Back in April, I looked in the rear-view mirror at the music of 50 years ago, offering my selections for the Best Albums of 1976.
As a companion piece, I now offer the latest installment of my “lost classics” series, shining a light on a batch of great songs from the calendar year 1976 that have been neglected, forgotten or never heard before.
The songs on the pop charts in 1976 were, in my view, a pretty sad lot of dreck. I mean, come on: “Silly Love Songs”? “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart”?? “Afternoon Delight”??? Good grief, spare me.
But as always, there are the deeper tracks buried on popular albums, or strong songs found on otherwise humdrum albums. I could name several dozen of these, just from 1976. From that list, I’ve selected a dozen Lost Classics of 1976 to feature here. I suggest you check out the Spotify playlist at the end to listen to them as you read about them.
Here’s to 50 years ago. A half-century. Yikes, feeling a lot older…
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“You Mean So Much to Me,” Southside Johnny & the Asbury Jukes
Regular readers of this blog know that I consider this group to be the most underrated band of the late ’70s/early ’80s. Johnny Lyon has the perfect gruff, R&B-soaked, bar-band voice, and his horns-heavy catalog will have you up and dancing from the first few notes. He emerged from the Jersey Shore in the shadow of his friend Bruce Springsteen, who offered assistance and contributed songs to his first three albums, but the band inexplicably never achieved the chart success they deserved. On the 1976 debut LP “I Don’t Want to Go Home,” two Springsteen tunes emerged as highlights: Southside’s cover of Bruce’s slow smoldering classic “The Fever” and a duet with Ronnie Spector on “You Mean So Much to Me.” Van Zandt produced the record, wrote three songs and played guitar throughout.
“So Fine,” Electric Light Orchestra
ELO’s first few albums attracted mostly a cult audience, but beginning in 1975, they became international stars with top-charting albums and singles. Jeff Lynne’s notion of prominently using orchestral instruments (mostly cello) in a rock band setting was inspired by latter day Beatles tracks, and by the time of 1976’s “A New World Record,” the world responded enthusiastically. “Living’ Thing,” “Telephone Line” and a remake of the 1968 rocker “Do Ya” all got a ton of radio airplay, but I’ve always felt “So Fine” would’ve made a killer single, with its upbeat pop arrangement, funky rhythm guitar and harmonies. One critic called it “a bouncing ball of effervescence that’s impossible not to like.” Lynne, a Brit, said, “I wrote and sang it like an American, in an American style, kind of like The Doobie Brothers or something.”
“Does It Have to Be You,” Sanford & Townsend
One of the more invigorating “one-hit wonder” songs of the mid-’70s, in my view, was the 1976 hit “Smoke From a Distant Fire” by Sanford and Townsend, which reached #9 on US pop charts. Ed Sanford and Johnny Townsend had been songwriters and session musicians at the famed Muscle Shoals Recording Studio in Alabama, where they got the chance to record their debut LP. Thanks to the song’s chart success, the duo got a key gig as opening act on a few legs of Fleetwood Mac’s “Rumours” tour in 1977, which allowed them to record two more LPs, but they failed to do much else on the charts. That debut LP, though, is an underrated sleeper, full of great songs like “In for the Night,” “Shake It to the Right,” “Sin City Wahoo” and especially “Does It Have To Be You.” These guys could write great songs!
“Back Together Again,” Hall and Oates
The Philadelphia “blue-eyed soul” duo of Daryl Hall and John Oates didn’t make their mark on the charts until their 1975 self-titled fourth album, with its hit “Sara Smile.” That motivated their record company to re-release the magnificent “She’s Gone” from an earlier LP, which became another Top Ten hit in early 1976, setting the stage for their sumptuous fifth LP, “Bigger Than Both of Us.” The first of their six career #1 hits, “Rich Girl,” seemed to grab all the attention, but I recall being jazzed by the sensual “Do What You Want, Be What You Are” and the exuberant album opener, “Back Together Again,” punctuated by regular sax man Charles DeChant’s intro and fills. The track managed to reach #28 as the follow-up single. Hall and Oates went on to become the biggest selling duo in rock history, but this album still gets me going better than anything that followed.
