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Michael Winter's avatar

I grew up on FM rather than AM but radio always felt magical to me and it will always occupy a warm place in my memory. Some of my favorite nights were spent turning the dial across the longwave bands, listening to stations fade in and out through the static, wondering where they were coming from.

If there was a show I loved, out came the blank cassette and I'd sit there waiting for the DJ to stop talking so I could hit "record" at exactly the right moment. I still have too many of those old tapes collecting dust. One of these days, I'll finally digitize them. (Yeah, sure. I've only been saying that for about 30 years, lol.)

Sadly, today's streaming, fragmented listening habits and shrinking attention spans haven't done radio any favors.

Thanks for sharing your memories!

J. P. Langarfel's avatar

This is such a warm read, and I love where you landed—that it wasn't video that killed the radio star, it was the algorithms. Which got me thinking about the song itself, because "Video Killed the Radio Star" has always been my favorite kind of pop trick: it's bright and bouncy and hooky as anything, and it's actually a little elegy about a whole world going obsolete. You put it on and dance to the sound of something dying. Your whole essay is doing the same thing that song does—mourning a vanished way of hearing music, but in a major key, with real affection instead of bitterness. That's the sweet spot of nostalgia, and you found it. And the human-curation point lands hard: the magic of AM Top 40 was that a whole city was hearing the same songs at the same hour, one shared dial. Thank you for this—Dr. Don Rose and a transistor radio never sounded so good.

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