Radio Free Boston (37 page)

“Oedipus always did such a great job taking what we considered to be our big artists out from under us,” mentioned Bill Abbate, who started at
WFNX
in 1984 and jumped ship to '
BCN
four years later. “A great example of that was in '88; [at 'FNX] we felt that we had done everything we could in the marketplace to champion the Smithereens. But we didn't get the big show. '
BCN
got them instead for their twentieth-anniversary, monthlong celebration.” Oedipus paraded '
BCN'S
clout and transmitter signal in front of the record companies and nearly always received cooperation. Abbate
continued, “There's no doubt that '
BCN
played [the Smithereens], but the feeling in Lynn was, ‘Hey, we've got them in full rotation; this is our band!'”

When another new group named Nirvana, and its anthem “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” hit the streets, a new movement arrived at the gates with a battering ram. Rarely can a shift in taste and a changing of the guard be measured in such a distinctive and singular event, but here it was; a new generation had advanced onto the field and with this song made its presence known. Mark Kates, head of alternative promotion for
DGC
, the record label that released Nirvana's
Nevermind
album, remembered that
WFNX
and its program director Kurt St. Thomas had a relationship with the band well in advance of the album's appearance: “The band was deeply entrenched at the station; they would have played ‘Teen Spirit' the moment it came out. The album was released on September 24, 1991, so the single came out in August.” Nirvana had first played the Jamaica Plain rock club Green Street Station in '89, then Cambridge's ManRay the year after, a period in which the 'FNX program director became a devoted fan and acquaintance—so much so that Thomas prevailed on the group to appear at his station's eighth anniversary party the day before
Nevermind
even hit the streets.

WBCN
would not ignore “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” playing it in October after the single's video had hit
MTV'S
“Buzz Bin” and well before most mainstream stations. However, to many in the local scene, this was seen as a game changer,
WFNX
being the point station at this crucial cultural juncture in the same way that '
BCN
had been so many times before. “Back then, there was a sense of purity that if a song was so good, there was no way it wouldn't make it to the air. ‘Teen Spirit' was that to me, a nobrainer, and we were late to the party,” David Bieber admitted. “Nirvana actually came to the station and they weren't even put on the air. They were given a back-alley treatment and cut some station
IDS
.” But to be fair, Mark Kates brought Nirvana by
WBCN
before
DGC
had begun actively promoting the group, simply because the band happened to be in Boston. This was a courtesy call for Kates to put in the bank for when he'd later be looking for support from Oedipus. The band members dropped by 1265 Boylston Street on a Sunday, when few '
BCN
staffers were present. With Nirvana barely known and their record not on the air yet, the group was not invited to do an interview. In similar situations, the station would not
have been accused of missing anything; however, after the band's enormous and immediate impact,
WBCN
was perceived as being behind the ball in Boston. As Nirvana's presence only grew and launched a tsunami straight through the heart of rock music, the band member's appreciation for the earliest stations that had championed them would never waver. Kurt Co-bain remained a friend of ‘
FNX
, not
WBCN
, till the day he died.

NELSON,
HOWARD,
AND

“THE LOVE
SHACK”

After years of gazing out over a lunar-like no-man's-land walled by concrete and barbed wire, the East Berliners who crowded against the barrier erected by the Soviets in 1961 could never have imagined the magnitude of lights, sound, production, or the simple freedom that Pink Floyd's Roger Waters enjoyed, to stage his band's grand 1979 work,
The Wall
, in Potzdamer Platz on 21 July 1990. Only the previous week, West German troops had finished sweeping the area where two hundred thousand fans now stood for unexploded bombs and mines. Their Eastern counterparts danced atop a long line of armored personnel carriers, hooting and hollering in their fatigues as Waters unwrapped the iconic double album onstage, and East hugged West in a new summer of love. I journeyed to this massive European party as a
WBCN
correspondent, phoning reports back to America from a bank of phones set up in a trailer jammed against the Berlin Wall. After nearly forty years of Soviet injustice and Hitler's nightmarish reign before that, this whole area reeked tragically
of history, like some decaying roadkill left by a continent-wide collision. But the immense sound of nearly a quarter-million voices booming into the Berlin night: “Tear down the wall! Tear down the wall!” shouted down the past. Could it be? Could a glimmer of hope be shed for these Berliners, that the end of their long nightmare was truly at hand?

Afterward, a few of us roamed about in a mostly deserted backstage area. Dave Loncao, a high-level Mercury Records rep, flashed a laminated pass and performed his Big Apple razzle-dazzle to secure a few bottles of red wine, all that was left from the considerable bar that had catered earlier to hundreds of
VIPS
. We drank enthusiastically, talking about the concert and the politics of a new Europe until the last bottle had been drained. Loncao grumbled, “What do you want to do now? We'll never get out of here with all the traffic!”

“I guess we just have to hang out or start walking back to the hotel,” someone offered, not a happy prospect since the place was several miles away.

“Maybe we should just walk over and take a piss on the Berlin Wall!” someone else piped in. I'd like to say it was my idea, but the wine had begun interfering with any accurate record keeping by that point. Let it stand that “someone” in our group had the brilliant thought.