“Is It Really Right,” Burton Cummings
For my money, this guy has one of the best singing voices in popular rock history. Starting with the vocal gymnastics he exhibited on the 1969 single “These Eyes,” Cummings was a force to be reckoned with on the Top 40 in the US as lead singer of Canada’s favorite sons, The Guess Who. He also wrote or co-wrote many of the band’s hits and deeper album tracks (“No Time,” “No Sugar Tonight,” “Share the Land,” “Albert Flasher,” “Your Nashville Sneakers,” “Sour Suite,” “Star Baby”). When the band ran out of gas in 1975, Cummings struck out on his own, scoring Top Ten hits right out of the box with “Stand Tall” and its follow-up, “I’m Scared.” Buried at the end of that 1976 debut LP is the grand, catchy “Is It Really Right,” carried by Cummings’ soaring vocals, deft piano fills and yet another fine pop melody.
“Travelin’ Light,” J.J. Cale
This guy’s voice and guitar style go down like a strawberry smoothie — so satisfying. Emerging from the Tulsa, Oklahoma, scene in the late ’60s, J.J. Cale wrote an infectious little tune called “After Midnight” that Eric Clapton latched on to and made into a signature song in 1970. Cale also wrote “Call Me the Breeze,” a later hit for Lynyrd Skynyrd, and he had a Top 40 hit of his own with “Crazy Mama” in 1972. On his fourth LP, 1976’s “Troubadour,” he recorded his cautionary drug tale “Cocaine” (yet another Clapton hit), but the standout track for me was “Travelin’ Light,” released as a single. The light-touch vocals are as subtle as a whisper, and the relentless, restless beat is carried by Cale’s effortless rhythm guitar and some mighty fine xylophone fills. He went on to release 11 more studio LPs between 1979 and his death in 2013, charting higher in the UK than the US, and in 2006 he released “The Road to Escondido,” a delightful collaborative effort with Clapton.
“Black Crow,” Joni Mitchell
Mitchell’s albums “Ladies of the Canyon,” “Blue” and “For the Roses” (1970-1972) set such a high bar in the confessional songwriter genre that it felt startling to some fans when she evolved into something else entirely in the mid-’70s. She had always expressed a yearning to try new styles, and she adored jazz music growing up, so it was exhilarating how deftly she moved into more complex songs, arrangements and instrumentation on LPs like “The Hissing of Summer Lawns” and especially 1976’s masterpiece, “Hejira.” With a virtuoso cast of bassist Jaco Pastorius, guitarist Larry Carlton and drummer John Guerin (among others), Mitchell came up with nine deliciously moody, ethereal songs that followed lyrical themes of traveling and wanderlust. “Black Crow” was the most upbeat of these: “I’ve been traveling so long, how’m I ever gonna know my home when I see it again? /I’m like a black crow flying in a blue blue sky…”
“The Fez,” Steely Dan
After a spectacular 1972 debut album (“Can’t Buy a Thrill”) that spawned two Top Ten hits (“Do It Again” and “Reelin’ in the Years”), Steely Dan’s two maestros Donald Fagen and Walter Becker essentially withdrew from touring and became a studio entity, using upwards of 30 different session musicians and singers to record their quirky, irresistible material. Their fifth LP, 1976’s “The Royal Scam,” is somewhat darker than their previous rock/pop LPs like “Pretzel Logic” and “Katy Lied,” featuring songs populated with devious, outlier characters engaged in illicit and illegal pastimes (“Kid Charlemagne,” “Don’t Take Me Alive,” “Haitian Divorce”). One of the more captivating tracks is “The Fez,” which boasts a funky disco groove along with a mildly Middle Eastern-influenced keyboard line. The main lyric — “No, I’m never gonna do it without the fez on” — is widely interpreted as meaning “I’m not having sex without a condom.”
“Hungry,” Eric Clapton
In 1976, Clapton’s career seemed to be in a holding pattern. He’d been through the worst of his heroin addiction but fell into an alcohol dependency that limited his ability to improve and evolve. He’d had his “461 Ocean Boulevard” comeback in 1974 but now needed the support of other musicians he admired to do some of the heavy lifting for him. He camped out at The Band’s home studio in Malibu and got all five members involved, plus Ron Wood from The Stones, and Bob Dylan on one track. Important contributions came from singer-songwriter Marcy Levy, who would later write “Lay Down Sally” for Clapton’s “Slowhand” LP. On the “No Reason to Cry” LP, which managed a #15 charting in the US, Levy sang and co-wrote “Hungry,” one of its best tunes. Two other tracks are also worth noting: the easygoing “Hello Old Friend,” which peaked at #24 on US pop charts, and a cover of the Otis Rush blues classic “Double Trouble,” a regular entry on his concert setlist for the next decade.
