In America, it's been four years since it started to seem likely that the world was going to go on hiatus. Here's a chronology of this silly little blog's record of my own slow realization and reaction to the fact that we were entering a pandemic.
MARCH 15, 2020: Tonight on This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio
This is where you belong. You need something that's infectious in a good way, and that would be pop music....
MARCH 16, 2020: This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio # 1017
[This was the last-ever TIRnRR live show, though we didn't know it at the time.]
We live in interesting times. And "interesting" is waaaaaay overrated.
It's been pointed out elsewhere, but it's worthy of repeat play here: no one in the media is paid to say "We don't know." Nor would such an admission inspire confidence, but it's something that should be said more often than it is. We don't know. We don't know.
And as we acknowledge our uncertainty, we can try to be vigilant, responsible...good. We can heed the advice of experts. We can try to do the right thing, even if we're still struggling to figure out precisely what that right thing is. We can for damned sure refrain from hoarding stuff. We can practice social distancing. Respect. Consideration. Remaining calm, keeping our heads, and washing our freakin' hands. These are things we can do. There is a light ahead. We'll get to it in due time, together. Maybe we shouldn't hold hands right now. But we'll still get there together. Stronger. Healthier. Together.
New music from Jim Basnight, The Gold Needles, and The Walker Brigade, a new archival release from The Decibels, a Happy Birthday to our pal Gail Peterson of The Catholic Girls, and a bunch of other fine tunes to help keep us together on a night when we can't all be together. We don't know. Except when we do. This is what rock 'n' roll radio sounded like on a Sunday night in Syracuse this week.
Stay safe, my friends....
[The final tracks played on this last live TIRnRR were "Love To Love" by the Monkees and "On My Own" by the Muffs, with the New York Dolls' instrumental "Courageous Cat Theme" playing us out.
The above notes represented my first acknowledgement that we might be getting into a precarious period in our lives. I had no idea how serious it was all about to become, and continued blithely and cluelessly along my way.]
Until...]
MARCH 19, 2020: The Right Thing, And How To Do It * [*as if I had a clue]
I can't speak for you, but I don't have any previous practice in what to do during a pandemic.
I am not in a position to complain. Unlike so many others, I'm still working, my regular daily schedule so far unaffected by the repercussions of COVID-19. The only effects I've encountered are the minor inconveniences, the shortages of supplies at the grocery store, the cutback (and now elimination) of social gatherings, the shuttering of venues, dining rooms, and theaters. These are little annoyances in my life, minuscule in scale compared to those whose livelihoods have been disrupted, who aren't sure if they'll have a way to pay their bills and feed their families. And that's not even considering those directly impacted by the virus itself. No, I am not in a position to complain.
Both my wife and my daughter work jobs where their near-future paychecks may not be guaranteed. And if the needs of public health demand that more businesses must temporarily close in order to flatten the curve, to contain the spread of these damned infectious cooties, then my retail job is at risk, too. The shopping malls in the Syracuse area have already closed until further notice, and the time may be coming very soon for mom-and-pop stores to follow suit. But I am not in a position to complain.
A friend of mine, a co-worker, is of an age and physical condition that makes him extremely vulnerable to what this virus can do; he is self-quarantined. Another friend of mine is sick, and awaiting test results, while we all pray for the best. Nursing homes are closed to visitors, so my Mom is separated from family for the foreseeable future. And me? I'm 60 years old, I've had a nagging cough for nearly a month, but no other symptoms. I'm not in a position to complain.
Like all of us (or at least I hope so), I'm doing the best I can to be responsible. I've always been diligent about washing my hands, so that's nothing new. I Dracula-cough into my sleeve, wash my hands, avoid direct contact, wash my hands, hydrate, wash my hands, wash my hands, wash my hands. By the way, if you like to sing as you soap up, AC/DC's "Highway To Hell" works as a perfectly acceptable alternative to "Happy Birthday." No reason to complain.
My cupboards at home are adequately stocked. I have toilet paper, Zinc tablets, orange juice, food, drink. Beer. I patronize the stores that are open, order take-out meals when I can. I do not hoard. I allow space for people around me. I may have mentioned that I wash my hands, constantly. I don't have time to complain.
