Encore post: Radio radio

Yesterday I was talking about radio with my pal Rich Siegel, author, owner and grand poobah of Round Seventeen. In one of my many business schemes, I asked Rich why don’t we start a radio production company. We’re both good writers with lots of radio production experience. It seemed like a win-win to me.

Rich replied, “Who pays for radio anymore?”

Thanks pal. Here’s my balloon –pop it.

Of course, he’s right.

For starters, there’s not a lot of radio being done, and what little there is certainly doesn't have any money – real money – thrown against it. Agencies usually just hand it off to the juniors, or the interns because they pay them even less than the juniors.

In most agencies, radio is considered the bastard stepchild to, well, to just about every other media. Maybe it’s because good radio is so hard to do, but many writers suddenly seem to get swamped when a radio assignment is up for grabs.

I’ve never looked at it that way.

The fact is, for the most part, the agency leaves you alone when you write radio. It’s not that high on the glam-o-meter, so you can usually fly under the radar and write some pretty fun stuff. But let me go back to an earlier point: good radio is hard to do.

There are of course basic rules to writing good radio. But if you've listened to any radio commercials lately, I'm sure you'll agree there need to be more.

Here are a few I’d add:

First, no more spots where the listener is eavesdropping on the recording session, and then the talent realizes they’re recording.

Next, no fake stand-up comedians with bad fake material and fake canned laughs.

Then, no more spots where the talent is talking about a sale with another talent, and suddenly there’s a door slam sound effect and the first talent says something to the effect of, “I guess everybody’s going to the (CLIENT NAME HERE) sale!”

Even though many writers use them, filler lines have got to go. You know the ones I mean. Lines like “so what’re you waiting for?” or “Hurry in now, the only thing that’ll be gone faster than these (PRODUCT NAME) is this sale.“

Lastly, the direction “more energy, have fun with it” must be banned from all recording sessions. No real person is that happy about having to take erectile dysfunction pills or diarrhea medicines.

This isn't the first time Rich and I have talked about starting a business. Just a few days ago, he suggested we start a deli.

I thought it was a good idea. Obviously, since we work in agencies, we already have enough baloney to stock it.

Unwinding

A few weeks ago, my showbiz son who has a high-salaried, high-powered creative position working for one of the major studios—not saying which one, but I do love their TVs and videocams—moved out to be closer to his place of employment. He was going to make the jump a year ago, but you know, covid. So he worked from here, stashed his money, and now that it looks like the lot will be opening up soon he’s shortened his commute time considerably.

That’s not what this post is about. Stick with me.

In the wake of his relocation, I was finally able to access one of the closets in his bedroom without stepping on any land mines of Star Wars toys, keyboards, books, scripts, musical instruments, clothes and an assortment of other items placed there with the sole purpose of making me go ass over teakettle in the space of ten feet.

Rummaging through the closet, in a box buried and forgotten about 20 years ago, were a bunch of reel-to-reel and cassette tapes of radio spots I’d done very early on in my career (pausing to laugh hysterically for using the word “career”).

I vaguely remembered a few of the titles, but because I don’t own a reel-to-reel or a cassette player I had no way to listen to the solid gold copywriting craftsmanship that was no doubt waiting on them.

Leave it to the interwebs. I went to the Google and found a company called King Tet Productions just slightly south of me in the lovely seaside town of San Diego. I shipped the box down to him, and three days later got back a CD with all the spots restored for my crystal clear, quality listening pleasure.

I raced out to my car, put it in the CD player and listened to them all.

And you know what? They were garbage.

Time is a cruel tease, because in my mind, at the time I wrote them, I thought they were great. After hearing them, I remembered a few of the recording sessions with some of my favorite voice talent. The sessions were great. The writing was awful.

Bad puns, hokey ideas, crummy needledrop music and cliched lines. I have no excuses other than I was just starting out (actually the other excuse I have is "The dog ate my homework" but I didn't think it would apply here). But here’s the thing. They all got sold, produced and aired. Insert something here about clients getting the advertising they deserve. Or maybe it’s just that in the last 20 years my taste has improved, I’ve honed my skills as a writer and marketer, worked on perfecting my craft and have just become better over time.

Nah, I’m just funnin’ ya. That’s not it.

I remember one of them was the first radio spot I ever did. It was for Frings at Jack In The Box, a new product that was a combination of french fries and onion rings in the same bag. The same bag!

