Novice radio programmer operates early morning spins

I’m dedicating this Odd Jobs column to those working the graveyard shift, with only a pot of black coffee and the radio to keep them company. I’ve been there. This time, however, I wasn’t listening to the radio; I was filling in as a late night programmer on 89.5 FM, KOPN.

These people, who keep the airwaves alive at all hours, are volunteers. I repeat: volunteers. It’s more than just radio; it’s community radio, staffed by members of our community willing to give their time for everything from cleaning the studio to filling out the never-ending stream of paperwork. They file music, decorate the studio, update the archives and man the phones.

One such community member is Taylor Bacon who hosts the Friday show “Thick Cuts.” Taylor has agreed to lend me his program, so I can experience one of the many facets of KOPN. Before this happens, though, there are rules, regulations and protocols to learn. One cannot just plop down in front of the microphone, turn on the music and send his or her voice out to anyone listening. I park and head up the stairway sandwiched between SHA and the Pen Point, located on the north side of Broadway.

Julie Rains, a.k.a. Jules, the soft-spoken,genial volunteer coordinator, runs me through a two-hour, crash-course training. It normally takes days or even weeks to complete. I commit to memory what I can, knowing that from 3 a.m. to 5:30 a.m, when Taylor’s program airs, my brain is at best a sieve. Jules distills the information down to which buttons to push, how to check the towers for transmission and how to give station identification breaks. She reminds me that cussing and dead air aren’t permitted. The Federal Communication Commission, or FCC, has very strict guidelines that every programmer must follow. “And they are programmers, not DJs” Jules says. “Unlike DJs at other stations who have support staff to help them, our programmers do it all. They run the board, spin the music, make the announcements and answer the phones.”

Jules has me read an on-air promotion. I’m more nervous than I thought I would be. I feel like the old cartoon character whose heart is visibly pounding through his chest. I’m suddenly hyper-aware of the nuances of my voice. Jules gives me the OK.

Next, I meet with Taylor to go through the enormous library of music that KOPN houses and decide what to play. Taylor’s show is done almost exclusively with vinyl. He arrives every Thursday at about 3 p.m., when he gets off from his regular job. Stepping into the KOPN music library is like a Buddhist exercise in humility. Tape, record, CD and reel-to-reel recordings cover the room that has 15-foot-high ceilings. Taylor’s knowledge of the vinyl section is encyclopedic. I’m still reciting the alphabet in my head as he zips from genre to genre; making suggestions and helping me pull records. His last suggestion: Go home and get a nap.

Taylor has been spinning records during the pre-dawn shift for the last two years. “One big plus,” he says, “you can wear your most comfortable pajama bottoms — it’s radio.” Vinyl is Writer Chloie Piveral and station programmer Taylor Bacon work the control board during an early morning broadcast. his passion. “These recordings would be lost without KOPN to preserve and play them.” He volunteered for eight months and then filled in as a substitute until he got his own show.

Wearing my most comfortable pajama pants, I bound up the stairs, music and notes in hand, excited by my choices, but still a little groggy. Dustin, another programmer, is still on air with his show, “Maximum Amplitude.” Taylor comments, “You look a little like a deer caught in the headlights.” Truth be told, I feel a little shy of the microphone. I shuffle my music, laying it out in set order. It’s an eclectic mix. I’m following Richard Thompson and Rickie Lee Jones, through their careers and influences.

Dustin hands over the studio. I make my introduction and the all important station identification. Sensing my jitters, Dustin tells me I did OK but should be closer to the microphone when speaking. With the ever-cool Taylor coaching me, I’m off and running. I play Sarah Vaughn, Nina Simone and whole Rickie Lee Jones albums. All the while I keep my fingers crossed that no one calls in to tell me I suck. Taylor reminds me what order to push the buttons, and when to take station breaks. I finally relax. I inform the listeners about what songs and albums were played. I tell them about the influences and how the divergent artists relate.

At 5 a.m., I play Richard Thompson’s “I Can’t Wake Up to Save My Life.” Only once during the show do I realize I’m enjoying music the listener isn’t actually hearing. In a panic I manage to push the right button. Taylor smiles and shrugs his shoulders. At 5:15, I gather my music. It needs to be re-filed, after turning the studio over to the next programmer — Charlie. I make my last station identification announcement, thank
Taylor for letting me hijack his program, and say my goodbyes to any late night workers listening, sipping their coffee. •