“Wastin’ Our Time,” Loggins and Messina
Loggins was one of a few promising singer-songwriters signed to Columbia Records in the early 1970s. As fate would have it, for his debut LP, he was assigned to producer/musician Jim Messina, whose contributions proved so pivotal that they titled the album “Kenny Loggins with Jim Messina Sittin’ In.” From there, the duo proceeded to have solid chart success, releasing four more studio albums before Loggins finally began his solo career in earnest in 1977. The songs Loggins wrote on the final two L&M albums (1974’s “Mother Lode” and 1976’s “Native Sons”) are among the finest of his career — “Brighter Days,” “Time to Space,” “Get a Hold,” “My Lady, My Love.” The mellow opening and dramatic crests of “Wastin’ Our Time” from “Native Sons” give me chills each time I hear this track.
“Losin’ End,” Doobie Brothers
When founder/guitarist/singer/songwriter Tom Johnston was stricken with ulcers and exhaustion in mid-tour 1975, The Doobie Brothers found themselves in a bind. They needed someone to fill in as best they could, and lead guitarist Jeff “Skunk” Baxter suggested a talented guy he’d worked with on a few Steely Dan albums: singer/keyboardist Michael McDonald. He did such a fine job on the remaining gigs that he was invited to take part in the recording sessions for their next album. Naturally, McDonald jumped at the opportunity, and brought four original songs to the mix, which ended up giving The Doobies a shot in the arm and a new direction. The record company was leery about bringing in a new guy, but “Takin’ It to the Streets,” “It Keeps You Running” and “Carry Me Away” all showed off how well McDonald’s husky, smooth vocals and songwriting chops worked. My favorite of his contributions is “Losin’ End,” one of his best melodies and performances.
“One Stage Before,” Al Stewart
Stewart writes enigmatic, fascinating story-songs full of historical figures and literary characters. Paired with inventive melodies, imaginative arrangements and lush production values, the tracks are endlessly entertaining and lend themselves to multiple listenings. 1976’s “Year of the Cat,” easily his best and most successful album, overflows with great examples of Stewart’s oeuvre. I’m often drawn to the penultimate track, “One Stage Before,” which deftly uses multiple references to stage plays and the actor’s craft as one of the most respected of the performing arts. Consider the images he conjures up: “They walk the backstage corridors and prowl the dressing rooms, and vanish to specks of light in the picture frames, /But did they move upon the stage a thousand years ago in some play in Paris or Madrid? /And was I there among them then, in some travelling show? /And is it all still locked inside my head for infinity…”
I’ve been writing this blog for 11 years, writing about the great musicians of the classic rock era and the amazing music they made. I’ve compiled many dozens of themed playlists — songs about driving, food, summer, breaking up, protests, sex, and on and on — but I recently discovered a glaring, unintentional exclusion: I’ve neglected to write a piece on songs about radio!
Seeing as how important radio airplay is (or used to be) to the success of a song or album, this is a rather serious omission. But it’s never too late to remedy that. I did my research and found a broad array of songs that focus on radio listening habits, AM or FM, the state of radio programming, and the importance of radio in our lives.
Radio used to be absolutely crucial to every music lover. In the ’50s and ’60s, AM radio was the ONLY way to hear your favorite song unless you forked over your allowance to buy the single or, heaven forbid, an entire album. It was certainly the only way to hear music in your car, before tape players, CD players and streaming services came along to make radio seem almost obsolete.
In Nashville, where I live now, there’s an excellent independent FM radio station called “Lightning 100” that plays a marvelously eclectic mix of old and new music that cuts across multiple genres. It’s the kind of station that used to dominate airwaves in every major American city in the 1970s before corporate ownership arrived, and with it came homogenization, predictability and a dearth of boundary-stretching musical offerings.