Anyway, I recorded it at Wally Heider Studios (bet at least two of my readers haven't heard that name in awhile), in the big room. Jack Angel was doing a Bogart impression, and I had an end line about how the Frings taste better and better "...as time goes by."

I know. It hurts just to read it.

But it was the first radio spot I'd written, and I remember being so excited when I was shopping in a retail store and heard it come on over the speaker. I wanted to tell everyone I'd written it. Not so much anymore.

I guess the lesson here is we all have to start somewhere, and not to worry too much. Because the more you write the better you get, you know....

Nope. Not gonna make the same mistake twice.

I Can't Make You Love Me

Every once in a while, I like to fire up one of my wildly popular, often asked for and reoccurring series on here, like Don't Ask, What Took So Long or Guilty Pleasures. This particular series doesn't have a name, but it's the one where I compare and contrast different versions of the same song. Yeah, that one.

If you follow this blog regularly, as you should because, after all, it is your best entertainment value, you'll remember I've done it for classics like Stand By Me and Tracks Of My Tears to name a couple.

I feel it's important for us as a culture to hear different interpretations of the same material, experience the nuances in varying performances and take time to realize how each version resonates with us in different ways.

It's also an easy post when I can't come up with anything else to write about.

Anyway, since I haven't done it in a long time, and I need a break from my political rants like this one and this one, and let's not forget this one, tonight I'm doing it again.

The song du jour is the Bonnie Raitt classic I Can't Make You Love Me. Here you'll see and hear her version, and artists like Adele, George Michael and Tank doing their magic with it.

Romantic? Sure. Melancholy? No doubt. Poignant? Without question. But enough about me.

Please to enjoy.

From beautiful downtown Burbank

There are a lot of reasons I like writing radio. But I think the main one is that for the most part, people leave me alone. I'm pretty free to do what I want.

There aren't agency sleepwalkers jockeying to be at casting sessions, sneaking in to watch director reels and making comments suggestions as if they were asked.

Radio also doesn't have the glamour and excitement attached to it that television does, probably because there's no where near the money being spent on production and media.

Fine by me.

In my opinion, I'd rather be sitting in a recording studio than an editing bay any day. It's infinitely more fun. And I get to work with a caliber of talent that's unparalleled. Every time out, sometimes over many, many takes, they give it their best. (Although my theory is if you can't get what you need in ten takes, you have the wrong person on one side of the glass or the other).

The very first radio spot I ever did was for Jack In The Box. We recorded it in the big room at the long gone Wally Heider Studios in Hollywood, and the incomparable Jimmy Hite was the engineer. Since it was my first radio spot, my creative director was with me at the session. And even he couldn't believe the talent we had in the room.

Either I wasn't paying much attention to the budget, or the client wasn't. My first spot was a cast of seven legendary voice over talents. Jack Angel. Joanie Gerber. Tress MacNeille. Bob Ridgely. Brian Cummings. Frank Welker. And Gary Owens.

Gary was the consummate professional. He had the quintessential announcer's baritone and also a comedian's timing and sensibility. Between takes he'd joke about Dan Rowan and Dick Martin of Laugh In, where he'd first become a household name as the show announcer. And when it was time to get back to business, he'd look at me and ask, "Is that what you were looking for?"

That was the one and only time I ever worked with him. And I'm not gonna lie to you - I was starstruck not only with Gary, but with everyone in the booth.

Gary Owens passed away yesterday at the age of 80. So I'd just like to say thanks Gary, for taking direction from a kid who really didn't know what he was doing yet, and for making me feel that I was doing it right.

Rest in peace.

They're Fine. They're Young. They're Cannibals.

As group names go, the Fine Young Cannibals was a good one. Besides spawning a ton of delicious chanti and fava bean jokes, the FYC also gave birth to many number one singles around the world, and two in the U.S.

She Drives Me Crazy and Good Thing.

For a while you couldn't switch to any radio station without hearing SDMC, or go to any club where they weren't playing it. I remember this one night in particular at Starwood. I was wearing my platform shoes and bell bottoms...

Perhaps I've said too much already.

Anyway, time marches on, and the lead singer of the FYC, Roland Gift, is 53 years old now. He's still touring, singing a few FYC songs but mostly his own. I can't tell you exactly why, but it makes me happy he's still out there doing it.

