Raise your glass to local-market radio

A June 7 Guardian article was headlined "America's rural radio stations are vanishing -- and taking the country's soul with them."

"Small-town radio is fizzling nationwide, as stations struggle to attract advertising dollars," writer Debbie Weingarten told readers. "And as station owners are forced to sell, media conglomerates snap up local frequencies for rock-bottom prices, for the sole purpose of relocating them to urban areas. In a more affluent market, they can be flipped for a higher price. With limited frequencies available, larger broadcasters purchase as many as possible -- especially those higher on the dial -- in a race not dissimilar to a real estate grab."

The Guardian writer profiled Arizona country station KHIL, which is run by Mark Lucke. Founded in 1958 by Rex Allen ("the last of the singing cowboys"), it is located in the small town of Willcox. Per Weingarten, KHIL "has long been the daily soundtrack for this frontier town (population 3,500) that prides itself on its cowboy culture and quiet pace of life."

KHIL shares access to a 5,000 watt tower with several other stations. And its "dungeon" space is occupied by only stacking radio conductors and a washing machine.

"Lucke explains that country music star Tanya Tucker 'used to hang out here with the jocks.' This was before she recorded 'Delta Dawn' at the age of 13 [in 1972] and left Willcox to produce a slew of hits, which landed her in the Country Music Hall of Fame. Her familiar drawl can still be heard at the top of every hour on KHIL, saying 'Hello, Willcox. This is Tanya Tucker. And you're listening to the station I always listened to when I was a kid.'"

It's been decades since singular limited-market radio was either shoved aside or subsumed by the corporate-radio behemoth, with its product-moving mindset and numbingly formulaic nationwide playlists.

The Guardian piece put me in mind of simpler eras, ones in which tectonic culture changes were possible by boldly dropping broadcast needles on 45s.

I thought of local radio stations' pivotal role in taking the music to the people, of the indispensable role DJs had played in both rock'n'roll's development and its access to young listeners. 

In the 1950s, those kids huddled around stand-up consoles or carried portables. And in my early 1960s pre-teen years, we cradled a hand-sized transistor lovingly under bed-covers; its tiny glow, DJs' voices, and the brash rebel music were our vital connection to the cool-world that pulsed after dark across the country.

We were an underground community, shoulder-to-shoulder in love with the music all our own.

I thought of Dewey Philips and his Red, White, and Blue show on WHBQ, in Memphis. Sun Records owner Sam Philips (no relation to the DJ) had visited Dewey at the radio station to deliver Elvis's 1954 cover of Arthur Crudup's "That's All Right." And when Dewey did play that first Elvis single, something big started that shook the world and will surely continue into perpetuity.

Another landmark the Guardian article brought to mind was Alan Freed's nationally impactive, Cleveland-based Moondog's Rock'n'Roll Party. Freed exposed his teen audience to a range of styles, from doo-wop to the stormimgs of Chuck Berry, Gene Vincent, and Richie Valens. 

Like rock'n'roll itself, Freed's work advanced the breaking down of racial barriers. Better living through downbeats.

With his radio show, Freed made a massive contribution. The upstart musics we dug became part of the uniquely American popular culture vernacular, one that was created from diverse racial, folk, and generational experiences.

I thought, too, of the numerous pirate radio operations that once dotted the Texas/Mexico border. Underground DJs like Wolfman Jack (long before his celebrity) had given wee-hour visibility to sounds reflective of real cultural expression generally ignored by status quo taste arbiters. 

Later recognition was paid crucial pirate radio by the American Graffiti film, the Blasters' wonderful "Border Radio," and various CD compilations of undersung-but-effectual recordings.

The Guardian article contained particular information about a tiny station struggling against indifferent engines of change. But we all had for decades known of general moves away from the independent local broadcasting that so enriched American popular culture and gave important spotlight to less-respected expression.

Free from the oppression of commercial obsessions and social dictates, local DJs had created an atmosphere in which experimentation could develop and marginalized voices state their validity.

Once glorious realities, such outlets had first faded into memory, and now were slipping into complete nonexistence.

I was already sad. The Guardian article only made me more so.