Cleveland’s radio personalities: Kid Leo, Billy Bass, John Lanigan, Bill Randle, Alan Freed
Radio also gave us disc jockeys, those quirky on-air personalities we loved (or loved to hate) who soothed us and provoked us, shamelessly promoted and coolly interviewed musicians about the tunes they were playing for us. Late night, drive time, morning zoo, all sorts of characters around the clock, 24 hours a day. Where I grew up in Cleveland, we had a rich history of influential DJs whose names have since become legendary well outside the region.
Rock musicians have done a fine job of writing tunes about the influence of radio and how its impact has changed (pretty much for the worse) in more recent times. Below I’ve selected 21 songs that explore the world of radio, with some interesting backstories about how and why they were written. The Spotify playlist at the end is, in my humble view, one of my better efforts.
Listen up!
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“Radio Song,” R.E.M., 1991
This has always been one of my favorite tracks by the Athens, Georgia-based band. It’s the opening tune on the group’s platinum LP “Out of Time,” their first US #1, which catapulted them from cult status to international stars. Although “Losing My Religion” and “Shiny Happy People” got most of the attention, “Radio Song” grabbed me immediately, with its “adventurous amalgam of jangly funk and sugary-sweet pop balladry,” as one critic described it. Michael Stipe’s commentary on the state of radio in the early ’90s hits hard: “Hey, I can’t find nothing on the radio, /Ah, yo, turn to that station, /The world is collapsing around our ears, I turned up the radio but I can’t hear it, /It’s that same sing-song, and the DJ sucks, /t makes me sad…”
“On Your Radio,” Joe Jackson, 1979
Jackson confessed that he had been bullied and teased as a youngster growing up in England, and when he developed his musical talent enough to earn a record contract and begin a public career, one of the early songs he wrote was “On Your Radio,” a scathing put-down of his past enemies. Singer Suzanne Vega, who worked on a couple of projects with Jackson in the 1990s, said, “This is the ultimate revenge song of fame. Who hasn’t been there and had those fantasies of rising above all the people who oppress you? Many people hope for the chance to respond to those who wronged us, and songwriters get to do it on the radio.” “I got your names and your numbers filed away, /See me, hear me, don’t you know you can’t get near me, /You can only hope to hear me on your radio…”
“Song on the Radio,” Al Stewart, 1978
Since 1969, Stewart had been releasing his unique brand of story-songs, often with historical references and romantic characters. His 1976 hit “Year of the Cat” captured our imaginations, reaching #7 on US pop charts. As he was writing songs for his 1978 follow-up album “Time Passages,” he said, “The folks at Arista Records were asking for a mid-tempo ballad with a saxophone that could be played on the radio so, very tongue-in-cheek, I wrote ‘Song on the Radio.’ I was actually joking, but they put it out as a single and it made the Top 30, so I guess the joke was on me!” The song seems to be about discovering a woman whose remarkable qualities are unnoticed by others, perhaps by her own design. Like many of Stewart’s songs, this one takes place while the narrator is traveling: “I was making my way through the wasteland the road into town passes through, /I was changing the radio stations with my mind on you… /We’ll go collecting the days, putting the moments away, /You’re on my mind like a song on the radio…”
“On the Radio,” Donna Summer, 1979
Donna Summer wrote this disco hit with record producer Giorgio Moroder for the soundtrack of the 1980 teen girl coming-of-age film “Foxes” starring a young Jodie Foster, Scott Baio and Runaways singer Cherie Currie. In the song, Summer is pining for a lost love and hopes to reconnect by broadcasting her feelings on the radio. Bruce Sudano, who worked with Summer before marrying her and remaining her husband until her death in 2012, said, “Donna could be very simple in her lyrics or she could be esoteric. But basically, the story of ‘On The Radio’ is somebody hoping that the song on the radio will let the man know that she is in love with him.” In addition to the “Foxes” soundtrack, “On the Radio” was also the featured new track on Summer’s “Greatest Hits Volumes I and II” double LP, and a #5 hit single in early 1980. “I never told a soul just how I’ve been feeling over you, /But they said it really loud, they said it on the air, /On the radio, whoa-oh-oh-oh, on the radio…”
