Braintree Jim surmises that “Robert Cray is such an ineffably engaging singer that it is easy to forget how protean and important a musician he is to the blues. He revitalized the idiom and modernized it, especially in the 1980s…
…“Target Ship Radio” is inspired by the independent spirit and mass-audience appeal of pirate radio from 1960s UK, and, more locally, the iconic one-time liberty ship, turned naval target ship, that was situated between Orleans and Eastham in Cape Cod Bay, in service from the 1940s to 1970s. (During its formal service it was named the SS James Longstreet. During its second life it was dubbed, with no irony considered, simply as “the target ship.”)
Both left indelible memories for listeners and sightseers. They may be gone, but not forgotten. From this a concept show was born…
At a fundamental level, Target Ship Radio is a dapper kind of sonic sanctuary – a local world party, anchored on outer Cape Cod. It’s sonic escapism for all generations. Broadcasting on alternating Sundays (1-4pm), the show features a RIP Fusion — rock, indie, and pop. Bits and bytes of contemporary and classic tunes, interviews, listener inspired playlists, buried treasure albums, and much more. A musical expedition…
Let’s go back in time to the roots…
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Denmark had the first known radio station in the world to broadcast commercial radio from a vessel in international waters without permission from the authorities in the country to which it broadcast. The floating station was named Radio Mercur. The first transmission occurred on August 2, 1958. Soon, Danish papers called it “pirate radio.”
This seeming transgression was the equivalent of dropping a nuclear bomb on the establishment. It set off a chain reaction of other pirates taking to the seas and airwaves. Radio Luxembourg set sail. Then others joined in…
In the UK, the term pirate radio referred to not only a perceived unauthorized use of the state-run spectrum by the unlicensed broadcasters but also the risk-taking nature of off-shore radio stations that actually operated on anchored ships or marine platforms. At issue was the fact that the transmissions were received over UK territory, in violation of UK licensing. The counter argument was that such signals were being produced in international waters.
Among the more famous – notorious? – stations were the likes of Radio Atlanta, Radio London, Laser 558, and, of course, Radio Caroline.
Caroline was founded in 1964 by Ronan O’Rahilly and Alan Crawford. It was named after Caroline Kennedy, paying homage to the then-young daughter of President Kennedy. Over its storied career, Caroline was broadcast from five different ships and three different owners. Today, fully legitimate, it now broadcasts via satellite.
Still, for a time, the pirates disrupted something else, too. They effectively circumvented record companies’ control of popular music, not to mention the government-controlled BBC’s monopoly. Caroline never became technically illegal, mind you, as it indeed operated outside any national jurisdiction. By 1967, however, Britain’s Marine Offences Act, was enacted in response to these loopholes.
By the 1970s pirate radio in the UK had mostly been moved to land-based broadcasting.
Nevertheless, pirate radio was hugely influential and was certainly associated with that newfound sense of freedom, possibility, and excitement that exuded out of mid-60s “Swinging London.” A whole generation of Briton listeners and musicians discovered all sorts of new music… much of it from America. And legends were made. Like the DJs. Roger Day (aka “Twiggy”) first went on the air for Radio Caroline in May 1966. Now 78, his voice is still heard from Spain, on the digital show “Boom Radio.”
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If the sea is a good metaphor for the concept of Target Ship Radio, pirate radio is really the soul of Target Ship Radio. But the name is actually derived from another ship. An actual target ship located not in the North Sea but the safer confines of Cape Cod Bay.
Incredibly, the SS James Longstreet was one of 2,708 so-called Liberty Ships built in the U.S. between 1941 and 1945 as part of the nation’s massive wartime ship construction program. It was named after Civil War Confederate Army Lt.-General James (“Old Pete”) Longstreet. The general, a top lieutenant of Robert E. Lee, is mentioned several times in Ken Burns’ groundbreaking television documentary, The Civil War.
As fate would have it, the Longstreet ship logged only three voyages as a cargo carrier before it was effectively retired out of active service in 1944.
But it was reincarnated. It was used literally by the navy for target practice and other aerial excursions for decades after WWII. Operations ceased in the 1970s and the ship has since rusted away, no longer visible in plain sight, just off New Found shoal.
Over the decades, though, it became an iconic presence captured in photography and artwork, and now collective memories. I wanted to pay homage to something that was such a vivid presence for those of us who spent time along the beaches back then. For me, it captures the past really well. And many still have this romantic attachment to it. I still recall witnessing those bombing runs as a youngster.
The remarkable history of the Longstreet is ably chronicled in Noel W. Beyle’s 1978 book aptly titled The Target Ship In Cape Cod Bay.
Anxious color.
