When it comes to matters of the radio the ultimate source to turn to is my best friend, and occasional guest-blogger, Jeff Mazzei.  Jeff was the program director for WCBS FM for over thirty years, and he knows radio like Charles Dickens knew adjectives.

Enough of my needless prattling.  I give you…Mr. Mazzei.

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Guest blogging for Keith Saunders is like going to a concert expecting Cedar Walton to play only to find out that it’s Bill Walton.  But I’m here to expand on the subject of scanning for distant AM signals which is a subject dear to my heart having spent decades in the business.

Growing up in New York City, nighttime scanning for distant AM signals was great sport in the Marble Hill Projects.  For music, we loved WKBW from Buffalo which had an out-of-control nighttime disc jockey named Jack Armstrong.  But the real thrill was CKLW from Detroit which understandably had the inside track to all the new Motown releases, and we all felt as if we had the underground r & b pipeline to Motown a week ahead of everyone else.  In the summer, we scanned baseball games from Boston, Baltimore, Cleveland, and Cincinnati to go with the Mets & Yankees.

But on the west coast, they had a unique scanning experience.  In the U.S. & Canada, the legal power limit for an AM station is 50, 000 watts in order to protect stations from interfering with each other within a reasonable distance.  Mexico was never interested in such good will, so their legal limit is 250,000 watts.

One such station was XERB in Rosarito Beach with a 250,000 watt transmitter near San Diego.  This was the station that hired Wolfman Jack who became a radio icon with his unique brand of announcing.  He was not only a wild man on the air, but he exposed the west coast audience to r & b records that were never played on most west coast top 40 stations, and it was not uncommon for Wolfman to say hello to his listeners in Portland and Vancouver.

XERB actually had offices in Chula Vista, California and on Sunset Boulevard in Los Angeles.  They also made money by selling time to pentecostal preachers who solicited donations.  One such preacher, Reverend Ike, had the sales pitch, “The worst thing you can do for the poor people is to be one of them, so send me your donations!”

I had the pleasure of working with Wolfman Jack (or as his co-workers called him, “Wolfie”) in New York at WNBC.  The real life Wolfman Jack was not unlike his on-air persona, but it was more low-key.  It alway amused me that this wild man of the airways with the zany moniker of Wolfman Jack actually had the most mundane of real names—–Bob Smith.

Sadly, both Wolfman Jack and XERB have passed from the scene, and CKLW in Detroit no longer is spinning Motown exclusives, but scanning never dies.  There are still baseball games hiding up there somewhere on a hot summer night.  It just takes a little patience and a talented wrist.  Scan it!!

Bill Walton

Cedar Walton

This is the third time I’ve made the drive from the Bay Area to Vegas.  It is a deceptively long drive.  If you could drive on a direct angle from Berkeley to Vegas it would probably be a six or seven hour trip.  Thanks to the Sierra Nevada range, however, this is impossible.  You have to drive south to Bakersfield on I 5, cut over east on a 150 mile mountain pass road — rt 58 — and finally, at Barstow, turn North onto I 15.  It is a nine-hour drive, that is if you don’t stop.

Fortunately I love driving.  I’m an animal behind the wheel and can drive great distances without tiring.  All I need are some good sounds to spur me on and I’m happy.  I’ve driven cross-country on two consecutive years, with a third trip looming this summer as my oldest boy is going to be going to school back east.

After the game (and what a game!) I decided to drive home rather than have to wake up at 5AM the next morning.  I had to be back by Monday night for a gig and I knew I could make great time at night.

I know enough to pull over when I’m tired.  It’s amazing how effective a ten minute cat nap can be.  I ended up needing to take two of them — one at 2Am, and the other at 4AM.  I arrived home safe and sound at 5:30.

About halfway through the drive I decided to take a break from my ipod and tune in to some right-wing radio.  I expected to become upset while listening to their vitriol, but in the end I only felt a sense of bemusement and pity.

I mean, they’ve got nothing.  Literally nothing.   All they have to talk about is their hatred of Obama, and their love of the lord.  Obama is a socialist, and the lord is their savior.

I feel sorry for them.  They don’t want to talk about Romney — they hate him.  They’re embarrassed by Gingrich, because

a) he’s too smart for them

and

b) his checkered history disturbs them.

Ron Paul is too liberal for them, and even these nutcases realize that Santorum has no shot.

One host claimed to know exactly when Armageddon was coming, but you had to buy his book to find out when and how.  I’m sure it would be a great read but I’m going to save my thirty bucks.

