I was recalling my days at WXYC (89.3 on your FM dial) and realized that in some ways, I was participating in a sort of prototypical internet situation. I was an announcer at XYC for ten years, from before I started at UNC to after I'd gotten my second degree there. Except for my year in England (September 1983 to June 1984), I had a regular weekly show from the summer of 1981 to the summer of 1990, and still did some substitute shifts all the way up until I left Chapel Hill in July of 1991. That's a lot of hours in the announcer's booth.

And during a lot of those hours, I was bored out of my skull. Oh, sure, there was always a new song or an old favorite to play on the air, but there were dead spots, too, especially if you were inclined (as I was) to play long songs. When it came to dropping the needle down on a ten-minute Genesis track from Selling England by the Pound or one of Jethro Tull's album-sized cuts, I never hesitated in the slightest. But once the needle was safely down, what was there to do?

The answer came in the form of graffiti. Not only is it an annoying word which I still misspell fifty percent of the time, but it's also a great way to fill vacant moments, and I soon became one of the station's main suppliers of the stuff. Album covers were of course the main area for such self-expression, especially if the albums were in the playbox and had aroused strong feelings in me. When U2's October had been in heavy rotation for what seemed like a full calendar year, I made mention of the fact on the album cover, provoking a quick response from Carla, the program director. From that point on, I decided to restrict myself to writing on the covers of older albums that Carla was less likely to notice.

What I soon realized, though, was that others had this same compulsion. To this day, I can recall the fluid penmanship of Mike "The Howler" Tuck, whose commentary graced the covers of many a prog-rock album. At one point, he wrote a glowing comment about Chris Squire and Steve Howe on the cover of Yesshows, one of Yes's less-than-crucial live releases. I replied with a note about the Dixie Dregs' Andy West and Steve Morse, my own favorite bass-and-guitar combination at the time, and we were off: a once-a-week dialogue began that eventually wound up in a discussion of our favorite drummers--thread drift, of exactly the sort you can see in any discussion area on the web.

The best place for comments, however, was on the posters that lined the walls of the station. I don't remember them all, but many of them had been doctored by XYC jocks with creative juices a-flowing. One jazz pianist, Robert somebody, had autographed his poster; Mike was apparently horrified by the photo, because he quickly added "Hey, Robert! You got fat teeth! Love, the Howler" to it.

Nothing ever topped the Fleetwood Mac poster, though. I still don't know which jocks did the honors, but all five members of the band had ballpointed thought balloons coming out of their heads:

*Stevie Nicks: "Wisps... I'm thinking of wisps... maybe I'll write a song about them..."

*Mick Fleetwood: "Goin' t'the barn dance in my dungies..."

*Christine McVie: "But does he like me...?"

*John McVie: "Let's see... $10,000 per show works out to about $14.79 per bass note, minus $5.88 per coke line sniffed... I can probably afford new ice cube trays!"

*Lindsey Buckingham: "Every male in America would like to bang Stevie's cute little box... So why is it all I can think of is drooling schnauzers and big bunny suits?"

I guess we were on the cutting edge of more than just music.
12:04 PM

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As I mentioned in my last entry, we recently saw Chicago and were impressed enough to snag a copy of the soundtrack that very evening. The kids have been relentlessly listening to "Cell Block Tango," "We Both Reached for the Gun," and "When You're Good to Mama," and I'm finding all of the above (not to mention "Razzle Dazzle" and "All That Jazz") running through my head on a regular basis.

I like musicals.

Actually, I like the music from musicals. As a form, the musical comedy is an odd duck, neither play nor opera, and having all the disadvantages of each, but for the most part a good set of songs can save even a show with a dumb script. Unfortunately, it's sometimes hard to get past the basic ridiculousness of having characters burst into rapturous song, which is why for a good decade now the best musicals have been animated cartoons, where your disbelief is already suspended to allow for talking meerkats, mermaids, and furniture.

So here are my top ten musicals of all time, in alphabetical order. An eclectic list? Well, sure--what do you expect from a guy who's never seen Oklahoma! or The Producers?

Beauty and the Beast -- From the opening strains of "Belle" through the Busby-Berkeley-meet-Martha-Stewart dazzle of "Be Our Guest," this score touches all the bases. Even if the the title tune is a bit drippy, it's more than countered by "Gaston," which gets into show-biz Valhalla purely on the strength of the line "I use antlers in all of my de-co-raaaaaaa-ting!"

Cabaret -- I prefer the stage version, which has more songs, but "Don't Tell Mama" and the title song are hard to ignore either way. And "Tomorrow Belongs to Me" has a chilling beauty that's unlike anything else you'll ever hear.

Fiddler on the Roof -- Even if I didn't like Aleichem's stories, the music in this show is simply inspired. Even a potential throwaway like "Sabbath Prayer" has real punch. OK, so "Miracle of Miracles" is lame. "Matchmaker" and "If I Were a Rich Man" more than make up for it.

Jesus Christ Superstar -- You can't say it's not an interesting story. And when Ian Gillan (Jesus) and Murray Head (Judas) go at it on the soundtrack album, it's terrific listening.

King Mackerel and the Blues Are Running -- A bit more obscure than some of these others, admittedly, but a wonderful show. UNC grads Bland Simpson & Jim Wann cooked up a series of stories about the Carolina coast and put them together in this "musician's theater"-style play with some wonderful and evocative songs about the same. From the title track to "Food Chain" to the haunting "Georgia Rose," this one satisfies all the way.

The Music Man -- There ain't nothin' else like this one. "Trouble" is one of the two or three great set pieces in American theater, and if you aren't tapping your toes to "Seventy-Six Trombones," you're clinically dead.

Oliver! -- I forgive it the exclamation point, because the songs are too good not to. The ensemble pieces alone are stunning: "Food, Glorious Food," "Who Will Buy?" and "Consider Yourself" work beautifully, and "Reviewing the Situation" is simply a masterpiece.

The Rocky Horror Picture Show -- Camp, sure, but full of terrific music. "Science Fiction" and "There's a Light" are quite beautiful, and "Eddie" is too cheerfully goofy to resist. Plus, I must admit, this one gets extra points for having Susan Sarandon in white cotton undies.

South Park: Bigger, Longer and Uncut -- Crudely animated, profane, blasphemous, immature, and offensive on so many levels that they can't be named individually, this is not only one of the most pointed satires since "A Modest Proposal," but a wonderful musical to boot. "Blame Canada" got an Oscar nomination for a reason (though the Academy was too chickenshit to award it.) "Mountain Town," "What Would Brian Boitano Do?" and "Mmmkay" are relentlessly catchy. The international chorus of "Kyle's Mom's a Bitch" is a delight. And, god help me, I not only find myself singing along to "Uncle Fucka" on a regular basis, but actually enjoy listening to the instrumental break where the entire nation of Canada farts tunefully along with a Copland-style ballet. There are so many reasons for me to dislike this movie that the simple fact of my not disliking it is powerful evidence of its musical brilliance.

And where does Chicago rate? Give me a few more days to listen. I'll get back to you.
5:29 PM

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