DavidEduardo said:
aunti-terrestrial said:
Really, as hard as you try to spin it, David, there's no excuse for jocks who think they're connecting with their communities by going straight to the job and back home. Excuses don't work.
In today's world, being out on the street at a remote or van hit where there are 40 or 60 people is useless. That whole model of kissing babies does not work any more.
To reach listeners, you communicate with them on and off the air. And the methods are texting and Facebook and Tweets. Your website should have a blog by each jock, if they even have minimal writing skills.
The request line us another fairly useless tool. Most people don't use the phone that way any more.
I'm concerned that the talent get rest, family time and enjoy life a bit. There is a reason jocks in the past had the reputation of being drunks or worse, womanizers, etc., etc. The had no home life, and the station absorbed all their time. That has to change.
If today's economy requires even the PD to be on the air, and shifts are longer, then don't expect people to go out on the street... because it is not that important any more.
There is a lot that can be done via each person's show. Our cluster in LA has 5 Marconi nominations, all based on community service and years of successful operation... and the manager's office has a case full of them from prior years. You can serve with the most powerful thing you have... the signal.
If you think Myspace is reaching people, you need to catch up. Myspace has become almost totally band-oriented, which is fine, but it only works as a companion to Facebook and Twitter, when you want to direct people you actually know to audio or downloads. I distinctly recall you and Fo-fo laughing at the early social-networking adapters, but, as I've been saying all along, if terrestrial radio doesn't evolve to keep up with its listeners in the digital age, it's going to be sitting on the verge of bankruptcy, wondering how to get back a retreating audience, and wondering how in hell to drive people buy a million unused, never-opened HD receivers. Oh, yeah, nevermind.
Nevertheless, as any parent will tell you, there are times when you have to shut off the computer, get off your butt, and go outside. Relying upon social networking sites to give the "appearance" of being local is just as lame and hollow as the voicetracker from another state who doesn't realize he's saying a local street name horribly wrong.
There's a whole world out here, as the listeners well know. It's the world they move in, and it doesn't usually involve spending the day at the car dealership.
As I've stated, a van load of teenagers in station T-shirts, handing out paper fans, is not the way to make local connections with the listeners, nor has it ever been. There's nothing worse than seeing a live jock at a station event who, when not speaking into a mic, is cloistered away in the back office or backstage, hiding (one presumes) from the unwashed masses who at least made the attempt to get up off their sofas and come down to the gig. It's not enough to just show up, and it's not enough to just show up to station events.
I've worked entire, all-day festivals where, aside from stage/broadcast duties, most of the station jocks spent the entire day inside the VIP pavilion, hanging out at tables in circles of co-workers that exactly mimic their station interactions: all the classic rock morning show people over here, all the alternative folks at these tables, the engineers in a circle over there, the PDs at the table with the corporate managers, the sales people all clustered on this side over here. Here's a golden opportunity to get out there among the listeners and give them a face to what you do on the air. Surveying the scene, I could hear the voice of my best PD in my mind, incensed at the laziness. Here was an opportunity to make sure the people at
this crowd know about the next six concerts coming up, or talk to them about what they'd like to hear on the special features, or listen to their stories about radio encounters past (which is something listeners like to do). A helpful co-worker told me I should be in the VIP pavilion, "networking." I did a quick couple of circuits of the room, and then grew immensely bored sitting around with the same co-workers I saw every day, watching on widescreen TVs the band which was, after all, actually playing onstage thirty yards away. I spent the rest of the day in the crowd, and still catch up with a lot of the people I met that day, who are still doing interesting things with their lives, art, and music.
On-air? Sure, there's nothing wrong with being alone on-air. In fact, I prefer it, and drawing the shades, as well. But being good on-air is only half of it, anymore. I can't believe the Big A and I agree about anything, but we do. Ask Ryan Freakin' Seacrest if his job stops at the studio door, or if he could stay home and phone it all in on Myspace and Twitter.
Reality TV sucks, but it gave us the notion that, without facetime, you're off the island. The question is not whether or not you agree with that notion, but whether or not your listeners do. Because somebody else is getting that facetime if you pass on your turn.
Those non-comms I mentioned? They're volunteers, every one. They work their real, fulltime jobs and take care of their families, too. And they don't get paid to show up any place at all that they go. Nevertheless, when you act like your show and your station depends upon making local connections, you do what it takes to secure yourself a following. They don't have a sales force whose job it is to "deal with" business owners. They don't have a program director to tell them what music local listeners will like. They have what they can bring to the table, and every one of them realizes that being invisible in the community means they'll be replaced, come fundraising time. Those guys can't phone it in, nor could they do what they do by relying solely upon Myspace, Facebook, and Twitter. That incentive is not there with commercial radio, which lends itself to the hubris of which I speak.
