? Perhaps it was a ploy to get their records played?

The same record for the 16th time
Exact same set you did the last time round

Hmm... perhaps not.

8. David Bowie - DJ

I am a D.J.
I am what I play
I got believers
Believing me

The DJ as cult (sp?) of ego... as only Mad Dave McMad could do it.

7. Soulwax - Too Many DJs

"Everybody wants to be the DJ" sang Soulwax. Well of course we do. We all believe our own tastes in music are far superior to those of anyone else.

The ironic thing is that Soulwax now seem to far prefer being DJs themselves, rather than actually recording any new records. Which is a shame.

6. Tom Petty - The Last DJ

Back when I started working in radio, I had aspirations to be a presenter myself. Soon after that, free choice was taken away from the majority of jocks and replaced by music testing, focus groups and playlists. That was what spurred me into creating The Jock and convinced me it wasn't the career for me. (Well, that and the fact that I have a shit voice.)

Well you can't turn him into a company man
You can't turn him into a whore
And the boys upstairs just don't understand anymore
Well the top brass don't like him talking so much
And he won't play what they say to play
And he don't want to change what don't need to change
And there goes the last DJ
Who plays what he wants to play
And says what he wants to say
Hey, hey, hey

5. The Hold Steady - Most People Are DJs

Everyone's a critic and most people are DJs

I know it's not what this song is about... but can you come up with a better eight word definition of the internet?

4. Donald Fagen - The Nightfly

Amazingly, I can't find the original of this Donald Fagen classic anywhere on the net. Lots of middle-aged blokes playing it in their bedrooms though...

I'm Lester the Nightfly
Hello Baton Rouge
Won't you turn your radio down
Respect the seven second delay we use

I used to work on a phone-in show. Spent my nights telling people to turn off their radios before they went on air. And calling the police to deal with all the nutters and attempted suicides...

3. Harry Chapin - W*O*L*D*

Harry Chapin. Genius. Three words that should always be used in close proximity.

A plea from an old, drunk DJ to the ex-wife who doesn't want him back...

Got a spot on the top of my head, just begging for a new toupee
And a tire on my gut from sitting on my...
But they're never gonna go away
Sometimes I get this crazy dream
That I just drove off in my car
But you can travel on ten thousand miles and still say where you are
Been thinking that I should stop this jocking
And start that record store
Maybe I could settle down and you'd take me back once more...

2. The Smiths - Panic

Come on, you knew it was coming. You're only surprised it's not number one.

Hang the blessed DJ!

1. Mark Germino - Rex Bob Lowenstein

Tom Petty's isn't the only last DJ. When Hartlanberg's Rex Bob gets told what to play by the boys upstairs, he's locks himself in the studio and goes out fighting.

Now, one day a man in a pinstriped suit
Took the owner of the station to a restaurant booth
His pitch was simple, "you’ll increase your sales
If you only play the song list we send in the mail."

He guaranteed a larger audience
Less confusion and higher points
"But your drive-time jock won’t get to do his thing.
Hey he’s not half bad, tell me, what’s his name?"

For all those wondering what happened to Buggles and Video Killed The Radio Star... I'm saving that for my Radio Top Ten... which is looking more like a Top 40 at the moment. Kinda fitting. In the meantime... what's your favourite DJ song?