Tho' retired now this old blog post sums up my decades in that pointless thankless radio business. I should have joined the fucking Navy.
Okay maybe not that but ya know.
It's hard to do a radio show. It's even harder to do a good one. So what's it like to do "Live Radio?" That's a disappearing form of broadcast where it's just you, and your guts in front of the mic, and nothing else.
Well like someone said once,
"...any damned fool can get themselves in front of a camera or mic and make a damned mess of things.
Ain't that the truth. So here it is.
Imagine you're all alone on a stage with a big bunch of semi-interested folks watching and listening. You're juggling 20 or 30 sharp heavy objects to off key out of tune music.
Btw the stage you're on is on hydraulic lifts so is rocking like a boat in rough seas. That, and while juggling you're singing from various "Gilbert, and Sullivan" comic operettas.
Btw you're nauseous have a killer headache tunnel vision, and your throat is shredded from the flu.
From time to time during your performance you give heartfelt commentaries assorted satires, and intimate stories from your life concerning love sex life death betrayal, and that pain in your side that just won't go away.
In the middle of all this you take calls from extremely stupid, and hostile people who have not been paying attention to anything you've been doing.
All the while the stage manager who hates you has sabotaged all the mics. ...this literally happened.
You make very little money, and the management thinks you don't deserve even that...as does some of the audience.
The suits distrust all the live performers because he can't control everything, they do...bad for business that. They want to replace them all with Dog Acts...more dependable.
Anyway, after the tattered curtain goes down you get harassed by your political enemies among the staff, and union. Your paycheck is short, and stuff has been stolen out'a your locker.
There's a waiting phone call from your landlord, and oh yeah then you get handed a note that sez your next two performances are cancelled.
Seems they found a flea circus to replace you.
Ah, but you never give up because the gawd-damned fucking show must frigging go the fuck on!
Hope this explains the Biz for ya.
Btw I had a ball made friends for life and would do it again in an 8th Avenue heartbeat. Tho' this time with a weaponized union rep!
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