Music for nothing - Page 2

Two jaded rock fans take their ears — and sanity — to the max and tune in to 95.7 Max FM in a 24-hour listening orgy featuring a computer playing "whatever it wants, whenever it feels like it"
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11:42 p.m. Interstitial: "Max FM. We break all the rules." Do they call "shotgun!" while they're still eating dinner? If it's yellow, do they not let it mellow? What is so anarchic about a computer that plays Top 40 hits? 12:46 a.m. Night suddenly takes turn for the better when housemate arrives with partially eaten Middle Eastern platter found on the street. Pita gone. Lots of hummus, tabbouleh, and baba ghanoush left. Embodying the anything goes spirit of Max FM, Jay and Will decide to eat it. 12:52 a.m. Night takes turn for the grotesque: Will finds part of a severed thumb with a nail through it buried in the hummus. U2's "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For" plays in the background. 1:22 a.m. Actual listener phone call: "Even the guy I share an office with is, like, 'What station is that?’>” You can picture them tuning in and hoping for an "Eye of the Tiger" to get them pumped up to go duke it out with the yahoos down in accounts receivable. P.S. Calling a radio station that doesn't have a DJ is like writing a letter to Ronald McDonald — pathetic. 2:02 a.m. Peter Frampton's "Baby, I Love Your Way." Delirium is slowly descending, as the conversation starts to resemble dialogue from a Philip K. Dick novel: WILL: Is that from Frampton Comes Alive? JAY: What isn't from Frampton Comes Alive? WILL: Good point. 2:36 a.m. Toni Basil's "Mickey." A challenging game to play while listening to Max FM: Name the Weird Al Yankovic Version of That Tune. He's parodied a good 20 percent of the station's playlist, including this one. 2:40 a.m. Interstitial: "You never know what you're going to hear next on Max FM!" Maybe not, but at this point, it's far more likely to be an Eddie Money song than, say, a James Gang deep cut or an excerpt from Malcolm X's "Keep That White Man's Claws off Our Women" speech. 3:28 a.m. Bonnie Tyler's "Total Eclipse of the Heart." Exhaustion setting in. Will is now listening to pirated George Carlin MP3s on his laptop; Jay is playing Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas and starting to hallucinate. Sky still dark as the night continues. 3:46 a.m. Actual listener phone call: "I thought my girlfriend was playing music from my CD collection, but it turned out to be Max FM. Keep up the good work!" Dear listener: You might want to head down to the Money Mart at 16th Street and Valencia, because it appears the hobo with the CDs lined up against the wall is unloading your "collection" at 25 cents a pop. 5:15 a.m. K.C. and the Sunshine Band's "Shake Your Booty." If there's one word to describe this station's music, it's Caucasian. Jay and Will haven’t felt this uncomfortable being white since the Rodney King verdict. 5:22 a.m. Mike and the Mechanics' "Silent Running." The face in the mirror is not my own, thinks Jay. I am gazing into the five o'clock shadow of a serial killer. 7:02 a.m. Interesting batch of songs in the last 45 minutes: "Time" by the Alan Parsons Project, "Clocks" by Coldplay, and "Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?" by Chicago. The computer that programs these songs appears to be signaling for help in cleaning up some residual Y2K issues. 8:41 a.m. The Beatles' "Get Back." They play one Beatles song, and it's hands down one of their worst ever. 9:06 a.m. Ambrosia's "You're the Only Woman." The next person Will meets who actually wants to hear an Ambrosia song on the radio will be the first. 12:44 p.m. Huey Lewis and the News' "Hip to Be Square." There's a very real possibility that Jay will be handcuffed to a gurney by the end of this experiment. 1:43 p.m. Genesis' "Invisible Touch." Will feels like Chevy Chase in European Vacation, only instead of pointing out, "Big Ben! Parliament!" he’s muttering "Phil Collins ... Genesis." Six more hours. 3:37 p.m.

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