“Turn Up the Radio,” Autograph, 1984
In 1983, the fledgling LA-based band Autograph was lucky enough for their demos to catch the ear of producer Andy Johns, who had worked with Led Zeppelin and The Rolling Stones. He supervised their debut LP, which included what turned out to be their only Top 40 hit, “Turn Up the Radio,” qualifying them as “one-hit wonders.” The song’s futuristic music video was very popular on MTV in 1985, helping boost their sales and a #29 peak on US pop charts (#17 on mainstream rock charts). The recording featured guitarist Steve Lynch’s distinctive two-handed, fretboard-tapping technique, which won him the “Guitar Solo of the Year” award from Guitar Player magazine that year. Lynch said the track was never a personal favorite but he always appreciated its strong hook and commercial appeal “and lyrics that were right for the times.” “Daytime, nighttime, anytime, things go better with rock, /I’m going 24 hours a day, I can’t seem to stop, /Turn up the radio, I need the music, give me some more, /Turn up the radio, I wanna feel it, got to give me some more…”
“Radio Nowhere,” Bruce Springsteen, 2007
“High-energy, E Street Band rock” was the order of the day on Springsteen’s well-received 2007 LP “Magic.” It debuted at #1 on US album charts despite an overriding lyrical theme reflecting The Boss’s disillusionment with the state of American society at the time. The intended single was “Radio Nowhere,” a meaty slab of guitar-heavy rock described as having “an end-of-the-world feel where humanity has become anonymous and communication channels have broken down.” The title metaphorically depicts a void where the narrator frantically searches for human connection over the airwaves, a despairing vibe that may have turned off the Top 40 radio audience, because it failed to chart at all. “I was spinning around a dead dial, just another lost number in a file, /Dancing down a dark hole, just searching for a world with some soul, /This is radio nowhere, is there anybody alive out there?…”
“Border Radio,” The Blasters, 1981
From the 1930s through the late 1980s, American companies set up powerful radio transmitters just over the Texas border in Mexico, offering as much as 500,000 watts of power, enough to reach great swaths of the US but out of reach of US regulations. Singer-guitarist Phil Alvin and his younger brother Dave (lead guitar) grew up on these stations’ heady stew of rockabilly, country, early R&B and blues. Between 1979-1985, they released four solid LPs as The Blasters, and on their self-titled second album — which reached #36 on US album charts and was several critics’ choice as one of 1982’s best — Dave Alvin wrote “Border Radio,” a song about the influence and appeal of hearing edgy music not available elsewhere: “This song comes from 1962, dedicated to a man who’s gone, /Fifty thousand watts out of Mexico, this is the border radio, /She calls toll free and requests an old song, something they used to know, /She prays to herself that wherever he is, he’s listening to the border radio…”
“FM,” Steely Dan, 1978
In 1978, a critically lambasted film called “FM” told the story of a group of DJs at a popular FM radio station who rebel against the station’s management. The DJs want to retain the free-form, DJ-driven music selection format that had been in place at FM rock stations since its early years in the late ’60s, but the more commercially oriented “album-oriented rock” format had already become dominant by the time the film was conceived and released. While the movie tanked, the “FM” soundtrack album was a big success, selling millions, led by Steely Dan’s title track, which reached #22 on US pop charts. Asked to write a song about FM radio, they came up with lyrics in which the narrator criticizes the predictable music selection. The overlapping harmonies of “no static at all” sound like a station ID tagline, but it seems less like a technical boast than an admission that nothing on the airwaves was likely to surprise anyone: “The girls don’t seem to care what’s on, as long as they play till dawn, /Nothin’ but blues and Elvis and somebody else’s favorite song… /The girls don’t seem to care tonight, as long as the mood is right, /No static at all, FM…”
“AM Radio,” Everclear, 2000
