A second of dead air feels like an hour, ten seconds a lifetime. The golden rule is to keep those airwaves occupied with music or talk, preferably good music and entertaining talk. I can't promise the latter but guarantee the former, my record collection officially classed as the greatest in the world. Last night I managed to minimise air of a dead variety however crashed a couple of tracks into one another, introduced songs incorrectly and bored listeners to death about Aston Villa. Still, it's my show, my rules, so there.
The studio is wicked (and I use that word simply to confirm that I'm indeed down with the kids). Moody lighting, warm atmosphere, an endless music library from which the most obscure track can be sourced. It's a thrill to have a million songs at your fingertips, to have the ability to pluck anything off the shelf and play it within seconds. I'm not sure listeners are enthralled when I spin a Wedding Present b-side but I view this as an educational public service to the good folk of the Mearns, and I don't even charge.
I'm kicking off a new slot next Friday called 'My Ear Candy', where special guests play us their favourite five tracks and tell us about themselves. It was due to start last night but my intended guest backed out via text as I was presenting the show. If you're reading this Lenny, you owe me bigtime sunshine, I had egg all over my face having to explain that my special guest would sooner pick up his wife from Laurencekirk train station than appear on my fledgling show. I've a mind to give you a damned good hiding but given I'm suffering with a bad back I'll let you off this time if you promise not to bail out like that again. I'm posting a pic of this man here (see above). If you encounter this individual feel free to pelt him with rotten fruit and boo him all the way to his front door.
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