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About The Battalion. (College Station, Tex.) 1893-current | View Entire Issue (March 4, 1983)
0 z -o r\ . rs says, "is for people to call me Mr. O'Brian. My name is Ed." He wheels around on the worn-out swivel chair and stares outside. "I'm trying to see what the weather is like, he says. "That's the only way that I can tell " . . „ r . The phone nngs. C.ood morning. KTAM, Ed O'Brian." After reading the school lunch menu for the day to a young lis tener, Ed hurries to put the next song on. "Just in time," he says. Timing can make the difference between making it and breaking it on a radio show. A few minutes later, another caller beeps in. "...You want to know what? Well, what does your body look like,? Ed says. Then he laughs, saying that usually it's the late-night DJ who gets all the weirdos. He talks about why he loves it here. "I love working at a station where I can create my own show," he says. "It sounds too sterile when the announcers use canned programming." He reaches down under the microphone and comes back up a few seconds later with a chil dish grin. "Watch this," he says. Just about then, the low voice announces that there will be a special piano arrangement play ed live over the air by none other than Ed himself. He leads the audience into thinking that there is really a piano in the stu dio and then pulls out a cassette recording. When the yellow light goes off in the studio, indi cating that it is safe to talk, he laughs and laughs about the piano gag. Then the yellow light flashes back on and all is quiet again. "I'm not in this business to please myself," he says, "I'm in it to please other people." He proceeds to tell an anec dote about a radio station which refused to play the hit song "Let's Get Physical," by Olivia Newton-John. The station prog ram director happened not to like the song, so the listeners were deprived. There was a song by the same artist that real ly grated on his nerves, he said, but he just played it and turned the volume down so he couldn't hear it. You have to pay what the people want to hear. "Great. Listen to this. I looooove this song," he shouts across the studio. "Back on the chain, the chain gang, ohoho- hoh yeah." Then he smiles as if The Pre tenders were singing especially to him. "You know, if I could be doing anything I wanted to, though, I'd probably be in Las Vegas on a radio station, " he says. It's not that he doesn't like it here, it's just that he would rather be in Vegas. As he sips on his half-warmed coffee, he tells of his days back in San Francisco when he was just getting out of the Navy and looking for some thing to do with his time. "I needed to go to school, so I enrolled in college at San Fran cisco State. I got out and worked at a series of jobs ranging from construction work to IBM," he says. Shortly after that time, a se rious car accident left him un able to do construction work, so he went to radio school and got his first job at a country station in Minnesota. He makes a few sarcastic comments about the differences between the two types of music. Everyone laughs. The newscast ends and he signals that enough small talk has been made. It's time to get back to business. When a DJ is bn shift, he is responsible for everything that happens in the studio during those hours. Ed laughs and says he hopes the studio doesn't ever burn down between 6 and 10:30 in the morning. In the five years he has been here, nothing se rious has ever happened on his show. "Knock on wood," he says. His brand of humor is a mix ture of a Gong Show comedian and the acerbic wit of David Let- terman. But he wouldn't have his lifestyle any other way. "I've always been a fool. Radio is definitely where I be long," he says. "I suppose I'm always looking for something new to use in the show." This is the best way to avoid jock-burnout, which’ he said occurs when the DJ uses up all of his material. You have to avoid stagnation. Ed admits that he really would rather do sports announcing, but the right opportunity hasn't come up yet. But for now, Ed will stay right here and continue to wake up sleepy college students and ear ly-morning risers just as he al ways has since he moved here from Temple. He has an estab lished listening audience who probably wouldn't let him leave, anyway. "Thanks for coming by. Be sure to drop by sometime and bring friends next time," he says as he gets ready to prepare his material for the next morning. It is easy to tell that he loves to be around people. Rrrrring...Once again, a lis tener buzzes in. A slight smile comes across his face as he picks up the phone. The slight anti cipation before each call shows he looks forward to audience reaction. But then again, you never can tell what each call mav hold. y "Good morning. KTAM, Ed