I never thought the 80's were a stellar decade for music. But at least there was one song that drove me crazy for the right reasons.

On the air with Burgess Meredith

This week happens to be Celebrity Week over at Rich Siegel's Round Seventeen. Being a Hollywood kid I was thinking, "Hey, I've worked with celebrities. I can write about that too." I'm not the kind of person who steals ideas, and especially since he's my friend I don't like to steal them from Rich (except those ABC ads he did at Chiat - man, they look great in my book). But in this instance, I have his blessing. So here we go.

Burgess Meredith has always been one of my acting heroes. An actor's actor, he made his most lasting impact during the golden era of television, including several classic Twilight Zone episodes, and later in his career in movies - particularly the Rocky films.

Years ago when I was freelancing at BBDO, Coldwell Banker was going through different voice overs to see who they wanted to use in their national campaign. I wasn't on the business, but on the day they were going to record Burgess Meredith, the writer who was happened to be out sick. So I was asked to fill in for him.

That autograph on the picture above reads, "Good Luck! from Burgess Meredith" I was terrified. I was going to need it.

I drove out to L.A. Studios early, just to make sure I didn't get held up in traffic. Even though I didn't know him yet, I had the distinct impression Meredith didn't like to be kept waiting.

When he arrived, it was in a black town car. Out of the car first was his beautiful, young - really young - blonde companion. She helped him out of the car and brought him in the studio. Then she simply disappeared. Never saw her again inside or outside the studio.

When we were introduced, I told him I was a huge fan of his work, to which he replied, pointing at the booth, "You want me in there?"

Two memories come to mind. First is I'm sure the last thing Burgess Meredith was looking for at that point in his career was some lowly agency copywriter telling him how to read a line. But what I found out was he actually appreciated it. Throughout the session, he wanted to know if I was getting what I wanted and if I had any direction for him. I don't know whether he meant it or was just being nice. Either way, it put me more at ease and made me feel as if I had some modicum of control over the session.

The second thing I remember is he had a spittoon. Right there on the floor, next to the music stand holding the copy he was reading.

Here's how it went: read, spit. Read, spit. Read, work up a good one, work it a little more, then spit. Suffice it to say there was a lot of throat-clearing, followed by a lot of hocking up some extremely colorful juju into the spittoon. Since we were in a recording studio, and he was in front of a microphone, all of us in the booth heard every take-off and landing in crystal clear, stereophonic Dolby™ sound.

I'm sure the clean-up crew was grateful he was a good aim.

If you've never worked in a recording studio, the thing to know is the engineers are like traffic court judges. They've heard it all. And the one I was working with did a masterful job editing out Meredith's long breaths between lines, as well as, shall we say, the more, um, rattle-y parts of his read.

By the end of the session I was finally comfortable giving him direction, and we were actually talking about some of his work. I only got to spend a little over an hour listening to that voice, seeing him work and giving him direction. It's still one of the high points of my, for lack of a better word, career.

It didn't go nearly that well with Hector Elizondo. I pissed him off something fierce. Another time.

Breaking news

The radio said breaking news.
The announcer called it another tragedy.
Parents were told to stay clear of the area.
As if that was possible.

Ambulances on both sides of the freeway.
No traffic mid-day, yet not moving at all.
Chaos and yelling.
All those red lights.

The playground is closed.
Yellow tape makes that clear.
I see other kids running.
I see bodies under blankets.

Did he wear those shoes this morning?
Shit, they all wear those shoes.

Some teachers have taught another lesson.
About the unpredictably of life.
The meaning of sacrifice.

Gurney wheels rattling. Children screaming and crying.
They can't get to sleep. They can't stay awake.
Just like when they were babies.
Remember life before them? Of course not.

Others have been through it.
Forced smiles, empty eyes and broken hearts
Say you learn to live with it.

The truth is life will go on.
The real truth is it won't.

Tuft luck

His face may not look familiar. However if you live in Southern California, his voice definitely is.

This is Larry Miller, president and CEO of Sit 'N Sleep Mattress Superstores.

You've no doubt heard his radio commercials where he argues with Ira, his "accountant", about discounting the mattresses (SPOILER ALERT: Ira's against it). At the end of every spot, Ira utters his signature line, "You're killing me Larry!", and Larry signs off with his signature line, "We'll beat any price or your mattress is freeeeeeee!"

