Yesterday, the last great bastion of locally produced commercial radio went off the air in a major market. But Indie 103.1 survived five years in an era when forward thinking terrestrial radio isn't supposed to last five minutes. That in itself is an astonishing accomplishment.
Indie 103.1 went on the air January 1, 2004, just two months after I moved to Los Angeles. And in many ways, Indie's rise and fall parallels my own half a decade in the City of Angels. I distinctly remember driving in my car alone, a new face in a big city, when I first heard Indie. A blast of teenage faves—Sex Pistols, Breeders, Flaming Lip—I couldn't fathom such radio existing. Equally at awe of the new town I called home, I imagined some Hollywood renegade millionaire had bought himself a radio station on which to play the music he loved. And why not? This is a city where dreams come true. I was a newly minted magazine editor in the entertainment capital of the world. There should be a stations that catered to my taste. I was a tastemaker. I was "running shit." I vowed to seek out these radio renegades and offer my support and talent—18 months of late night college radio, dawg!
Of course, Indie didn't need my help. They were doing just fine as part of the Clear Channel network. Once my momentary disappointment subsided, I was still 99% thrilled by Indie. After all, maybe this was the test market for a new era of "classic rock." If my generation was getting old enough to be in charge, why shouldn't we have own radio format? It was our turn.
The true genius of Indie came in the hiring of it's afternoon host, one Steve Jones, formerly of the Sex Pistols, who's Jonesy's Jukebox became an instant hit. The cynical wit and wisdom that Jonesy dished out—uncomfortabley at first, becoming more natural with time—became an international sensation. Around the same time, I attended my first Coachella, another "I-can't-beleive-this-is-real" introduction to West Coast life. It was as though I had "lept" into 1990s England, a time and place I had dreamed of as a teenager in Detroit, lock in my room with a copy of Melody Maker Reading Festival special edition. Now here I was, in the present, with the Pixies, Radiohead and Kraftwerk, both onstage and on my radio dial. Mecca.
And it kept getting bigger. By 2005, the "rave and rap" magazine I moved to LA to help helm was diving head first into the new indie-rock/dance club culture that was simmering up across the globe. Bloc Party was a ubiquitous presence, played in the clubs and on the radio non-stop (one day I heard three Bloc Party songs on three different radio stations during one 30 minute drive). We had them on the cover of URB twice that year—M.I.A. too. The office radio, more often than not, was tuned to Indie all day. Sure, the occasional Junior Vazquez mix would make it onto the system (URB editor Scott Sterling thought it was old Richie Hawtin) but when Carlos D was DJing in town, we were all there, no matter who was at the local superclub the same night.
Of course, like all scenes, this one began to falter. In one fell swoop, Daft Punk's Coachella set pushed the Arcade Fire remixes aside, replacing them with serious French electro. Justice was our new Bloc Party, although they never quite secured the same radio hegimoney. Indie could have been more generous to the new sound. They restricted it to the typical dance music latenight ghetto. Paul V's Neon Noise program was a fantastic platform for the new DJs and producers who were popping up all over LA. Even the Crystal Method's Friday night show was promoting "LCD Soundsystem, Justice, Daft Punk." Their peers The Chemical Brothers deamed the only legacy act worth noting. It was during this time that my Indie listening declined as well. It was still the first stop on the channel search, but I would just as likely end up on KLOS's classic rock than the new sound of Wolf (Parade or Mother, you choose).
Just as my infactuation with Indie was fading, they went and pulled the ultimate romantic gesture. The words "This is Darren Revel and you're listening to Big Sonic Heaven" came through the car speakers—and I almost went off the road. Every Sunday from 1995-2003, I had heard those words on the radio in Detroit. The one and only relief from the monotony of Limp Bizkut and Queen's "Fat Bottom Girls," BSH was an oasis on the Motor City airwaves. A shoegazer fantasy, where all thing moody and ethereal got equal airing. And here it was on Los Angeles radio. I felt like Peter Pan having found his shadow.
I was friendly with Darren from the Detroit days and we soon connected, talking about the old town while never losing site that life was much better in LA. I even got to go on Big Sonic Heaven this past fall, given an hour to chat with Darren on-air and play some of my favorite songs. I'm a big enough dork to admit it was a dream come true.
Big Sonic Heaven was taken off the air in November, along with a number of Indie's specialty shows. Jonesy was still there—scoring a major coup just last month when Prince blessed the show with three new songs to debut. But things had changed. The indie rotation had turned towards the dark side, and you were as likely to hear STP as you were Amazing Baby. The end—a classic zero notice format flip to Spanish syndicated radio—was hardly a shock.
I have to admit that on the day it happened, I spent three hours round trip in the car going from Hollywood to Anaheim without once turning to Indie (I kept it on NPR's chatter). It wasn't until I got home and sat at my computer that I heard the news. Word is that some incarnation if Indie is going to live online—but that's no real comfort. I can already hear all the music I want on the web. It was haviing it on the radio that counts. Jonesy will probably land a cush gig on satellite radio. Picture him in one studio while Bob Dylan records in the one next door. Sweeeeeet. And I'm sure the rest of the Indie team will land softly as well. This is a town where it's easy to fail up. And being a vet of a failed yet buzzworthy radio station can become a choice music consulting gig with just a few well placed phone calls.
As for me, I don't have a car anymore. I don't even have an office to go to as of this week. Working from home and rarely going out at night, there's not much need for Indie 103.1 in my life. Still, when I heard last week that LA Weekly music editor and comrade Randall Roberts was on Jonesy's Jukebox Jury, I felt more than a little green with envy. I guess Indie still mattered more than I thought.
dig-thisShare on FriendFeed