Emerging from Portland, Oregon, in 1992, Everclear was the brainchild of singer-songwriter-guitarist Art Alexakis, who steered them through post-grunge, alt-rock and power pop genres on several successful LP in the late 1990s. In 2000, on the Top Ten LP “Songs From an American Movie Vol. One: Learning How to Smile,” they came up with a jewel of a song called “AM Radio,” which nostalgically celebrated the early ’70s era when AM radio still ruled but was losing ground to hipper FM formats. Those without the bucks to afford cars with FM or tape players had to get their music exclusively from AM radio, with its cheesy jingles and repeated-to-death Top 40 playlist. “Flashback back in ’72, another summer in the neighborhood hanging out with nothing to do, /Sometimes, we’d go driving around in my sister’s Pinto, cruising with the windows rolled down, /We’d listen to the radio station, /We were too damn poor to buy the eight-track tape… /You’d have to wait ’til you could hear it on the AM radio…”
“That’s Why God Made the Radio,” The Beach Boys, 2012
After a long estrangement, Brian Wilson was ready to work with The Beach Boys again in 2012, just in time for the 50th anniversary of The Beach Boys 1962 debut LP. Wilson was collaborating with songwriter Jim Peterik at the time, who recalled an evening that proved fruitful. “We were at a restaurant,” he said, “and Brian was talking about radio, and how great songs used to sound through the AM radio coming through the oval speaker on his Plymouth Valiant. I said, ‘Man, that was the best sound of all,’ and Brian said, ‘Yeah, that’s why God made the radio.’ Of course, I wrote that line down, and it became not only a single but the title of the album.” The song’s lyrics are quintessential Beach Boys nostalgia: “Tuning in the latest star from the dashboard of my car, /Cruisin’ at 7, push-button heaven, /Capturing memories from afar in my car, /Feel the music in the air, find a song to take us there, /It’s paradise when I lift up my antenna, receiving your signal like a prayer, /That’s why God made the radio…”
“Devil’s Radio,” George Harrison, 1987
Harrison spent the mid-1980s on hiatus from the music business after his last two albums had charted poorly. In 1987, working with producer friend Jeff Lynne and luminaries like Eric Clapton and Elton John, Harrison wrote a quality batch of tunes for a successful comeback LP, “Cloud Nine,” which reached #8 on US album charts that year (#10 in the UK). Probably the most aggressive track was “Devil’s Radio,” which was inspired by a church billboard Harrison had seen stating “Gossip is The Devil’s Radio…Don’t Be a Broadcaster.” The lyrics are an attack on gossip, trivia and cynical talk radio which spreads inaccuracies and falsehoods, a theme that hit close to home for Harrison, who had felt victimized by unfair media as an ex-Beatle, and unable to lead a normal life: “Oh yeah, gossip, gossip, oh yeah, /I hear it through the day, airwaves gettin’ filled with gossip broadcast to and fro on the devil’s radio, /It’s all across our lives, like a weed it’s spread ’til nothing else has space to grow, /The devil’s radio…”
“You Turn Me On, I’m a Radio,” Joni Mitchell, 1972
As Mitchell was writing and recording a smart new batch of confessional songs for her fifth LP, “For the Roses,” her record label expressed a desire for her to write something that could gain Top 40 radio airplay. She responded with “You Turn Me On, I’m a Radio,” a lyrically brilliant tune equating romantic communication with radio airwaves. The metaphors she drew nailed the comparison perfectly — sending out signals she hopes he’ll pick up, and turning on a lover like turning on a radio. It wasn’t a huge hit, but it reached #25 in the US and #10 in her native Canada, and warmed up her mainstream audiences for the hits to come on her next LP “Court and Spark.” How poignant that former lover Graham Nash played the distinctive harmonica part on the recording: “Oh honey, you turn me on, I’m a radio, /I’m a country station, I’m a little bit corny, /I’m a wildwood flower waving for you, a broadcasting tower waving for you… /If your head says ‘forget it’ but your heart’s still smokin’, /Call me at the station, the lines are open…”
“Mohammed’s Radio,” Warren Zevon, 1976
From the beginning, Zevon was an enigmatic songwriter, with incisive, ironic lyrics that were often open to multiple interpretations. From his self-titled 1976 major label debut comes “Mohammed’s Radio,” which touches on themes like redemption, escapism, mysticism and negativity. Is Mohammed an Islamic DJ? A neighbor who played his radio too loud? Zevon never elaborated. Noted critic Dave Marsh ranked the tune “near the top of a list of best songs about radio.” Lindsey Buckingham, Stevie Nicks, Waddy Wachtel and Bobby Keys all participated in the session, and Linda Ronstadt made it one of several Zevon songs she covered on her own albums: “In walked the village idiot and his face was all aglow, /He’s been up all night listening to Mohammed’s radio, /Don’t it make you want to rock and roll all night long, Mohammed’s radio, /I heard somebody singing sweet and soulful on the radio, Mohammed’s radio…”