O'Brian...." KORP by Ann Ramsbottom Battalion Staff KORP, 107.5 FM on the dial- ... popular rock 24 hours a day. "A lot of people still don't know us," Steve Lessard, sta tion manager for the campus station said, "but we've been around since 1975. We are now in the process of beginning a P.R. campaign that will hopeful ly get the whole University lis tening. "I started out as a DJ when I was a freshman," Lessard said. "In high school I DJ'd school dances and always enjoyed music and being on the air. "But few of the DJs at KORP have experience. There are cur rently 40 students that help out at the station, but we try to keep around 50. We're looking for in terested people to DJ. We look for past experience, and stu dents that are not overly in volved in other activites." Lessard isn't paid for his work. "Ninety percent of the reason we do it is because it's just some thing fun to do," he said. "We enjoy playing the music and having people call in to make requests." "Most other Universities have a radio station run by their stu dents," Lessard said. "The Aggies should have an all-Aggie run station." KORP receives a limited amount of money from the MSC — $200 each year. The rest of the money must come from spon sorships. Because of the sta tion's cable status, the station is not allowed to solicit adver tising. Another obstacle for KORP is that they broadcast over cable. This means you must already be on cable to receive the station. It also means you can't pick KORP up while in the car. Another problem is competi tion with other local and Hous ton stations. "KANM is our main competi tion," Lessard said. "They play a progressive format. Also, 101 in Houston plays similar music." The station has made some improvements which will build the station and go hand-ia-hand with their P.R. campaign. Also, KTAM donated some of their used equipment which has really helped out. "Since the station runs on cable, we are not licensed," Les sard said."That means that we can say anything we want on the air. But we have our own rules for the sake of professionalism, and the DJs conduct themselves in the station's best interest. "But there are a few records that we play that we couldn't otherwise play," Lessard said. Lessard explained now that the station has changed its for mat to strictly popular rock, has been donated equipment and is on two cables, the only thing they really need is to build lis- tenership. "We want a well-recognized radio station," he said. FORCIftRCR KANM-FM by Connie Edelmon Battalion staff KANM is sort of like your hometown radio station. The station employees genuinely care about their listeners. oarbicn answers a phone call from a lis tener who isn't receiving the I KANM radio station and asks, J "What apartments are you in?" Todd Gross, manager of stu dent-run KANM, checks some lights and gauges to find the problem. "It's Community," he says meaning the local cable com pany. He immediately begins punching buttons and investi gating the wires that send the station broadcasts over phone lines to both Midwest and Com munity cable companies, who I send it over the airways. "It just came back on, Todd," Barbieri calls. "The equalizer died," Gross explained. "Damn, it's brand new too. I "Generally, this type of thing ! happens at 3 a.m.,"’ he said. KANMFM, a ten-year-old station, is a student organiza tion funded mainly by dona tions. Many former disc jockeys, who now work for companies like IBM and Exxon, contribute to the station. The station facilities are crowded into two small rooms in Goodwin Hall. In one room, the disc jockey sits at a large desk — called a board — man ned with tuning and volume adjusters, volume meters, two turntables, two cassette decks, two telephones and a mic rophone. One wall is lined with the stahon's 2,500 alphabetically arranged albums, and the other walls display papers covered with scrawled messages, sche dules and lists. The broadcasting equipment is housed in the other room, along with a lot of broken parts and components of equipment previously used or to be used in the future. Most of the equipment was made in electrical engineering labs, but Gross said although it is "homemade," it is good equipment — sometimes better than what the station could have bought. After spring break, the sta tion will move over to the newly renovated Pavilion, and they will have a few pieces of new equipment to make the move with them. KANM is run by 42 disc jock eys who each work one four- hour shift a week. The disc jock eys receive no pay for their time, but Gross said that people are begging to get the chance to do any shift — even the 4 a.m. to 8 a.m. shift. Why are there so many who want the jobs? "They come for the ego of getting on the air and stay for the music," Gross said. "No body's album collection is that |