Who Cut the Balls Off of Rock Radio?

I'm in mourning. I wear a lot of black clothing anyways, but now it seems more purposeful, more appropriate. Today, I feel the overpowering need to send a Hallmark card with some odd poem conveying my most sincere condolences to rock radio stations all over America. For rock radio is dead! It was brutally murdered. Someone came along and with a mighty whack, cut off it's balls, dropping it down onto it's knee's and leaving it to slowly bleed to death over the airwaves. Tune in your favorite station, and somewhere in between the latest Mudvayne and AC/DC you can actually listen to it's final pitiful breaths filtered through the warm FM compression, weak and powerless, to far gone to even gasp for help.

Sure, the music is still there, the loud guitars and heavy drums, but everything else that made rock radio so great is gone. Don't get me wrong, I love the music, I live for rock music, however if I just wanted to hear the music I could load 5000 of my favorite rock songs, all in a crisp CD quality stereo mp3 format, right into my tiny IPOD, and I could listen all day without hearing a single Levitra or ITT Technical Institute commercial. Rock radio is far more than just the music, it's about an attitude, and a lifestyle, it's about rebellion, and living your life by your own rules. It's about saying "fuck the man!". We tuned in to hear the outrageous DJ's who represented that attitude, and would deliver that attitude with a 100,000 watt signal right into our eager ears. Unfortunately, that attitude is now gone, and it's been replaced by a weak-ass, easy listening, Lite-FM, bland vanilla, neutered DJ delivery, that is about as compelling to listen to as the farmers morning hog report.

The corporate suits that run these rock giants would try and have us believe that nothing is wrong, that there is nothing going on. It's business as usual folks. Never mind the man behind the curtain Dorothy, we are still the great and powerful OZ. It's as if corporate management has tied strings to the lifeless body parts and is dangling them from their fingers like some heavy metal marionette, all the while trying to have us believe that it's still alive, it's just not talking right now. Let's keep those advertising dollars coming in, and maybe the listeners won't notice that the kitchen is closed. We've noticed.

It's a damn shame. There are so many talented radio personalities who would love nothing more than to grab hold of that microphone and throw out a huge dose of rock attitude like the heated exhaust blasting out of a souped up Harley Davidson. They want to do it, it's the very reason they got into radio in the first place, but they can't. Their hands are tied and they have been told to just take it. Like a bitch, they have been told to just sit there, smile, and take it. Do what your told Mr. DJ, and be thankful that you still got a job. Oh, and if you say something wrong that does get us in trouble with the FCC, not only will you be fired, but we'll sue you, and you can pay the excessive fines out of your own pocket. Yeah, that sounds great! What a deal!

Who then is responsible for cutting the balls off of rock radio? Uncle Sam is the man walking around with blood on his hands, and if he's the man, then Michael K. Powell, Chairman of the FCC and Overlord of the airwaves, was certainly his tool. You can see the hairy scrotum proudly mounted to a mahogany plaque above his desk, with a little brass plate underneath that reads, "Severed in the name of Jesus, in order to protect the little children". We can't honestly believe that GW or Michael "Slasher" Powell are the real brains behind this castration. They are just pawns being manipulated by the over moral minority. For the first time ever, any religious freak who knows how to fill out FCC Form 475 can bring a radio station to it's knees, and ultimately sensor the material that is broadcast over those airwaves, claiming that it is "obscene", and appeals to the prurient interest. (Prurient - material having a tendency to excite lustful thoughts)

Today the talented radio personalities have been forced to supplement the rock attitude with other mediocre forms of entertainment. Once aggressive and fun morning shows now sound like an extended audio versions of "Extra Extra" or E Entertainment, featuring fast paced interviews and commentary from today's hottest celebrities. If I hear one more lame ass phone poll, I think I might pull my ears off. I appreciate their creative attempts at filling this noticeable void, but in the end, an 18 to 54 year old male could really care less if it's boxers or briefs, or what it was really like to work with Jennifer Aniston.

So, tip up the bottle and drink your last sip of beer. Step on your cigarette and start heading towards the door. Let the roadies tear down the stage, because this show is over. Rock radio is dead, and I'm really pissed off about it.