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Radio has a great history on Cape Cod. More than 100 years ago, in Wellfleet, Marconi sent a message from his Cape Cod station to the UK, the first radio transmission to cross the Atlantic from the United States. And here we are today, not far from those grounds, still trying to connect with people via radio and other means. How cool is that?
The radio gods of WOMR tapped me on the shoulder and asked me to come along to the radio party. I had conceived a show called “Chill & Dream.”
That show was born out of the days during the peak of the pandemic when people were confined to their homes and apartments and constricted from social interactions on a massive scale. I think people were looking for an escape. The Chill & Dream program proved to be the perfect companion in those circumstances. The show was meant to take you to another place, in sentiment and mood. I think it captured that zeitgeist very well.
The pandemic will likely be the defining event of our time. While the immediacy of it is starting to wane, it was dramatic and disruptive — so many lives lost and shattered. A tragedy that still reverberates today. But we’re coming out of it. There’s a growing sense of moving on… there’s a feeling or renewed energy.
These sentiments were gaining a certain momentum of their own. So, from this I wanted to reimagine, reboot, and reincarnate the old show into something new and vibrant. Target Ship Radio is the vehicle that taps into this perception.
It won’t abandon the core principles of the old show — “aural escapism” and “sonic sanctuary.” The show is anchored in so-called “RIP Fusion,” or rock, indie and pop. That certainly constitutes the core. But I’m also really interested in discovering new — and old — sounds that are rooted in strong rhythm and melody. If anything, I’m expanding the sonic palette of the Chill show. I hear more brass — the exultant sound of horns. When you bring horns into a song, the molecules start moving differently. The mood changes. Whether it’s a triumphant march or a lush interlude.
In addition to placing some soul, R&B-infused dynamics into the new show, it will be flavored with some world music, too. There is so much good world music that embraces these larger ideas, that I’m excited to ferry them into the programming. I think those songs that I play are accessible and pleasurable to a radio audience. I like the promise of the possibilities.
Naturally, there are other changes. One of those features a segment that includes playing classic, largely forgotten, albums in their entirety. Then there’s listener playlists.
I’m intrigued by playlists. They’re everywhere. Anybody can make one. There are algorithms to help curate them, and I wouldn’t be surprised if AI isn’t already spitting them out. I’m interested in cracking the glass on people’s phones and getting inside them as the human face and human soul behind those lists. Part of my mission isn’t to thwart them but to embrace them by allowing listeners to submit their ideas. I think engaging listeners in this way is a bit experimental but it’s a way to get listeners on board, so to speak. Another experiment and change are adding interviews with artists, musicians, and authors.
What is Target Ship Radio? It’s a musical journey. Dive into it. Catch the vibe. Absorb it. Enjoy.
Anxious color.
–Braintree Jim
…The first rock concert I attended was Rush. Held at the Nassau Coliseum on April 6, 1979, a local/regional outfit called The Good Rats opened for them. It was an incredible experience. Most big acts played there. In fact, most played the trio of the Big Three in the metro
area at the time: Madison Square Garden, in the city, The Meadowlands in New Jersey; and the Coliseum on Long Island. I saw many shows there, including Frank Sinatra in 1991. The most frightening show, hands down, was a dual-headliner featuring Black Sabbath and Blue Oyster Cult in 1980 (later released on video). I wonder if the publicists were given a bonus when they named the tour– entirely appropriately– “The Black & Blue Tour.” Still, I survived. And so did the tour book from that evening. (Disappointingly, I never saw a show at the legendary Cape Cod Coliseum.)
But things were about to change so incredibly fast.
Not far away, New York City’s underground scene during the 1970s was bustling just beneath the surface at places like CBGBs, The Mudd Club, and Max’s Kansas City. Within the span of only a few years the city became the birthplace of three distinct yet powerful musical genres whose shockwaves would soon crack and dismantle the very foundations of AOR radio, and the music industry itself: disco, punk, and hip hop. Few saw it coming. And no one saw two other seismic events about to hit with equal force that all but doomed AOR as the leading radio format of the day.
On September 25, 1980, Led Zeppelin’s drummer John Bonham died in the UK. An upcoming North American tour was cancelled; the group’s remaining members formally disband on December 4. Just four days later, December 8, John Lennon was murdered in New York City. The bedrock was broken through. The old order was crumbling. The 70s were effectively dead, but they were pregnant with the 80s.
Amidst all the disruption, a young and unknown band washed up on New York’s shores and played their first American concert at The Ritz on December 6, 1980. In the new year, they played their first Boston show at The Paradise Rock Club on March 6, 1981. They were called U2.
By this stage, the underground scene in both Boston and New York was coming to the forefront. New bands with new sounds, new looks, and new song structures were starting to be heard and seen. Of the three new musical styles emanating from New York, these bands were most influenced by punk rock but their music was more accessible and more danceable.
