 Well it's Friday night and I ain't got a nickel
What am I gonna do? Got a little beer and a radio and a little bitty girl named You Turn on the radio We can dance to the radio Got a livin' room rug gon' cut it up Don't care what the neighbors think They can blow their top, call the cops If they think I'm gonna care, I ain't Turn on the radio Gotta have my radio I'm sick and tired of watchin' that damned old CNN Turn on the radio Turn the radio up! Well I'm sick and tired of politics and the crisis of the day Sick and tired of talk shows tellin' me what to think I'm a hundred million zillion miles from Memphis Tennessee And if I never go back, there's always you and me and the radio We can dance to the radio I'm sick and tired of watchin' the same ol' DVD's Turn on the radio Turn the radio up
Comments
 Memphis 1967-68 A famous producer introduces himself: "Hi kid, I'm the greatest thing since God". I believed him because producers, in their own way, are gods. they sense an idiot when said idiot is in full idiot mode. "I'll make you a star", says he, and I just knew he would because he said so. After all, He's God; a god in a business that never has, and never will, give a shit. Memphis was a city full of beautiful women who would latch onto you in the certainty that you would rise to the top of your profession and take them with you. You're full throttle, hole in the head mode now - you believe every fucking word they tell you. But, the music in Memphis then was world class, weapons grade good! and I was good at what I did. Kinda lucky too. "Life's a bitch, and then you gotta die Screamin' and kickin' from the womb they drag you And never say why Throw you out on a cold dark road No signpost in site But you're a clever boy You're a Renaissance Man"  When I was 14 years old (1962) my dad would drive me to what we called the "Black Bottom" section of town at 9:00 PM a couple of nights a week. He dropped me off in front of radio Station WOIC. Inside was "Charlie". Charles Derrick was a coal black man with a loud, but smooth voice, who came in over my transistor radio - every night, and talked to me, and many other people in Columbia, but to me, it was a personal link-up. I discovered Charlie after becoming ill at the thought of listening to Pat Boone sing another note. I found him after I started, what we called then, 'fanning the band', which is the act of desperately searching for anything other than Pat Boone. Charlie caught my ear late one night, and I locked on to the static emitted by that strange AM Shangri-La. It wasn't Pat Boone. It wasn't Annette and Paul. I had discovered Race Music! His show was broadcast, if memory serves, from 8 to 11 PM, and then, the whole station went off the air until the next morning. Race Music! That, kiddies, was a real term. I would sit there in that cramped control booth while my dad waited (probably asleep) in the car - just me and Charlie, and the sounds of quite the mixture of Rhythm and Blues, Jazz, soul, gospel - if Charlie liked it, Charlie played it. I don't recall him liking Pat Boone. Poor Pat, maybe I should lighten up. Charlie taught me a lot about life in that booth. During commercials, we would discuss many things, one of which was the subject of race. I was taught, by my elders, to listen to my elders, and learn from my elders. Charlie taught me a lot, and it stood me in good stead later in my carrier as I found myself playing Hammond B3 and electric piano with many of the artists I first heard in that control booth. Charlie's gone now, but I think of him often when, even on a rotten day, his memory can fetch a smile to my face. Thank you Charlie Derrick, b.1923 d.2006. You inspired this song. |
RSS Feed
