Radio Criticism
I used to have an airshift on my radio group’s Top 40 station. When the signal shifted from Adult Contemporary to more straight-up pop, there was a staff purge and I was asked to take the night slot. My qualifications: A) young and B) already on the payroll. I did it for a year, along with my normal Production duties at the company, until balancing both became too much and I asked to go back to doing just commercials.
The other night, while Googling work stuff, I came across a thread on this area’s broadcast message board, a place where industry folks and interested observers discuss our market. I knew this existed, but had stayed away while on-air, figuring that stumbling upon random criticism would do me little good.
But, now that I’d been off-air a while—what the hell?
I didn’t read too much, but the general consensus was that it was good I was gone, my replacement is much better and I’m not suited for Top 40 radio. Here it was, MY WORST FEARS CONFIRMED, just what I’d purposely avoided coming across all this time, right in front of me. Yet for some reason I wasn’t bothered by it. In fact, I realized it actually made me feel good.
No, I’m not a masochist. It wasn’t the criticism that made me feel good—it was the fact that I agreed with them, and had all along.
I was thrust into the on-air position unexpectedly. I didn’t know what I was doing, but became obsessed with improving and doing what I considered a “good job.” Part of my drive for reform came because I couldn’t improve in a vacuum—my trial-and-error approach was broadcast over the airwaves 6 nights a week. That’s quite an incentive. (PRETENTIOUS FILM SCHOOL REFERENCE: I felt like Susan Alexander in Citizen Kane, forced out on stage every night to be an opera singer when everybody—including herself—knew she wasn’t up to the task).
She just wanted to work on jigsaw puzzles
Being voice-tracked (pre-recorded) didn’t help. It’s hard to fake the adrenaline rush of live radio, especially when you have almost zero live radio experience to draw off.
I became obsessed with my show. If I was going to do an airshift, it was going to be good, dammit. I started doing a lot of prep. I recruited my friend Dave as my correspondent to do bits with me over the phone, giving satirical takes on the day’s stories. I launched a radio blog. I proposed a lot of station promotional events, and even went out of pocket to try to pull some off myself. Between my airshift and my production job, it wasn’t uncommon for me to be at the station 14 hours a day, maybe more.
Like I said…obsessed. If I’m going to do something, I’m going to do it right.
But even though my bits with Dave were often pretty amusing, and even though my delivery and radio voice improved tremendously over that year…I still didn’t think I was doing a very good job. Or, to be fair, I didn’t feel like I was doing a very good job within the context of the rest of the station. I wasn’t a very good fit.
And now…the point.
I have, for many years, been working towards increased self-awareness. I want to know when I suck and when I don’t. I want to know that if I think something I’ve done is pretty good, then it probably is actually pretty good. I need to be able to trust my own instincts in order to move forward in all respects.
So, reading those message board comments made me feel good because it told me those instincts were right the whole time. I WASN’T a good fit for that station. I do pretty good voice over work, and have started freelancing outside of the station, but my delivery is too conversational for a Top 40 jock on the night shift. My sense of humor and approach to content doesn’t translate to being sandwiched between Rihanna and Lady Gaga.
One of my dad’s favorite Clint Eastwood lines, which he is often quoting, comes from Magnum Force: ”A man’s got to know his limitations.” No, I wasn’t a very good Top 40 jock. I agree. And I feel very good knowing I wasn’t alone in that assessment.