“Hey Mr. DJ,” Van Morrison, 2002
Since 1967, Morrison has been one of rock’s most prolific songwriters and recording artists, releasing more than 45 albums in that 60-year period. About halfway through that career arc in 2002, he came up with “Down the Road,” a warm mix of blues, R&B, country and folk that turned out to be his most commercially successful LP since 1972’s “Saint Dominic’s Preview.” Most of the music is rooted in 1950s and early 1960s popular music, and the lyrics reflect a certain nostalgia for that era. In particular, “Hey Mr. DJ” is, as one critic wrote, “a requiem for the one-on-one electricity of pre-Clear Channel radio, swinging with sweet brass and the iconic echo of Sam Cooke’s ‘Havin’ a Party.'” It was released as a single in the UK, and peaked at #19 on the specialized “adult alternative airplay” chart in the US. “Hey Mr. DJ, I’m in a sad mood tonight, /Play me something just for me and my baby, /Won’t you make everything all right? /I’m gonna turn it way down low, leave it on all night long ’til the morning comes, /Like my lover, my friend, until the end and that special someone…”
“The Radio Song,” Joe Walsh, 1987
Walsh had been a rising talent with The James Gang in the late ’60s and early ’70s, then a big solo act in the mid-’70s and eventually a full-fledged member of The Eagles. He continued to maintain a solo career, with anthemic rock songs featuring tongue-in-cheek lyrics (his Top Ten hit “Life’s Been Good” poked fun at his status as an egotistical rock star). He hit a dry patch in the mid/late ’80s when his 1987 LP “Got Any Gum?” tanked at #116, but the likable pop rock tune “The Radio Song” nevertheless reached #8 on the mainstream rock tracks chart. The music video for the song featured Wolfman Jack, and Walsh in a comical role: “I like to sit in a silent place, inside the silence is a melody, /Voices singing harmony, I close my eyes and listen carefully, /The silence starts to get loud, /It’s like your favorite station playing your favorite song, /Just like they do on the radio…”
“Radio Ga Ga,” Queen, 1984
In 1984, when Queen drummer Roger Taylor was driving in Los Angeles with his 12-year-old son, the boy spoke disparagingly about the music he was hearing, calling it “radio ca-ca.” That incident inspired Taylor to write “Radio Ga Ga,” a nostalgic defense of radio, with lyrics that disapprove of television overtaking radio in mainstream popularity. “In the past, people turned to radio to hear comedy, drama or science fiction, and you had to use your imagination,” Taylor said. “That’s part of what the song’s about, really. That, and the fact that music videos seem to be taking over almost from the aural side. The visual side seems to be almost more important now, and that’s a shame.” The song was a huge #1 in the UK and all over Europe, and #16 in the US: “I’d sit alone and watch your light, my only friend through teenage nights, /And everything I had to know, I heard it on my radio, /So stick around ’cause we might miss you, when we grow tired of all this visual, /All we hear is radio ga ga, radio goo goo, radio ga ga, /All we hear is radio ga ga, radio blah blah…”
“Do You Remember Rock ‘n’ Roll Radio,” The Ramones, 1980
To many critics and fans, punk rock’s finest moments came from The Ramones, the New York band that exploded in the punk culture in 1976 even if, almost by design, they were never much of a commercial success and didn’t have a hit single. The Ramones sought to return rock music to its most basic roots, abandoning such offshoots as late 1960s psychedelic rock and early ’70s progressive rock. On their fourth LP, “End of the Century,” which was their highest charting at #44 (#14 in the UK), the featured song was “Do You Remember Rock ‘n’ Roll Radio?” described as “a thunderous paean to radio as it should be.” The track opens with a simulation of a radio dial being tuned across stations before a DJ introduces the song. It uses more complex instrumentation and production than typical of the band’s output (particularly sax and organ), with lyrics that, while calling out ’60s TV music programs, actually longed for the radio of their youth: “Rockin’, rock ‘n’ roll radio, let’s go, /Do you remember Hullabaloo, Upbeat, Shinding and Ed Sullivan too?, Do you remember rock ‘n’ roll radio?…”
“Radio, Radio,” Elvis Costello, 1977