I've seen online posts from pals with opposing viewpoints, one stressing the need for everyone to just stay home for the greater good, the other warning that our freedoms are being taken from us. I'm sympathetic to the former, dismissive of the latter, but choosing a middle ground for now. I have a commitment and expectation to go to work each day, for as long as I'm healthy and for as long as I have a job to go to. While I'm out, I try to inject my tiny bit of spending money into the local economy, buying my comic books, grabbing drive-thru, whatever. I'm trying to do the right thing. Whatever that is. I can't complain.
I have a naive confidence that this will pass, none too soon, but eventually. I acknowledge that it will almost certainly get worse before it gets better. But it will get better. We just have to get through it, responsibly, as members of a community, as good people that care for one another. Good people outnumber bad people. And we have God on our side. Doing the right thing is its own reward. No complaints there.
MARCH 22, 2020: This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio Goes On Hiatus
The building that houses the palatial SPARK! studios will be closed until further notice, placing This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio on hiatus for the time being....
MARCH 23, 2020: Fake This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio Playlist: Isolation Edition
[Writing and music are my twin coping mechanisms. I compiled an imaginary playlist to express my feeling as the world shut down. Complete playlist can be seen here. We'll circle back to this subject a little south of here.]
MARCH 30, 2020: 10 Songs
THE BEATLES: I Want To Hold Your Hand
It seemed such an innocent request in '63 and '64. Now? If a person's closer than six friggin' feet away, it's cause for alarm, even panic. There will be no hand-holding in the Coronaverse, no love in the time of pandemic. There will be music, and there actually will be love, as always. Just no physical contact. Now go wash your hands.
BIG HELLO: Action Now
I was going to tie this great track from Big Hello's 2000 effort The Orange Album with a demand for ACTION NOW!! in place of the usual clueless douchebaggery of our nation's Buffoon-In-Chief, but I guess I'll stick with the music. Trump's an asshole, by the way.
"Action Now" popped up a couple of times on my iPod recently, and it sounds great each and every time. Is it a call to action--Now's the time for supersonic action--or is it only rock 'n' roll? I know it's both, and I like it.
Since saying goodbye to Big Hello, the wife 'n' husband team of Chloe Orwell and Brad Elvis have fronted The Handcuffs, another fab group worthy of large-sized salutation and celebration. The Handcuffs' Electroluv album has been in my CD carrying case for weeks, awaiting its overdue return to the This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio playlist. All the more reason for action now, to end this crisis and return The Handcuffs to their rightful place on the radio.
THE DOORS: Touch Me
Ew. Not because of the song--I've become more receptive to The Doors' music over the past few years--but because, y'know...touching. Ew.
THE FOUR TOPS: Reach Out I'll Be There
No. You. Won't. Jeez, keep your razzafrazzin' distance already!
THE GEORGIA SATELLITES: Keep Your Hands To Yourself
Yeah, that's more like it.
The Georgia Satellites may have put on the loudest show I've ever survived, which is saying something when you consider that my first concert was KISS, that I saw The Ramones nine times, and that I just about put my head into the PA at one of The Flashcubes' gigs. My most vivid memories of the Satellites' circa '87 set at The Lost Horizon are the sheer volume and resultant lingering buzz in the ol' ears, and Dan Baird asking the audience, Y'all all right? You're awfully quiet. Are you gettin' enough to drink? It's a proven fact: the more you drink, the more we sound like the goddamned Beatles. It's true!
THE PANDORAS: It's About Time
The Pandoras' irresistible '80s garage-pop classic "It's About Time" was one of the tracks I included in last week's fake playlist This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio: Isolation Edition. I chose the song for its recurring line Ain't it about time we got together now, and placed it near the end of the playlist (segued into Ben E. King's "Stand By Me") as a totem of hope that this period of willful separation will pass. It won't pass anywhere near as quickly as we'd wish, but it will pass.
