I was waiting in the car for my son when I decided to turn on the radio. “Oh, it won’t kill me,” I thought, and there’s even a chance of hearing something I’d like. After scanning several stations I landed on one whose music sounded interesting, so I kept it there. After the song finished there was a long pause before anyone started talking and I looked forward to catching the name of the artist, the album, the song, and the call letters of the station. But what I ended up hearing was the voice of a 5-year-old attempting to read Shakespeare with a mouthful of peanut butter. Pausing in all the wrong spots, no inflection whatsoever, stumbling over words, way too quiet – I was surprised to have understood “listener-supported” and “Madison,” but caught nothing more. Then, the music continued, so I kept listening. When Simeon got in the car he asked, “What’s this?” “I’m not sure,” I said. “Let’s see if we can find out,” knowing we didn’t stand a chance. After the song ended we were met with more dead air and eventually that same annoying voice. When the equivalent of one sentence dribbled out of the announcer’s mouth Simeon jammed his finger on the power button and yelled, “Man, what’s his problem!”
If given the opportunity to broadcast music that, for once, was stimulating, why wouldn’t you care enough to make sure listeners understood what it was? We were reliving that scene from Ghost World, where Steve Buscemi lashes out at the DJ’s voice coming from his own car radio, only this was worse. I can at least understand over-caffeinated rock DJs, even if their delivery is like “being jabbed in the face.”
3 Mulligans 