I ended up staying with right-wing radio for a good hundred miles.  I couldn’t turn away.  It was extremely entertaining.

When you go to a movie, even before the trailers begin, there are commercials playing at an uncomfortable volume.  Forget the feature, which is deafening.

When I lived in New York I used to dread walking by the Peruvian folk bands playing on the street, or in the subway stations.  You know those guys:  They’re  the ones with the amplified pan flute players.  What is it with the pan flute anyway?  First of all, the instrument itself is an abomination.  Second of all, nobody wants to hear it.  And third of all, they are particularly offensive when PLAYED THROUGH MARSHALL STACKS!

Closer to home, I am distressed about how loud jazz music has become.  In the old days bass players didn’t have amps — they were felt more than heard.  Perhaps this explains why they felt so good!  These days you have bass players playing through amplification at uncomfortably loud levels.  The drummer ends up having to play louder, and the horns and piano require micing.  Ultimately, unless you’re playing at a serious listening venue,  the audience talks louder.  It’s a vicious cycle.   Or is it a vicious circle?

Whatever.

It’s vicious.

Have I mentioned that these west coasters are out of their minds?!  They were already printing their Super Bowl tickets even before they beat the Saints.  Then last Saturday’s mass jubilation after their improbably victory — carrying on like it was the final scene from Hoosiers.  (my world war two metaphor was better, I know.  Sue me!)

The sports radio guys, as usual, were out of control, going on about east coast bias, and the ghosts of Candlestick Park.  

First of all…east coast bias?!  The last time I looked it’s the same no-neck guys who play on both coasts.  Also, as my friend and co-blogging blogger, Jeff Mazzei pointed out, the western teams, with the exception of this year’s 49ers squad, basically suck.

And…the ghosts of Candlestick?!  What ghosts?  John Brodie?!  All those guys from the ’80s are still alive!   Is it possible that Joe Montana has a ghost that we don’t know about?  That guy truly is amazing.

Go Giants!

Is it the real Joe Montana, or his ghost?

On Saturday I settled into my living room to watch the 49ers/Saints game.  Living in the Bay Area and being a sports talk-radio devotee, I had spent the previous week being hyped into a frenzy, and by midday Saturday I was frothing at the mouth awaiting the game.

The radio hosts and the callers had confounded me with their near unanimous confidence in the 49ers ability to take down the scoring machine that is the Saints offense.  To me it seemed like homer-ism run amok.  Their team has a mediocre quarterback and had played a soft schedule.

In New York, even when the Giants have great teams, this kind of blanket cockiness never exists.  There is always a healthy dose of skepticism and people more or less expect the worst to happen.

I have a theory about this.  New York has largest Jewish population of any metropolitan area in the world.  Nobody knows suffering like the Jews do, and the feeling of facing insurmountable hardships seeps into the collective psyche of the city.  Every gentile in New York knows a little Yiddish.

The Hebraically challenged Bay Area does not know from such suffering, ergo they are blithely spared such bouts of negative thinking.  They can’t imagine anything bad happening.

Contrarian that I am, I was quietly savoring watching the ‘Friscans being served a generous helping of humble pie.  The game began and you could see immediately that the 49ers defense was all that it was advertised.  Still the Saints defense held their own, shutting down the Niners offense for most of the second and third quarter.

By the fourth quarter two things were painfully apparent:  First, it was going to be a great ending, and second, because of my Saturday night gig, I would have to leave sometime during the fourth quarter.

I left with the 49ers ahead with six minutes to go in the fourth quarter.  By the time I had reached the Bay Bridge the Saints had taken their first lead of the game.  Midway across the bridge the 49ers grabbed the lead back with a brilliant Harbaugh call of an Alex Smith bootleg.

By now I was beginning to do the slow burn, grinding my teeth and muttering the name, Joe Carter under my breath.  (In 1993 I missed the one of the greatest World Series ending of all time — a Joe Carter walk-off home run)

I was over the bridge and driving south on Folsom when the Saints retook the lead on a 66 yard Drew Brees pass to tight end, Jimmy Graham.

“Shit!”

By now I was desperately searching for a bar where I could pull over and watch the final minute and a half of the game.  The sports gods rewarded me with a bar and a parking spot, and I ran in to see the winning 49er drive.  At least I can say I saw the end of what will surely be remembered as one of the greatest playoff games of all time.

I was unprepared for what would happen next.  It was more of a delayed reaction, really, as if the city was on seven second delay.  It was as if the city took a collective deep breath and held it for five minutes.