THE POLICE: Don't Stand So Close To Me
Okay, everyone else sick of this joke, of this hit by The Police serving as the unofficial Love Theme From Social Distancing? Me too, though that won't prevent me from using it just this once. These are not proud times.
I absolutely adored "Roxanne," and regarded it as the coolest song on the radio in 1979. I quite liked "Message In A Bottle" and probably a few other scattered tracks from the first two Police albums, but I found myself losing interest in the group after that. Mind you, I never relinquished my affection for "Roxanne" and "Message In A Bottle," but that affection did not extend to subsequent efforts. When I managed a record store in the '80s, one of my clerks was horrified--horrified--to learn of my indifference to The Police. I waived my right to his counsel on that matter (and I waived it kinda rudely)...
...UTOPIA: I Just Want To Touch You
Right. I'm calling' a cop.
 |
| C'mon, you're gonna have to stay farther apart from each other than that! |
APRIL 2, 2020: That Thing You Do!
[Our rockin' pop community was devastated by the news that COVID-19 had taken musician Adam Scheslinger. I wrote a celebration of his life and work here.]
APRIL 3, 2020: Quarantine Scene
Things remain both weird and oddly normal at the same time. It's weird that I don't have to get up in the morning and go to work. It's weird that I can't go out to eat, can't go to the record store, can't go to the movies or a nightclub. I can't pick up my weekly comics supply at the comic book store; curb service was available for comics pick-ups last week, but now the distributor has shut down, meaning that no new comic books are being shipped to stores for the time being. It's weird, all of it, but it's not horrible. My day to day routine has been altered, but this ain't exactly life during wartime.
I mean, not for me.
And that's why things also seem oddly normal. In the middle of a crisis, a pandemic, I feel disconnected from the actual crisis. The suffering is out there, and it's real, but it's...distant, at least as it's perceived. Even though there have been many confirmed cases of COVID-19 in my county (with at least two deaths), and even though the global pop community has lost both Adam Scheslinger and "I Love Rock 'n' Roll" co-author Alan Merrill to this virus, it somehow still seems farther away from me than it is. It's an illusion of normalcy.
The first direct impact this had on me was several weeks back, when I received word from my mother's nursing home that all visitors were prohibited until further notice. I was still working then. Up to that point, I visited Mom every day, checking in, seeing if she needed anything, chatting for a bit before going home for supper. That was taken away. Her limited hearing and eyesight make telephone calls difficult for her, but I still call her every few days just to touch base. She's okay. I'm okay. The illusion of normalcy continues.
I worked one day at my job last week, filling in on Saturday, but now I am officially furloughed, awaiting my first payment for unemployment. My bills are covered for now, so no immediate worries there. I don't have a mortgage anymore, my next car payment isn't due until mid September, and I have sufficient resources to meet current expenses. My wife Brenda is able to continue working from home. We can't engage in extravagance (even if there were extravagant opportunities available), but the illusion has been adequately funded for the time being.
We did have to replace our computer. Timing stinks, but what can ya do? Our ten-year-old iMac had grown more and more crash-prone, and Brenda's work from home requires something with greater reliability. So: order placed via the store's website, curbside pick-up, and I've spent a lot of my time the past week setting up the new and preparing the old for eventual recycling. It's an expense we didn't need right now, but, well, that's kinda normal, too.
Brenda and I go about our business in this new (and presumably temporary) normal. We share time on the computer, between her work and my writing. We limit our trips to the store. We have supplies. We don't see anyone, not even our daughter, but we retain contact through texts and social media. When weather permits, we try to go for daily walks in our suburban neighborhood, maintaining distance from others, but trying to smile and express a cheery greeting from at least six feet away. We try to do our part to flatten the damned curve. I read and watch TV. Haven't listened to much music, because music reminds me that I can't do my radio show. Distance from music is not normal. I'll fix that. I have to rebuild my digital music library on the new computer anyway.
I've been cleaning out some clutter. As a life-long collector or hoarder--both descriptions fit me--I've accumulated a lot of cool stuff, and it's time to let some of it go. That will probably be the subject of a future blog post. I haven't had time yet to feel any sense of cabin fever. There are things to do, even if the normal things aren't always an option.
