IT WAS ONCE BELIEVED that the rise of television would lead to the demise of radio. True, you no longer see families gathered around an oversized wood-paneled box, eagerly awaiting the next episode of Amos ‘n’ Andy. (And a good thing too.) But radio nevertheless survived, and even thrived, by staying attuned to the needs of consumers. Instead, when historians look back years from now, it will be apparent that the gravest threat to radio came not from television, but rather, from advertising.
Not too long ago, radio commercials were tolerable. Some were even memorable. One particular jingle frequently played on New Jersey stations went:
If you got a craving for saving
Take the wheel of your automobile
And come on down to . . . Ideal.
That was more than 20 years ago, and to this day I have no idea what Ideal is or was. Still, it was a catchy tune. Which is more than I can say about the current crop of on-air ads. A few years back, the MotoPhoto chain ran a commercial involving a monotonous exchange between two men:
No, MotoPhoto.
Quasimodo?
No, MotoPhoto.
Sonny Bono?
No, MotoPhoto.
And on and on it went, for what seemed an eternity, undoubtedly causing listeners to tune elsewhere. But even more annoying ads were popping up across the dial, usually around the same time. A friend of mine remembers an ad for a dance club in Fresno:
P-P-P-Party all night!
Drink beer! Meet chicks!
Experience the alternative.
What listeners needed was an alternative to such grating commercials. But stations, hungry for the revenue, only packed in more ads. A popular station would then tout its “more than 40 minutes of music every hour,” which inevitably meant listeners had to sit through a 5 or 10-minute block of commercials twice an hour.
Another problem was on-air personalities who started off as disc jockeys but gradually devoted less and less time to music and more and more time to talk. There was always the option of tuning out and listening to CDs, but they’re predictable, and if you’re driving a long distance, it’s variety that keeps you going. So where do you go to find a station that offers your favorite music, but without commercials?
Enter satellite radio. I recently purchased a Delphi Roady receiver (the size of a Palm Pilot) from XM Radio, one of two satellite radio providers. XM currently serves more than 2 million customers and growing. The receiver itself costs a little over $100 and you pay a subscription of $9.99 each month. But what you get is sheer bliss: over 120 channels of music, talk, and sports–and no commercial breaks.
Suddenly getting stuck in traffic is a pleasure. Massive construction delays? No problem when Tony Bennett or Mel Torme is crooning. Caught behind a bus that stops every other block? Check out the latest from The Shins while you wait.
When I first installed my XM Radio, the abundance of music was overwhelming–I found myself jumping from classic soul to neo soul to progressive fusion. Eventually I settled on a few favorite channels, including “Bluesville” and a guilty pleasure called “Awesome 80s.” (I admit I tend to skip the seven stations devoted to country and the two to Christian rock.)
Aside from the music, there’s a vast array of talk–including Fox News, CNN, C-SPAN, a books and drama channel, and comedy (ranging from family-friendly to extreme raunch). Even better, an XM Radio receiver can now be attached to your home stereo or office computer. The latest model, the Delphi MyFi, is a portable handheld device. Like the other units, you can take it with you across the country.
Critics once doubted anyone would spend money on radio. But if people pay for television cable, why not? Market demand is being driven by those who are fed up with obnoxious commercials and too much talk; people who seek an appealing selection of music and not mind-numbing repetition.
What we are witnessing is nothing less than the Rebirth of Radio. Another Golden Age is dawning–without commercial interruption. With any luck, those unbearable radio ads will become a thing of the past. And when future generations ask us what they were like, we’ll be able to respond, through a haze of nostalgia: Drink beer! Meet chicks!
–Victorino Matus