In 1977, as the British music scene was in the grip of punk rock, Costello’s debut LPs had “the raw energy and sass of punk but with densely layered wordplay,” as Rolling Stone put it. In 1978, “Radio Radio” was released in the UK as a stand-alone single, a reworking of an early tune he’d written called “Radio Soul.” The new version was far more aggressive with sarcastic lyrics that criticized the creeping commercialism of British radio. Costello said, “When you get into the business, you realize it’s about some guy with a sack of money giving it to somebody so that they play your record enough times that people get batted to death with it, and that makes it a hit.” When he appeared on “Saturday Night Live,” he abruptly stopped performing his debut single “Less Than Zero” and played “Radio Radio” instead, alienating the producers: “Radio is a sound salvation, radio is cleaning up the nation, /They say you better listen to the voice of reason, but they don’t give you any choice ’cause they think that it’s treason, /So you had better do as you are told, you better listen to the radio, /I wanna bite the hand that feeds me…”
“The Spirit of Radio,” Rush, 1980
Regular readers of this blog know I am no fan of Rush because I can’t abide Geddy Lee’s shrill, affected vocal style, but occasionally one of their songs was interesting enough to force me to endure the singing in order to enjoy the rest of the music. “The Spirit of Radio,” a single from their 1980 LP “Permanent Waves,” is one example of that. Inspired by the slogan of the Ontario, Canada-based radio station CFNY-FM, the song became Rush’s first Top 30 hit in Canada, although it reached only #51 in the US. Lyrically, the song is yet another lament on the change of FM radio from free-form to commercial formats during the late 1970s (although CFNY was one of those stations that had not yet abandoned free-form programming): “Invisible airwaves crackle with life, bright antennae bristle with the energy, /Emotional feedback on timeless wavelength bearing a gift beyond price, almost free, /It’s really just a question of your honesty, /One likes to believe in the freedom of music, /But glittering prizes and endless compromises shatter the illusion of integrity…”
“The Last DJ,” Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers, 2002
Petty had sparred with record business folks more than once in his career, and he did it again with his 2002 LP “The Last DJ,” which included several tracks that took direct shots at the greed that prevails in the music industry. In particular, the song “The Last DJ” is about a disc jockey in Florida who became so frustrated with his inability to play what he wants that he moves to Mexico and gets his playlist freedom back. Several radio stations, especially those owned by the conservative Clear Channel Communications, banned it for being “anti-radio.” Said Petty, “I was elated when it was banned. I remember when radio meant something. We enjoyed the people who were on it. They had personalities. They were people of taste who we trusted. And I see that vanishing.” It managed a #22 spot on mainstream rock charts but the ban kept it from pop charts: “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, /There goes the last DJ who plays what he wants to play…”
“Overnight Sensation (Hit Record),” The Raspberries, 1973
Cleveland’s favorite sons The Raspberries were pioneers of power pop, exploding out of the gate with an irresistible hit, “Go All the Way,” in 1972. Although most critics loved them, some observers saw them as inferior Beatles imitators, which really rankled their lead singer and songwriter Eric Carmen. By 1974, the band was in its final months before dissolving, and Carmen came up with “Overnight Sensation (Hit Record),” which critic Mark Deming said “may be Carmen’s most impressive creation, an epic-scale piece about the thrill of hearing your song on the radio.” Ironically, he’d already had his hit record two years earlier, but he longed to be taken more seriously and wrote “Overnight Sensation” as a theatrical number, beginning with just a piano and voice and building to a grand Spectorian production, with lyrics that bluntly stated his obsession with radio play. It reached #18 on pop charts, but the band broke up, and Carmen began a solo career. “I just want a hit record, yeah, wanna hear it on the radio, /Want a big hit record, yeah, one that everybody’s got to know, /Well, if the program director don’t pull it, it’s time to get back the bullet, /So bring the group down to the station, you’re gonna be an overnight sensation…”
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Honorable mentions:
“I Bet You They Won’t Play This Song on the Radio,” Monty Python, 1980
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