The illusion of normalcy is fed by the fact that I'm not undergoing any real hardships. Both Brenda and I are relatively healthy, fighting nothing worse than our normal cold, sinus, and allergy issues. Our friends and loved ones all seem to be doing all right, as far as we're aware. In this time of crisis, real crisis, we can't claim to be enduring anything more than inconvenience, if even that. Our hearts go out to all who are suffering or uncertain, who are subject to sickness, fear, anxiety, frailty, worry. We wish them better things.
And we look forward to things getting back to normal.
APRIL 5, 2020: Tonight On This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio
[We had done a live Zoom TIRnRR with the members of Pop Co-Op on March 29th. After that, we tried to figure out a way to get back on the air.]
Maybe...? We'll see. If we can work out this cockamamie pre-recording from home gimmick, we'll have a new show for you. If not, well, enjoy another rerun...er, CLASSIC edition of This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio with Dana & Carl....
APRIL 6, 2020: This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio # 1019
We wanted to do a radio show.
Like most folks, both Dana and I have been observing self-quarantine, which means that we haven't been able to get together to do a new regular episode of This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio, nor even to get into the building that houses our studio. We missed it. We did that live-stream Pop Co-Op album-release party last week in our familiar time slot, but that was a one-off. We weren't sure when TIRnRR could return.
But last week, we were among the many guests interviewed by the fab Michael McCartney, co-host (with Summer Blue and Tanya Teal) of The Time Machine on Mana'o Radio in Maui. This was for "The Social Distancing Sessions," a music and conversation extravaganza that examines how various performers and DJs are dealing with our current infectious cootie crisis. It was an honor and a privilege to participate, and it got Dana and I thinking about how to record a new TIRnRR from home. Saturday night, we decided to give it a try.
With a goal of having a show ready for our usual Sunday night spot, Dana suggested we stick with the song selections from TIRnRR's Isolation Edition, a fake playlist I posted on my blog two weeks ago. That would save time, and we didn't have a lot of time. Dana has remote access to the station's playback. I recorded all of the spoken bits on my phone (a trick which worked surprisingly well), and I sent those recordings along with the bulk of the musical selections to Dana via Dropbox. He spent all day Sunday stitching it all together, finally getting it finished at 7 pm. Next week's show will take even longer. When 9 pm rolled around, so did this new episode of This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio with Dana & Carl.
What once was fake is now real. This is the introduction I wrote when I first posted this then-imaginary playlist on March 23rd:
We couldn't do a radio show this week. But I wanted to compile a playlist for isolation.
I didn't want it to be literal, to string together a bunch of songs with titles like "Don't Stand So Close To Me" or "U Can't Touch This." I wanted a song cycle to convey the feelings some of us may have in this weird time, to capture the undefined vibe of this emotional mix, the aches of loneliness, anxiety, depression, alienation, doubt, confusion, the heavy weight of dread and uncertainty. I also wanted to look toward the hope of deliverance. I wanted a sense of catharsis for all that we may be going through, a musical security blanket to comfort us as we confront our worry and fear. I wanted some music to make me feel better.
I used love songs. I used break-up songs. I used songs of loss and regret, and I used songs that behold the horizon and swear by all that's holy that there are better days ahead. We'll get there. Let the music play. We'll get there when we can.
We got there. We're back, to the best of our ability in the current situation. We can't cure anything, but we can play some music for you. And as for NEXT WEEK ON THIS IS ROCK 'N' ROLL RADIO: Yeah. Why not? This is what rock 'n' roll radio sounded like on a sequestered Sunday night in Syracuse this week.
Pandemics be damned. This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio with Dana & Carl airs Sunday nights from 9 to Midnight Eastern....
APRIL 10, 2020: Radio From Remote Locations
As we continue sequestration for the public good, Dana and I are trying to get the hang of putting together new episodes of This Is Rock ‘n’ Roll Radio from our separate secure locations (aka “home”). When we made the late decision to do a show last week--late as in Saturday night, for a Sunday night show--we used a preexisting playlist to assemble the tracks, and Dana had just enough time to pull it all together by 7 pm Sunday for our 9 pm broadcast. He has remote access from home to the WSPJ server, so once the show itself was completed he was able to pop it into the schedule for playback in our usual time slot. But it was cutting it close, so we knew any future shows would require more planning and prep time.
