Before I remember recognizing any single song in life, I remember radio. I remember loving it before I knew words. I remember knowing how sweet radio was.
If you were born after about 1975, the radio I speak of is an Old Testament creature. The arrival of MTV circa 1982 and the breakthrough of "college radio" revolutionized everything. Not for better, not for worse, but definitely different. There were little patches of the Old Testament left through the 1990's, but it's pretty well gone now.
A young person -- of my generation -- had a very serious attatchment to radio. If a young Philadelphian was at all into music, no matter what kind, he identified himself with his radio station. Radio stations in the western states started with a K -- KRLA, KDAY etc, and back East started with a W, but no self-respecting fan ever said all four letters. The W was silent. My first radio station was Wibbage 100 -- WIBG -- a local Top 40 station that played a wide cross-section of R&B and pop. This was where heard the records I first remembered by name -- "Downtown", "Stoned Soul Picnic", "Sally Sayin' Somethin'". Here's a whiff:
An important rite of passage was one's first radio of his own. Not a handmedown, nor a clock radio, but an independent object. I acquired mine in Cub Scouts, through selling Burpee Seeds. Somehow I remember Boy's Life magazine being a big part of the hook up.
My radio was a 4" olive green square AM transistor radio with an earphone. Not hi-fi. It ran on a 9 volt battery, and it made everything sound like it was recorded over a telephone. I didn't care. It was my private radio, tuned to HAT. WHAT-AM to you. Home of Sonny Hopson, the Mighty Burner.
AM radio is worse than a wasteland now, and FM isn't much better. But in the days of the Mighty Burner, it was the Magic City, with manic energy, night life, cool talk, live commercials (for everything from discoteques to used tire lots), and up to the minute music. Getting there first was part of the job.
Phila's main R&B station as of 1971 was WDAS-FM. The station's pre-eminence coincided with the rise of Gamble & Huff's golden Phila International hit era. The station served the label well, and Gamble & Huff's status as the greatest hitmaking engine of the period gave my city status as the Capitol City of R&B. Hence, a great many notable records were given their first play on DAS.
In the 1970's, music was still mysterious. The amount of it on TV wasn't huge. There was Don Kirshner's Rock Concert, and Midnight Special. In both cases, bands played live. For lipsynching, there was Soul Train and American Bandstand. Saturday Night Live still had interesting music. The punk era brought a few more shows in, too. But radio was still king.
During the Bicentennial Summer (1976), Philadelphia was at the center of the universe. The most awaited album since Sgt Pepper -- Stevie Wonder's Songs In The Key Of Life -- was set to drop in time for back To School sales, which it turned out to be a few weeks late to do (it came out a week before my 11th birthday, which was 10/4/65).
The summer was abuzz about that record. What was on it, who was on it, all that -- totally secret. But as a Bicentennial treat, DAS would be playing a song from the record on Saturday 7/3, at 9 pm. It would be the first song from the album ever aired.
I was staying with my grandmother in South Philly a lot that summer. She lived on Hicks St, a tiny, narrow street just past 16th St, which ran uninterrupted through most of South Philly. She was nearly blind with a bad back, so we stayed to narrow streets wherever possible. Brightly lit, no cars.
In those days, everyone sat on his stoop with a radio, and DAS was one of the big stations in that neighborhood (along with IBG and FIL). You could walk down Hicks St and not miss a minute of DAS back then. Unless the Phils were playing.
On this night in 1976 -- I'll never forget this -- we had gone to the Melrose Diner, my grandmom had coffee. She liked to dunk a donut. I always had rice pudding back then.
Walking home north from Snyder Ave, crisscrossing through the small streets, everyone was sitting out on the stoop, radios plugged in to save battery power, and everyone waiting on the new Stevie Wonder. Turning onto Hicks at Moore, the opening bass notes of "I Wish" gradually became audible. It was dark, humid, we were walking slow. I can still smell my grandmom's cigarette smoke. It all felt like a movie. There was red, white, and blue crepe paper and decorations all over, and school girls were jumping rope in time, and high school kids started dancing in the middle of Hicks St, like it was a giant asphalt dancefloor. It was crowded by the time we crossed onto Morris, and crammed with exuberent bodies by the time we were at Tasker. Butterball (the DJ) had to play it three times in a row, and as I looked all the way north toward Federal St, it was a block party, with Stevie Wonder, firecrackers, and plastic herald trumpets.
All because everyone was waiting by the radio. It is one of the most cherished musical memories I hold.