Then bedlam.  People began streaming out of bars shouting with delight, cars were honking and drunk girls were screaming like banshees.  This went on for two hours.  It was like V-J day.  I realize it was a game for the ages, but come on,  San Francisco, act like you’ve been there before.  It’s not even the championship game!

The thing is, they have been there — THEY’VE WON FIVE SUPER BOWLS!

Now the 49ers will face my team, the Giants.  I have no doubt that every Bay Area resident is rubbing his or her palms together in glee, thinking, “Oh baby, it’s in the bag!”  But unless I miss my guess, I think they’re in for a rude awakening come Sunday.  Talmud, after all, is a dish best served cold.

Don’t forget to pray today, because God didn’t forget to wake you up this morning.

I’ll say this about Jews and Muslims:  They do not proselytize.  Even if I was receptive to religion, the last thing I would want is for some righteous fanatic to shove it in my face.  I suspect that these are the people who are most repressed.  What are they trying to hide? 

Tim Tebow finally had a good game last Sunday against the Steelers.  I have to admit that he is clutch.  I’ll also say this:  You could have driven a Mac truck through those Pittsburgh safetys.  Even I would have scored with those holes.

Now we’ve got another week of hearing about how Tebow does nothing but win.  Until the Patriots send him a one-way ticket to heathen-town.

I love it when Christians get all huffy about being tamped down due to political correctness.  There’s only 224 million of them in the U.S. — I think they have a voice. 

Would Tebow be a household name if he didn’t interject God into every other sentence?  He’s a mediocre quarterback who had one good game and a bunch of lucky ones.  America loves sanctimony, and Tebow has it in spades.    

Can you imagine the outrage if Tebow was a Muslim and he used his post game interviews to thank Allah?  He would be tarred and feathered faster than you could say war on Christmas. 

I get nervous around devout people.  When I think about devout Christians the first word that comes to mind is intolerance.  Intolerance of gays and minorities and a myopic world view.  I think about their propensity for supporting capital punishment, as well as their love of guns and their narrow view of civil rights.   

That’s religion to me.

These photos were taken a couple of days after New Years which is why the plastic was already on the figurines, but you’ll still see a good example of the lunacy that goes on for six weeks at the end each year.  Note the addition of Liberace at the piano.  He goes into hibernation during the summer months, but his piano remains on display.

July, 2011

January, 2012

July, 2011

    

January, 2012

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And with this display of pageantry we bid a fond adieu to Christmas, 2012.

The best part of being here is staying with my best friend, and occasional guest-blogger, Jeff Mazzei.  We get a chance to catch up on life, as well as watch sports with impunity.  This year we will get to experience the final Sunday of the NFL, which will feature much more meaningful games than usual, with the Giants v Cowboys topping the list.

To me New York represents my past, and with it, the unrealized dreams and potential of my youth.  It’s difficult to pass a street without its associated memory  and I find this both fascinating and disconcerting.  I am proud that I was able to thrive in this hyper-competitive city, but always regret that I was not able to accomplish more.  I’m sad to call myself a former New Yorker, and sheepish about being back.

I spent two months here this past summer and I find it amusing that the earth has managed to travel halfway around our solar system in my absence.  When last I was here the temperature was in the high 90s with humidity.  Now, with the trees bare of leaves, the temperature is a comfortable and unseasonably warm 45 degrees.  

Manhattan is rotten with tourists, and much to my chagrin and consternation, I am one of them.  The city smells like fear to me.  There are cops on every corner — who knows, perhaps we went to crimson-red on the terror color scheme – and midtown seems tense and joyless. 

I was verbally assaulted by a security guard at the big library on 5th avenue and 42nd st.  She took me for an out-of-town rube and to that end forced me to open my backpack, delaying my exit.  When I glared at her, asking if she would like to look at my [Daily] News, she raised the ante, screaming at me to get out and advising me not to have a happy new year. 

I remember this New York.  In the old days I thrived on such confrontations.  These days I’m out of practice – they not only feel annoying to this re-transplanted Californian, but unnecessary.  I know — I should have my head examined for walking around midtown on December 30th.  Maybe I am a rube…

The best part of New York is the Italian food.  (not the Italians!)  On two consecutive evenings, in the Bronx and the Village respectively, I have had spectacular linguine, first with red clam sauce, and then with white, along with my favorite vegetable, brocoli rabe.  You can’t get that in California.

