Radio broadcast .. (1922-30)

366 RADIO BROADCAST MARCH, 1928 in a symphony, far from resulting from chance, results from perfect organization. Herein our proposed method of learning how to listen fails. It will not reveal to you the organiza- tion of the music. That would be asking too much. However, the method we suggest will at least demonstrate to a listener that music is not simply a blur of sound, and will enable him to recognize the elements out of which music is organized. This will be a first step. Furthermore it will be fun—which is the only excuse music has for ex- istence anyway. For Program Directors Only WRITES Paul Hale Bruske, of Detroit: My friend Jimmie is blessed with one of those urbane baritone voices that pleasantly vibrate so many loud speakers in the sun rooms and front parlors of our broad land. Yes! He's a radio announcer. More than that, he's also a program director. On his shoulders rests the responsibility of seeking, interviewing, choosing, auditioning, hiring, scheduling and re- jecting various features of alleged entertainment and enlightenment. His station is a good one. Jimmie does little if any seeking for talent. He does a microscopical amount of hiring. At interviewing he shines. His waiting room is usu- ally full of folks who believe they have a Mission and a Message. Male and female—blondes and brunettes—old and young—artists and artistes —they are all grist for Jimmie's mill. Auditions occupy a good share of his day. He always takes the name, address and telephone number, and gives them a sweet promise to let them know. One might think that, with all this wealth of willing workers on call, the programs from Jimmie's station would be replete with variety, and fertile in surprise, as the theatrical notices say. Such is not the result. Far from it. Tune-in on him any evening and here is what you are pretty sure to get:— 6:00—7:00—Dinner concert from the Herculaneum Room of a good hotel. Gwan to Bed dope for the kiddies. 7:00—8:00—News Bulletins, Hot Stuff for Farmers, Organ Recital from a Cinema Palace. 8:00—9:00 (Commercially Tainted Hour) —Somebody's Antiseptic Carolers in solos, duets and quartet numbers. Somebody's Realestate Minstrels in comic songs and dialog. 9:00—10:00 p. M. —(Big Station Feature); —Baby Grand Philharmonic Orchestra in classical and semi-classical numbers, with guest artist soprano or tenor. 10:00 p. M. and on:—Jazz Bedlam from some cabaret or night club. On Sundays, Jimmie broadcasts church serv- ices. In midsummers, he gives us band concerts from the parks. He occasionally hands us a sport- ing event. He has a weekly silent night. More so than seems usually the case, Jimmie enjoys quite a free hand. His boss is rich, a radio bug and has no personal propaganda to get over— not enough, at any rate, to make it obnoxious. Some months ago I began to razz Jimmie a bit on the striking lack of originality in his programs. He insisted that he was every bit as good as his competition, and I had to admit it. With him, it was purely a matter of beating competition on one common ground. Jimmie's rut was too deep. He couldn't see over the top. But one day I got a barb under his hide. Per- haps the boss had just asked about the applause letters. For Jimmie turned on me defiantly. "What would you do if you were in my place?" he challenged. That was surely a quick pass of the celebrated buck but, after all my raillery, I couldn't dodge. "Well," 1 stalled, "I'd first try to analyze a bit. Here you are, competing for public attention with from four to forty other stations, depending on reception conditions. You want folks to be tuning you in and then letting the dials alone for a while. You want them to think of you when they think of radio—to talk about your station and your programs. You want more applause letters. You'd even prefer knocks to the present silence. You crave personal glory. You could endure a bigger check in your pay envelope." "Yes! And how?" "Shut up; I'm analyzing. "The main offering of all radio stations is music.On thatyou've goneabout the logical limit. Vocally, instrumentally and in combination, you fellows have probably tried about all the tricks there are. I doubt if there is any new musical dodge which would create more than a ripple of interest. And what we want is a tidal wave. "But there are at least two channels of ap- proach to your dear invisible audience. The one that isn't music is speech. Let us admit, therefore, that the method you will use in getting folks to talking about your station is the spoken word." "No chance!" yelled Jimmie. "The dullest thing that comes over the air is a speech. The minute one starts here, I can just feel the people tuning-out. There are only three kinds of radio speeches. There's politics. There's platitudes. And there's propaganda. Each is worse than the other. I'd like to pass a rule that would abso- lutely prohibit all speeches from this station. " Why you've no comprehension of the speech- ifierswe turn down right now," Jimmiecontinued. "There isn't a public official in town who doesn't think he'd be the hit of the season, if he could only get on the air. Every convention that comes here tries to get time for its Grand High