Of all the 20th-century
media out there (newspapers,
television, magazines),
radio is the one I
would miss the most if it
completely disappeared.
With the proliferation of
iPods and other MP3 players,
radio stations are
struggling to keep listeners.
Why take a chance on
the radio when you can
plug in all your favorite
music or listen to a podcast
or book?
Don’t even get me started
on in-car DVD players
that make it possible to
spend a full day on the road
with your children without
ever having to actually
have a conversation with
them.
Not me. I love the radio.
I love the pure, random
magic of it. I love that I’m
not in control of it.
One minute I am back in
10th grade, earnestly singing
along with Simple
Minds, imploring the universal
``You’’ not to forget
about me.
The next minute, I am
listening to The Pointer
Sisters’ ``Slow Hand,’’ and
envisioning a compilation
CD entitled ``Mid-1980s Divorcee
Rock.’’ My mind
wanders to the possibilities
of the playlist.
The Pointer Sisters’
``Slow Hand,’’ Juice Newton’s
``Queen of Hearts,’’
anything at all from the
Barbra Streisand/Barry
Gibb collaboration known
asá ``Guilty,’’ which included
such unforgettable divorcee
classics as ``A Woman
in Love,’’ ``What Kind of
Fool’’ and the title track,
``Guilty.’’
To quote: ``And we got
nothing to be guilty of
Our love will climb any
mountain near or far, we
are
And we never let it
end...’’
If you were a child of a
1980s divorce (or a participant
in one), that song
might just be stuck in your
head all day. Sorry about
that.
Radio doesn’t even have
to be good to be satisfying.
I love the fact that, although
I would never in a
million years seek out the
song `Easy Lover,’’ by Phil
Collins and Philip Bailey, I
can almost certainly count
on hearing it on some central
New York radio station
or another if I spend any
time in the car.
Such is the radio time
warp that seems to have
cast a spell over radio stations
in our region. If it isn’t
``Easy Lover’’ it will be ``Sussudio’’
or something half
unbearable by Chicago or
Peter Cetera.
Did I mention that I am
a stoplight singer?
You know those people
you make fun of because,
when you stop next to them
at a stoplight (this would be
in a town with more than
one stoplight), you catch
them singing along with
the radio in some embarrassing
fashion? That’s me.
But I don’t just sing — I
perform. Singing is what
you do in the studio when
only your band mates and
producers are watching.
Performing is what you do
on stage or in your World
Premiere Music Video. And
this isn’t some reserved and
dignified Susan Boyle-style
performance. It’s the kind
of thing that would make
even Coldplay’s Chris Martin
cringe in embarrassment
for me.
In short, I work it.
And I am old enough
now that I no longer care
whether a carload of teenagers
is in the next lane
witnessing my seatbelt bound
interpretation of
``Careless Whispers.’’ I am
confident like that.
So go ahead. Create your
cross-town playlists. Download
your podcasts. Program
every moment of your
daily audio audio experience.
I prefer to be surprised.
Elizabeth Trever Buchinger
is working for the
weekend. You can connect
with her at www.moremindfulfamily.
wordpress.
com.