“Like the cover of
Who's Next
?” Loncao observed, chuckling with a hand already on his fly.

“Exactly!” And with that, our little band of American broadcasters lurched over, offering up our own special tribute to the absurdity of building that ugly ribbon of concrete and metal in the first place.

 Carter alan

A new decade had arrived, a noisy and kicking brat named 1990. Loud and brash, the imp quickly drowned out its older, more reserved, brothers and sisters born during the eighties. Just the end of the Cold War, the breakup of the Soviet Union, and the reuniting of East and West Germany was astounding enough to warrant special attention. But to that remarkable turn of events, add Lech Welesa's presidential victory to break the back of Poland's communist government and Margaret Thatcher's resignation. Twenty-five cents bought a first-class stamp and a gallon of regular gas averaged around $1.15. Sporting fans watched Edmonton deny Boston the Stanley Cup (again); the Reds swept Oakland in the World Series; and Joe Montana led the 49ers in a rout of Denver at Super Bowl
XXIV
.
The Simpsons
debuted on Fox-
TV
,
Seinfeld
on
NBC
, while
Home Alone
,
Dances with
Wolves
, and
Ghost
became box office monsters. As M. C. Hammer's
Please Hammer Don't Hurt 'Em
sat at number 1 for twenty-one weeks and sold ten million copies, an unknown band in Seattle named Pearl Jam played its first gig and Nirvana visited Boston for the second time.

Big hair's last stand: the eighties give way to the nineties. Carter Alan and (future) wife Carrie Christodal. Photo by Roger Gordy.

The eighties had been very good to
WBCN
, the station arriving at 1990 on the crest of local popularity, as well as national respectability.
Friday Morning Quarterback
looked back on the previous years by polling the professional communities of both broadcasting and the record business nationwide, naming '
BCN
as “Best Station of the Decade.” In the 1990
Rolling Stone
Reader's Poll, and for the ninth time in ten years, the station was voted one of America's best large-market radio stations. But just as the fresh year had brought sweeping changes to world affairs, politics, and culture, 1990 also perched '
BCN
on the edge of a worrisome and uncertain future after a decade of consistency and mastery of its domain. Several personalities departed from the air staff, including Tami Heide, who transferred to
KROQ
for a long and acclaimed career, and Lisa Traxler, who ended up on rival
WZLX
in 1992. Billy West and Tom Sandman both exited the production department, the latter stepping up to a program directorship at crosstown
WBOS-FM
: “I didn't see any future in me getting into programming at
WBCN
; I didn't think Oedipus was going to go anywhere soon.” Sandman was correct; '
BCN'S
now-veteran program director remained secure in his position, presiding over the latest changes in his staff, which would prove to be minor compared to the seismic ones arriving in just a few years. Tony Berardini endured as station general manager and Infinity vice president but, by the end of 1989, had hired a general manager for
KROQ
and given up the arduous schedule of flying back and forth to
LA
every two weeks. “The real issue became that '
BCN
started getting more competition from 'ZLX,” Berardini explained. “That station was chipping of enough of our ratings that it made it difficult to reach the budgets. Now I could sit down and focus on '
BCN
.”

In the news and public affairs departments, the twin defections of Katy Abel and Matt Schaffer left a gaping hole. Oedipus prevailed upon Sherman Whitman, who had been part of the
WBCN
news team for three years until October 1987 when he left to work at
WXRK
in New York City, to return as news director. Whitman found the new appointment satisfying: “There was still a commitment to the news and public affairs at '
BCN
; people felt they got information there that they couldn't get anywhere else.” Then, Oedipus tapped Maurice Lewis, who sported an extensive list of credentials in local radio and television journalism, to take over for Schaffer on the “Boston Sunday Review” (
BSR
). Lewis said, “I had total and free reign without any interference from management; that was the beauty of the show. You couldn't have asked for a more supportive environment.” The two new arrivals, along with Charles Laquidara, soon brought great honor to
WBCN
in June 1990, on the occasion of black political activist Nelson Mandela's historic visit to Boston. Sadly, as triumphant as that moment would be, it would also represent the final hurrah for an acclaimed (and some would say, essential) part of
WBCN'S
original manifesto in 1968.

After twenty-seven years of harsh imprisonment at the hands of the pro-apartheid South African government, Mandela had been released from prison as internal hostilities and international pressure mounted on the white ruling party to hand over power. Eventually, a multiracial government would be installed with Mandela as its head, but in the immediate afterglow of his newfound freedom, the most famous and revered symbol
of racial equality since Martin Luther King Jr. decided to embark on a goodwill tour of America. The important and historic meetings with national leaders and fellow activists would mostly occur in New York City and Washington, D.C., but Mandela planned a one-day, whirlwind visit to Boston, which generated extraordinary excitement from ordinary citizens and local politicians alike. Whitman enthused, “Katy [Abel] was gone by then, but she had done “Commercial Free for a Free South Africa” in 1985, and to think that Mandela himself would come to Boston five years later!”