Not to mention the music.  I heard a great piano trio last night, and after my gig tonight I will end up at my favorite jazz club, Small’s.  In the end there is no denying the greatness of this town.   

Being here in the Christmas season is no bonus.

I am a non-observant Jew, and someon who disdains most religions.  I have to admit, however, that sitting in that church listening to the reverend’s sermon, I found some facets of religion that are positive.  The sermon largely dealt with the virgin Mary, but the main crux of it was that Jesus is most interested in the downtrodden — the underdogs, so to speak.  That part of religion appeals to me — that there should be empathy for the less fortunate, and a spirit of brotherhood among all people.

But this is Oakland, where most folks empathize with the poor.  Where is this empathy in the mega churches of the South?  Where is it in the Catholic Church?  Where is it in Hasidic community, and in Israel where atrocities are committed against Palestinians?  And where is it in the Islamic community?

The problem, as usual, stems from ignorance.  A population whose mind is numbed by adherence to superstition and myth, is a pliant population.  You can do anything in the name of religion. 

 You would think, given my feelings of antipathy towards religion, that I would have found a kindred spirit in the late Christopher Hitchens, who began as a left-wing columnist, and became an outspoken critic of organized religion. 

Hitchens championed the Iraq war, long after it had proven to be a debacle of the highest order.  He was an avid supporter of murder, as long as the victim was Moslem.  Here he is celebrating American’s use of cluster bombs:

…those steel pellets will go straight through somebody and out the other side and through somebody else. So they won’t be able to say, ‘Ah, I was bearing a Koran over my heart and guess what, the missile stopped halfway through.’ No way, ’cause it’ll go straight through that as well. They’ll be dead, in other words.      

He wrote that  his reaction to the 9/11 attack was exhilaration because it would unleash an exciting, sustained war against what he came to call “Islamofascism”

With those words he has my utmost contempt.  What is the difference between him and the Moslem radicals that he rails against —  or Pope Innocent III instituting the Inquisition?

Hitchens was another in a long line of right-wing hacks — the only difference between him and garbage like Ann Coulter or Glenn Beck is that he possessed more intelligence.  He was a good writer and a glib speaker, but that does not diffuse the fact that he was as morally bankrupt as the Islamic radicals he wrote about.

It comes down to this:  Are you willing to condone or commit murder to further your own gains?  You can be a pope, an Ayatollah, or a writer – ultimately you’re an abomination.

Few will be surprised that I am not a fan of the Denver Bronco’s second year quarterback, and pain-in-the-ass evangelist, Tim Tebow, but I must admit to a certain how does he do it fascination.  He’s a terrible quarterback.  Sure he’s a good runner, and that’s a handy tool to have, but everybody knows that the successful NFL QBs thrive in the pocket.  Don’t they?

Tebow ranks 27th in yards per pass and 14th in total yards, but somehow, due to a combination of his legs, a brilliant Bronco defense, and good old-fashioned luck, Tebow finds himself poised to take the Broncos to the playoffs.  Last Sunday, rather than the thanking the lord, Tebow should have thanked Marion Barber for not running out-of-bounds, thereby giving the Broncos time to march down the field for a game tying field goal against the Bears.

Tebow is all the rage.  I wonder if he would be so beloved were his name Tim Tebowitz and his post game pressers consisted of long lectures on Talmud.  I take that back — I’m not wondering.  

A Denver defensive lineman had the right idea:   After a pre-season game in which Tebow, then a rookie, suggested the team pray, the defensive lineman responded, “why don’t you shut the fuck up?!”

Yeah!  Who care’s what God thinks about football?  I’m sure he’s got more important things on his mind.  Anyway we all know he’s a Giants fan.

Then there’s the faltering campaign of Mitt Romney, who belong to the religion of which he dare not speak its name.  Much to my amusement the Republican electorate cannot bring themselves to get behind their only viable candidate, thus giving Newt Gingrich and Ron Paul their turn at relevancy.

Newt, who to his credit is trying to run a smear-free campaign, was forced to fire an aide who had suggested that evangelicals were ”poised to expose the cult of Mormon.”  While I’m happy to see turmoil in the Gingrich campaign, this puts me in the uncomfortable position of being aligned with evangelicals.  

Of course Mormonism is a cult.  Let  me get this straight:  Christ appeard in upstate New York after the resurrection?!  What, was he appearing in the Catskills at Kutsher’s opening for Shecky Greene? 

Then there’s the proselytizing, the multiple wives, the prohibition of caffeine and alchoh…wait a minute, back up…multiple wives?

Sign me up!