I remember vividly listening to The Cars, The Police, and Blondie. Mainstream radio didn’t really know what to do with them but they were having an impact. They were exciting. These bands didn’t really fit into any established formats or playlists at the time. Many of them, like U2, would tour relentlessly. If my memory serves, The Police had their American live debut at CBGB’s in late 1978 with another early show at a club in Roslyn, Long Island called “My Father’s Place,” not far from where I grew up. And they would also play at The Rat in Boston’s Kenmore Square (some of those shows were preserved for posterity). The live performances at these venues are what propelled these upstarts. They broke in the clubs before they broke on radio.
Speaking about bombshells… Another was dropped on August 1, 1981, (8-1-81) with the arrival of MTV. Mainstream radio didn’t know what to make of this, either. VJs? A TV channel dedicated to just music videos? “I want my MTV”?
The final blow came with the second British invasion — New Wave. A whole new musical and visual aesthetic burst on the scene. It was colorful and futuristic: pastels and synths. And it synthesized old-school art school romance with new-school technological attitude. Even Kiss had to abandon their makeup and platform-heels to witness it for themselves. Gone were the browns and burnt oranges, 20-minute drum solos, and low-rent productions.
Enter the 80s…
Carter Alan, the Boston DJ credited for effectively discovering and playing U2 in America, exquisitely writes about this particular period in his laudable book, Radio Free Boston: The Rise and Fall of WBCN. The cutting-edge progressive station was trying to figure out how to balance the changing of the guard. And WBCN probably did it better than almost any station at the time, until its inevitable collapse in 2009.
Still, everything seemed to coalesce in 1982, arguably the year you could mark the changes as an inflection point for radio and music.
The May 29, 1982, issue of Billboard magazine lamented over “AOR’s Winter of Discontent.” Jim Cameron wrote, “AOR radio is in trouble. And it has nobody to blame but itself, its wunderkind consultants and FCC deregulation.” In every major market, with few exceptions,
top-rated AOR had taken a nosedive in the ratings. AOR as a format, he noted, was being bled dry.
In the same piece, Cameron also identified “demographic shifts” occurring in the marketplace. Listening patterns were
trending towards news and information for a Baby Boomer demo that was getting older. He described something happening all across America, “in a market with three AOR’s all chasing after the same audience, playing the same tight playlists,” AOR was doomed. And this truth was revealed: Networks were no longer into programming but compensation. Show me the money was an early rallying cry by corporate radio.
The demographic angle was enlightening. In 1982, the median age in America was 31, up significantly from the median age just a little over a decade before. The graying of America had begun. (Today, the median age in America is 38.5 and climbing.)
(Incidentally, singer Robert Plant released his first solo album in June of 1982, a definitive break from his Zeppelin past. And as if to add more insult to injury, in an ironic twist, Led Zeppelin released its last official studio album — of outtakes, no new material! — called Coda, on November 19, 1982.)
Gradually and suddenly, AOR radio was facing extinction. A younger audience was gaining purchasing power. They wanted to hear and see bands of their age cohort. And MTV was now seen as fresh new competition to dinosaur rock radio.
One radio station on Long Island understood the new scene and was poised to own it.
WLIR was the new leader at the vanguard of this new movement. On August 2, 1982 (8-2-82) it proclaimed: “Dare To Be Different.” And it marketed a highly effective but simple tagline to describe the emerging pop force, “New Music.”
For many years a tiny has-been, middle-of-the-road, unknown station outside of New York City, it became massively influential almost overnight, igniting an aural and cultural supernova. The music mecca moved from Manhattan to the middle of Long Island. Suburban kids were now the the new Kool Kids. United Colors of Benetton united. The station was among the first to play the likes of Frankie Goes to Hollywood, Duran Duran, and Adam and The Ants. U2, Madonna, and Talking Heads were staples. The phenomenon was indeed a musical rebuttal. And WLIR was truly the genesis rock of this new movement; music made before 1980 got sucked into a black hole of oblivion. (Showtime’s documentary, “New Wave: Dare to be Different,” ably chronicles the visionaries and times at the station.)
Music sales confirmed and affirmed the changes. The No. 1 album on the Billboard charts at the start of 1982 was AC/DC’s “For Those About To Rock We Salute You.” By the end of the year, that honor went to Men At Work. It’s album, “Business As Usual,” hit No. 1 on November 13, 1982, and held that position for a remarkable 15 weeks until being displaced by Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” on February 26, 1983. Rummaging through Billboard listings during this period reveals that AOR last dominated the charts in 1981 and ceded ground in 1982.
My formative years were spent in the midst of this glorious upheaval.