As the time wound down swiftly to the historic visit, and on the day before the African leader's 23 June arrival,
WBCN
was recognized for its role in popularizing the anti-apartheid movement. The Boston City Council surprised Charles Laquidara with an award for “his Commitment to Ending the Apartheid Regime in South Africa,” as a result of the on-air campaign to boycott Shell Oil. This was followed by a second citation from the Massachusetts House of Representatives in acknowledgment of his “Continuous Public Education and Support for a Free South Africa.” A similar award went to Maurice Lewis, as representative of the public affairs department, in recognition of
WBCN'S
efforts toward these initiatives. While the accolades were being handed out and photos snapped, Sherman Whitman worked feverishly down the hall, making final preparations with the station engineers for
WBCN'S
in-depth coverage of Mandela and his wife Winnie's visit.

Maurice Lewis had helped to coordinate a simultaneous playing of the South African national anthem on various Boston radio and television stations at 12:01 on the day Mandela arrived. “It was the first time we got competing stations to go along with each other to do anything!” Lewis laughed. “Also, working with [Urban radio station]
WILD
, we were involved in organizing a parade launched from Roxbury, which wound its way through Back Bay and over to the Hatch Shell.” After participating in the motorcade, Lewis arrived at the massive tribute concert on the Esplanade where over three hundred thousand adoring citizens waited, part of a visit described by
Ebony
magazine as “Mandelamania.” “It was a Saturday afternoon when Nelson Mandela came and spoke at the Hatch Shell,” Whitman recalled. “We were there from the start of the day to the finish. We carried it
all
live: Mandela's entire speech, the music the artists were playing, and the words of Governor Michael Dukakis and Senator Ted Kennedy. There was a sea of Mandela T-shirts out there . . . like seeing
a rock star.” Meanwhile, Lewis, astonished at the size of the crowd that lined both sides of the Charles down to Massachusetts Avenue, appeared several times on the big stage. “I was called back multiple times because the Mandela entourage was late. I received those dreaded instructions: ‘Fill! Fill!'” he laughed. “But because of that I got the chance to ‘fll' onstage with Danny Glover and Harry Belafonte; those [moments] were great.”

This day, auspicious as it was, would end up being the last big hurrah for
WBCN
news, signaling the twilight years for the department as 1991 arrived. First, Lewis decided to move on, with no regrets: “It felt great to work on a show that brought opinions, cultures, theater, drama, politics, and diverse people from Boston together; that's what the ‘Boston Sunday Review' had always been designed to do.” During the same period, as Whitman described, his role at the station changed: “[Oedipus and Tony] said, ‘We're going to have you stop doing the news and let Patrick Murray handle things.” Murray, who had started off two years earlier as a news department trainee and Whitman's intern, was surprised by the move. He mentioned, “I didn't know about it beforehand; Oedi just called me into his office and told me, ‘You're the news director.'” Murray had worked his way up to be a well-known morning sidekick on Laquidara's show, due to his offbeat and free-spirited delivery of news, traffic, ski, and surf reports. “It was a time when you could get your news in other places, so on the Mattress we did it differently. I'd make sure the report was on the pulse of what was going on and then have some fun with it, like a
Saturday Night Live
sketch.” Though the official title of news director had been conferred upon him, Murray didn't necessarily see much increase in the scope of his responsibilities, nor a directive from Oedipus to change his style. He continued to gather information for Laquidara and deliver it with his wise-cracking, sardonic slant. “Once, as I was getting ready, I noticed they had the agricultural report up on the
AP
newswire. So, I did hog slaughters, sheep slaughters, the rye crop, and the wheat crop numbers instead of a business report. We played a little
Raising Arizona
bit behind it with some sound effects. No biz report, just the cattle kill for the week!”

As Murray churned out his comedic, and more digestible, version of “the news,” Oedipus unveiled his plans for the displaced Whitman, who explained, “With Maurice gone, they needed someone to do the
BSR
, so I handled that for the rest of my tenure there [till June '93].” Whitman did not turn bitter over these changes; he realized that the times were changing
and that he personally couldn't stem the tide: “Every music station had begun cutting back on its news commitment, especially on the
FM
dial. There was specialization: music stations would now be doing music, and news stations would now do just news; '
BCN
was no exception to that.” In an ongoing series of deregulation moves in Washington, the
FCC
granted radio station owners far more latitude to run their businesses as they saw fit. The relaxed state of ownership rules and public affairs requirements set off a wave of layoffs as companies raced to reduce their bottom lines by slashing staffs, consolidating stations, and standardizing formats. By having Murray handle “Big Mattress” duties and also the news,
WBCN
management eliminated a full-time job and maintained spending on its Sunday newsmagazine show at a part-time level. “I turned out the light in the
WBCN
news department,” Whitman acknowledged. “And that was one of the saddest things to do, simply because, for me, '
BCN
was home [and] all the people there . . . that was my family. All the things we did there together, at 1265 Boylston Street, we did to make radio great. Somewhere down the road, someone made the decision that we don't want to be great anymore; all they cared about was making fabulous profits. I left because I felt my time had come to an end.” Not to take anything away from Murray, who was given the football, ran with it, and scored points, but from this point on, news “dissecting” on
WBCN
was a thing of the past.