"Planning." "Prep time." See, that does not sound like This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio with Dana & Carl. A large part of the charm of TIRnRR has been our spontaneity, our on-the-fly approach to slappin' together a working playlist in real time, as our audience finds out the next song we're gonna play immediately after we find out the next song we're gonna play. Alchemy. Survival of the fittest. Rock 'n' roll radio.
But: desperate times, desperate measures. We take to the airwaves with the show we can do, not the show we wish we could do. Our job is to adapt to these odd circumstances of self-quarantine, and to still do a show that sounds like TIRnRR, no matter how much the process of its creation differs from how we did the first 1017 episodes. Planning. Prep time. Awrighty. That's what we'll do.
On Wednesday afternoon, Dana and I talked on the phone to select the tracks and sequence for this Sunday, April 12th. It was weird, but I think we managed to retain the essence of whatever the hell it is that we do. I had a spotlight feature I wanted to thread into the playlist, so I suggested an artist to open the show, and Dana suggested a specific track by that artist. Good. Dana wanted to follow that with a single I played on the show several weeks back, and we went back and forth, song by song, until we had a tentative playlist. Phase One completed.
Dana sent me the supplemental files that he would normally mix into the show on Sunday nights in the studio, things like our opening theme, legal IDs, and bumpers, and he sent me the songs I needed but didn't have. Armed with all of this, on Wednesday night I programmed our playlist in iTunes, and discovered it was too long. We dropped one track apiece, did a final tweak of the playlist, and we were on target. Phase Two completed.
On Thursday, I recorded all of the show's back-announcements as voice memos on my phone, a process which (as we discovered last week) works a lot better than we would have expected. That was Phase Three. I then imported those voice memos into iTunes, completed sequencing, verified that we were within our allotted time, and sent it all back to Dana. Phase Four? Check!
Dana's now in the long process of Phase Five, turning this big ol' mess into a radio-ready form. It's pretty good, and it is indeed This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio with Dana & Carl. I think you'll like it, even if it wasn't constructed the way we've always done it in the past. It's how we have to do things now; that curve isn't gonna flatten itself, y'know.
So fall in! Nose to the grindstone, shoulder to the wheel, phasers on stun, volume pointing somewhere way, way UP. Come on--we want YOU. The audience we have is the audience we wish to have. Sunday nights, 9 to Midnight Eastern. We have a radio show to do.
Sometimes yesterday feels a lot closer than tomorrow. Tomorrow can seem like a vague promise, a mere possibility. Tomorrow isn't even a destination; it's just the next leg of our journey, a marker we hope will be followed by another tomorrow, then another, and so on. In our desperate moments, we may suspect that tomorrow won't arrive at all.
Yesterday is always right there with us. We don't want to live in the past, but memories can help to sustain us in our uncertainty. It's true that memories (good and bad) can also hold us back, but whatever we are, whatever we will become, is a product of places we remember all our lives, lovers and friends we still can recall. We don't get to tomorrow without keeping the lessons that yesterday tried to teach us. Like the saying goes: those who forget the pasta are condemned to reheat it.
Or something like that.
Right now, many of us may think that tomorrow is even further away than normal--hey, remember normal?--that these days of self-quarantine, disruption, and fear will stretch beyond any horizon we can see. This is natural, and it's difficult to shake. In the present day, yesterday is still with us, for well or ill, as we continue our march toward that elusive tomorrow.
The Coronavirus has compromised our feelings of safety and security, distanced us from friends and family. On the positive side, it's made it okay for me to appear in public wearing a mask, bringing me one step closer to my dream of being Batman. If you laughed at that, or even if you just rolled your eyes, I hope it was a momentary distraction from heavier thoughts. These are heavy times. We hope you're coping. We hope you're well. We hope you will endure through tomorrow....
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