Cocka- lorum. The ladies with pet charities can't under- stand why we don't put them on oftener. The boy scouts litter up the place with officers that have a message. Speeches? Take a swift jump into the lake!" "Wait a minute Jimmie," I begged. "Don't get me as any friend of your three P's. They're even more terrible than you say. But there must be such a thing as interesting talk. The news- papers get it." Jimmie picked a fresh edition from his desk. Clear across the front, in glaring 72-point, screamed the legend, "MRS. BANCROFT WEEPS ON STAND." It was just the current divorce case and not much of a case at that— no shooting, no violence of any kind, hardly any real scandal. But both parties were socially prominent. The gentleman was rich. The lady alleged he was cruel and neglectful. The children also socially prominent, took sides. The case was good food for tea-table gossip, so the papers were playing it strong. Jimmie and I looked at the headline. It seemed suggestive. "She weeps, Jimmie," I said. "And the people read about it. Wouldn't it be better if they could really hear her weep? " If you could schedule her to weep into your mike to-night, would they tune-in?" "You're whoopin' they would," admitted Jimmie. "Then go get her," i insisted. "Tell her she's got a Mission. Explain that what's happened to her is only a sample of what's happening to thousands of other women. Get her to tell these others what to do. Let her put her case to the whole world, with her own voice and freed from any cross-examination or other rules of any kind. I'll bet she'd jump at the chance. Give those listeners of yours something worth listening to." "Gosh!" commented Jimmie. "Then next night, give the same privilege to Mr. Bancroft. Let him talk to the husbands. Have him tell what a real life partner should do. Let him say anything within reason about these wives who spend their days in clubs, and don't have time to cook a dinner for the family. Play him as the outraged American husband, and let him counsel others who feel bad with him. Then let the household arguments rage. Every time the case is mentioned, folks will think of your station and wonder what next." "Well, that's a good question. What next?" " Next will come the poor boob who's just been sentenced to life in the hoosegow for murder of his sweetie's friend husband. Give him a last chance to say farewell to the world. What a cinch it will be for you to write his speech! To-night, he's a man and has a name. To-morrow night, and until he dies, he's nothing but a number. And who's to blame? The woman, of course! And then the moral. AH this in his own voice, with the hand- cuffs rattling every time he turns a page. "Gruesome? Sure, but will they listen? "As for me, Jimmie, I've always had a longing to know just what happens at a hospital during a good, major operation on the human torso. I'd rather hear you describe such a thing than get your fresh-from-the-ringside word picture of a good prize fight. That's only a sample of what you can do when you once get your mind on really interesting topics. But let that pass. "Watch the front pages. They're the best bet. Grab those features hot, give 'em a good, moral, uplifting line of talk, rehearse 'em, and turn 'em loose with their own voices to give us listeners honest-to-goodness heart throbs in the raw. If you're too busy to add this department's duties to those you carry now, hire Pat Montgomery, our old city editor, and put it up to him. Yellow up—and that only means make your stuff interesting." Jimmie had been getting more pop-eyed with every word. Temporarily, at least, 1 had him sold. But he cooled off just as quickly. Eventually he admitted that there was something in this idea and promised he'd think it over. "But no murderers! And no gory operations, either," he declared. "Something controversial, maybe. That's perhaps the secret of making speech interesting. And I may be able to do some- thing with decent celebrities of the day." A few days later, Jimmie's station announced the first controversial event. It was a debate. On one side was the mayor. Opposed was one of his appointees who had the courage to think for himself. The debate itself wasn't so much. But before it started, right in Jimmie's studio, the mayor fired the appointee, and the latter an- nounced the fact in his address. Jimmie's station got a lot of good publicity, and he was greatly elated. For several weeks thereafter I was out of touch with Jimmie and with radio. Back in town again I bumped into Jimmie. "I'll bet I've been missing some hot stuff," I remarked. Jimmie looked blank. Actually I had to remind him of the big idea. "Oh! We've got something a lot better than that," he boasted. "We've joined a big chain and get our programs right from New York." And then he went on to tell how much better his chain was, on every count, as compared to the others. However, comma, there are other stations and other cities. Every city has a newspaper, and that newspaper must have a front page. Some- where, I doggedly insist, there will bob up a program director with the necessary nerve to watch that front page and do what every success- ful newspaper does—get circulation by being in- teresting.