For young people growing up at this time, these were definitely exciting developments. The music was fresh, modern-sounding. Gen-X welcomed new members to the family. DJs Malibu Sue and The Mighty Maximizer on Long Island and Oedipus in Boston were the new world order. They instinctively understood that revolutions always start from the bottom up.
For radio stations that adopted these changes, MTV proved to be more complementary than threatening. In fact, they forged a symbiotic relationship. And for record companies, MTV and the Compact Disc ushered in a whole new era of distribution and prosperity. The MTV Video Awards was an event. Big hair and big ambitions arrived big. The angst would come next decade…
I never got to see Led Zeppelin live. My friends and I were figuring out how we might score tickets to see them in Buffalo, NY, for a show that was to be part of that short America tour, planned for the fall of 1980. It would have been intriguing to see how Zeppelin would have navigated all changes that ultimately took place in the 80s. (The same way it would have been intriguing to see how Hendrix would have navigated the 70s.) By 1982, however, Zeppelin was just a memory, an example of 70s excess run amok. Besides, the world didn’t need 26 minutes of “Dazed and Confused” anymore. The 80s had direction, even if you didn’t like the way it was heading.
Soon after Zeppelin’s demise, I too discovered U2; they spoke and played to my generation. And to say I have been a fan over the years would be akin to saying that Mick Jagger has been a father over the years.
I won’t disclose how many times I have seen U2 or how much of their music that I own as it may reveal a medical condition needing immediate attention. Incurable. But as Kenny Loggins sings at the end of 1980’s “Caddy Shack,” I’m alright. Arguably, U2 might be the most consequential band in history. That is a bold statement but entirely defensible.
U2 have defied everything for over 40 years now.
As fate would have it, I never discarded the old vinyl records and cassettes (I still have my first 8-track; Boston’s debut album). They follow me like old friends. If anything, I have more music from that era because of remastered reissues and box sets. My musical palette has thankfully grown. I am a big fan of Frank Sinatra, The Cowboy Junkies, and Robert Cray. Not to mention a myriad of other singers, songwriters, bands and genres. New and old. Even country. And I still enjoy listening to records, with the warm analog sound they produce, between two fire-breathers.
Audiophiles have never had it so good. Music has never been more accessible. And its never sounded better, despite the compression in the ear buds. The greatest add-on to smart phones wasn’t the camera. No, it was the music library. For music lovers, this is no time not to be alive.
I have wonderful memories of my late father, a native Cape Codder. But among the fondest were the times he would shout from the bottom of the stairs admonishing four teenagers to “tune it down,” reference to the four different radios blaring four different songs at ear-bleeding volume (amusingly, not country!). All the windows rattled in the 80s. And in an act of teen rebellion, he was drowned out and defied of his wishes. With smiles, of course. Life went on. All our hearing, including his, was surprisingly intact — even years later. Ah, those were good times to grow up…
… And before I forget.
Another momentous, if lesser well known, event occurred in 1982. It too proved to be a supreme act of defiance, in retrospect. On March 21, 1982, WOMR (Outer Most Radio) first went on the air in Provincetown, MA. It has been on the air over 40 years.
Defiance? WOMR, like U2, has defied the trends, the times, the odds — even mortality and damn near gravity. Quite simply, it’s the sound of defiance. It is volunteer driven and member supported, not corporate owned. Its mission is community, not ratings. It embraces a diversity of talk and music, not a stifling, fixed format. And it welcomes AOR.
Today, the radio station operates two terrestrial simulcast transmissions, WOMR and WFMR. Additionally, it streams broadcasts over the internet via its website and, more recently, the WOMR app, appealing to a true global audience. It is a fascinating proposition that the station still uses radio as its principal means of connecting with people given the rich history of the area. Not far from Provincetown is South
Wellfleet. There, the Marconi Wireless Station was the site of the first transatlantic wireless communication between the United States and Europe which occurred on January 18, 1903. There seems to be a deep affinity with radio on Cape Cod.
For people like me, WOMR is a musical safe-harbor, a refuge from the storm swirling all around it. At its most elemental, it is radio of the people, by the people, and for the people. It defies time but captures the zeitgeist of the Cape itself as a kind of timeless oasis. It actually functions as its own gravitational force, but with no center of gravity.
Unsurprising to me, the music gods tapped me on the shoulder and invited me to the WOMR party. It was in the midst of a pandemic, of all things. I always collected music and played it. Now, I get to present it.
And to be part of it is quite special.
Over 400 years ago, my direct ancestors anchored off the shores of Provincetown, before formally landing in The New World, Plymouth, their new home, defiant for a new life. And the idea that a descendent of the Pilgrims would now be broadcasting a radio show for a station whose being is the very act of sonic defiance seems somehow very fitting.
WOMR is The New World.
