A New Panopticon Moment
Apr. 5th, 2009 12:23 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
womzillaSo, last week I was sitting in my study playing (or maybe working, I don't remember) on my computer and listening to my favorite radio station, the frequently mentioned WXPK, White Plains, a.k.a. "The Peak". The Peak is a rock station, and plays rock and rock-like music from the last 45 years or so (I can't remember ever hearing anything from the 1950s or earlier on the station, but maybe I just missed it), but, importantly, they mostly play music I find good. Oh, there's occasional mawkish post-Cream Eric Clapton, and a little too much Red Hot Chili Peppers or Steve Ray Vaughan, which I generally don't like but also don't hate. Specifically, they live up to my standard for a "good rock station"--no .38 Special, no REO Speedwagon, and no Journey. I was saying in *1982* that if I never heard Journey again I'd find it too soon.
Well. As you might guess, I was listening along and suddenly, like a skunk-blast on the highway, the unmistakable opening bars of "Don't Stop Believing" come oozing out of my radio. I'm stunned.
It transpires that this is not my station having an unspeakable lapse of taste, at least not directly. It's an advertisement for the new Broadway revue/musical, Rock of Ages, which does for 1980s arena rock what Mamma Mia did for phonetically sung English-language Swedish pop. Journey, REO Speedwagon, Whitesnake, Poison, Def Leppard, Night Ranger--dear me. Oh dear me.
One of the advertising slogans of The Peak is "Isn't it nice to have a radio station which actually reads all your e-mails?" So I fire off an e-mail with the calm, considered subject of "Oh dear god NO", suggesting clearly that I find the commercial about as welcome as an abscess. And within an hour I got back an e-mail from one of the radio personnel indicating that they weren't really particularly fond of the commercial, either, because it didn't match their "sound" (my words, not theirs); but with the recession, they were in no position to turn down advertisers.
I wrote back:
(Meaning, I'd write about how bad 1980s arena rock was.)
I then got another e-mail about twenty minutes later from a different staffer--a DJ:
Which, well. I'm old enough to think of the DJ-listener relationship as running one way--they speak, we invisibly hear. But obviously that's not true. I don't know if this DJ regularly reads this LJ or if she just did a quick scan on my name--though if she did, it's odd to think that she'd come across the "be kind" quote so quickly. (If you do read me regularly, want to say "hi"?)
So, hey. My favorite radio station knows I exist, thanks to the intrawebs. It's a weird and wonderful and anti-heirarchical world in which we swim.
Of course, this reminds me of the most perfectly Lovecraftian sentence I've read in the last 12 months. Boom! Comics published a miniseries, Necronomicon, spun off from their (pretty good) Fall of Cthulhu series (and written by long-time underappreciated genius William Messner-Loebs). The story depicts the adventures of a young Arabian scholar studying in Massachusetts in the 1920s who is hired to translate Al Azif from the classical Arabic original. As he works his way through the text, he learns many magical secrets. At one point, as he uses his knowledge to teleport to a friend who is in danger, he thinks:
"To see, one must be seen."
Well. As you might guess, I was listening along and suddenly, like a skunk-blast on the highway, the unmistakable opening bars of "Don't Stop Believing" come oozing out of my radio. I'm stunned.
It transpires that this is not my station having an unspeakable lapse of taste, at least not directly. It's an advertisement for the new Broadway revue/musical, Rock of Ages, which does for 1980s arena rock what Mamma Mia did for phonetically sung English-language Swedish pop. Journey, REO Speedwagon, Whitesnake, Poison, Def Leppard, Night Ranger--dear me. Oh dear me.
One of the advertising slogans of The Peak is "Isn't it nice to have a radio station which actually reads all your e-mails?" So I fire off an e-mail with the calm, considered subject of "Oh dear god NO", suggesting clearly that I find the commercial about as welcome as an abscess. And within an hour I got back an e-mail from one of the radio personnel indicating that they weren't really particularly fond of the commercial, either, because it didn't match their "sound" (my words, not theirs); but with the recession, they were in no position to turn down advertisers.
I wrote back:
1980s arena rock: proof of the existence of Satan.
I sympathize with your economic difficulties. Maybe I'll just write nasty things about the music on my blog. Feel my wrath, internets!
(Meaning, I'd write about how bad 1980s arena rock was.)
I then got another e-mail about twenty minutes later from a different staffer--a DJ:
Kevin - mustn't write nasty things. "Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle." -- Plato of Athens
How's the nose?
Which, well. I'm old enough to think of the DJ-listener relationship as running one way--they speak, we invisibly hear. But obviously that's not true. I don't know if this DJ regularly reads this LJ or if she just did a quick scan on my name--though if she did, it's odd to think that she'd come across the "be kind" quote so quickly. (If you do read me regularly, want to say "hi"?)
So, hey. My favorite radio station knows I exist, thanks to the intrawebs. It's a weird and wonderful and anti-heirarchical world in which we swim.
Of course, this reminds me of the most perfectly Lovecraftian sentence I've read in the last 12 months. Boom! Comics published a miniseries, Necronomicon, spun off from their (pretty good) Fall of Cthulhu series (and written by long-time underappreciated genius William Messner-Loebs). The story depicts the adventures of a young Arabian scholar studying in Massachusetts in the 1920s who is hired to translate Al Azif from the classical Arabic original. As he works his way through the text, he learns many magical secrets. At one point, as he uses his knowledge to teleport to a friend who is in danger, he thinks:
"To see, one must be seen."
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no subject
Date: 2009-04-05 01:07 pm (UTC)From my own decade in the DJ booth (1981-1990), I can certainly attest that I didn't know any of my listeners in their roles as listeners. I knew a lot of people from school and work and life, and I knew that during any given shift (except the notorious 2-6 A.M. slot), some of them might be listening to me. They might even call in a few requests. But there was never any way for me to look beyond the veil, so to speak, and learn anything about the strangers who might be listening.
Honestly, when I did connect directly with them, they weren't always happy. One guy got rather irritated when he called up to make a request.
"Can you play Dark Side of the Moon by Pink Floyd?"
"The whole album?!"
"No, just the song."
"There is no song called 'Dark Side of the Moon.'"
"Yes there is!"
"No, I'm afraid there's not."
"Sure there is! 'I'll see you on the dark siiiiide of the moon...'"
"Oh, 'Brain Damage.'"
***Click***
Two things:
Date: 2009-04-06 03:36 pm (UTC)2. I NEED to see that show and fulfill EVERY cheesy daydream I have every had. (And sing along with it, too. Do I have terrible taste in music? Why yes, yes I do. :) )