It's not the kind of creative work I usually respond to in a positive manner. Having said that, I have a confession to make.

I recently bought a bed for my daughter from Sit 'N Sleep. And today, I went there again with my mother-in-law to help her buy one. I know what you're asking: why did I shop there if I don't respond to the kind of advertising they do? The answer is easy.

I saved a mattress full of money.

It's always a fine line when it comes to consumers who also happen to work in agency creative departments. Here's what I mean. Let's take airline print ads. The creative side of me wants to see a clever, unexpected and just plain great headline, poetic copy and a clean yet evocative visual. That would be on a normal day.

But if I happen to be flying from L.A. to NY that week, I don't give a sh#t about any of that. I just want to see $99 each way in really big type.

Art and commerce. Science and instinct. Save and spend. It's a constant tug of war.

But I'm pretty sure Larry isn't losing any sleep over it.

Radio radio

Yesterday I was talking about radio with my pal Rich Siegel, author, owner and grand poobah of Round Seventeen. In one of my many business schemes, I asked Rich why don’t we start a radio production company. We’re both good writers with lots of radio production experience. It seemed like a win-win to me.

Rich replied, “Who pays for radio anymore?”

Thanks pal. Here’s my balloon –pop it.

Of course, he’s right.

For starters, there’s not a lot of radio being done, and what little there is certainly doesn't have any money – real money – thrown against it. Agencies usually just hand it off to the juniors, or the interns because they pay them even less than the juniors.

In most agencies, radio is considered the bastard stepchild to, well, to just about every other media. Maybe it’s because good radio is so hard to do, but many writers suddenly seem to get swamped when a radio assignment is up for grabs.

I’ve never looked at it that way.

The fact is, for the most part, the agency leaves you alone when you write radio. It’s not that high on the glam-o-meter, so you can usually fly under the radar and write some pretty fun stuff. But let me go back to an earlier point: good radio is hard to do.

There are of course basic rules to writing good radio. But if you've listened to any radio commercials lately, I'm sure you'll agree there need to be more.

Here are a few I’d add:

First, no more spots where the listener is eavesdropping on the recording session, and then the talent realizes they’re recording.

Next, no fake stand-up comedians with bad fake material and fake canned laughs.

Then, no more spots where the talent is talking about a sale with another talent, and suddenly there’s a door slam sound effect and the first talent says something to the effect of, “I guess everybody’s going to the (CLIENT NAME HERE) sale!”

Even though many writers use them, filler lines have got to go. You know the ones I mean. Lines like “so what’re you waiting for?” or “Hurry in now, the only thing that’ll be gone faster than these (PRODUCT NAME) is this sale.“

Lastly, the direction “more energy, have fun with it” must be banned from all recording sessions. No real person is that happy about having to take erectile dysfunction pills or diarrhea medicines.

This isn't the first time Rich and I have talked about starting a business. Just a few days ago, he suggested we start a deli.

I thought it was a good idea. Obviously, since we work in agencies, we already have enough baloney to stock it.

Suit up

I have a very extensive wardrobe. One pair of blue jeans. Two pairs of black jeans. And twenty-five hundred black t-shirts.

Crap, I need to lose weight.

Anyway, what I haven't had in my collection for a long time is a suit that I've been happy with. And by happy with I mean that fits.

Every man should have a good-looking, well-fitting suit in his wardrobe. You never know when a wedding, funeral, bar mitzvah or job interview for casino pit boss will present itself.

While I was perusing the "suit" websites, I came across this one. It's not unfamiliar to me - I hear their exceptionally bad radio spots all the time: "Get two wool suits, two dress shirts, two ties, two pairs of dress shoes, two belts, two cufflinks, two pocket scarves, two parking spaces, two soft drinks and two hot dogs for just $199!"

I thought, "What the hell." Their suits can't possibly be as bad as their radio.

I decided I'd pick one of the three days and pay a visit to their store nearest me. While I was looking to see where it was, I learned this little tidbit about 3 Day Suit Brokers:

See the irony?

Now, I've never really been much of a math wiz (although I can add up day rates like a bandit). Apparently whoever named the store wasn't either.

But I will admit it does make it a lot more convenient, especially when that $199 is burning a hole in my worsted wool pocket.