The Battalion. (College Station, Tex.) 1893-current, March 04, 1983, Image 18

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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 |