Here’s another reason to love public broadcasting: footage of concerts past, and I do mean past — as in 1964′s The T.A.M.I. Show.
I grew up listening to my local oldies station. In fact, I have fond memories of snow days spent with my radio tuned to 98.9 and my word processor open. I wrote a quarter of a novel that way! (And it was such crap that it will never see the light of day!) Unfortunately, a little over ten years ago, the station just — died. This was before the days of broadband, so internet radio was not exactly a feasible fix.
You know how absence makes the heart grow fonder? Yeah, now I eat this stuff up. Om nom nom.
I don’t just love this for the music, either. This is a world I didn’t get to see the first time around. Public broadcasting puts history into syndication; I can catch the good stuff in reruns. I get to see what people really looked like. I see my own style in theirs. From there, I start wondering who I’d have been back then. (Dad says beatnik; I say trendy but liberal. You know, like me now.)
If I had ninety bucks to spare, I’d be on the phone to my local station — my actual local station, the one downtown — because, holy cow, eighteen songs I didn’t see? BLERG. Alas, I’m on an austerity budget just now, because (cue squealing) I bought a car this week. Let’s just say I’m relieved not to be paying rent to my parents. I did get a free tank of gas from my dad, so I can afford a ticket to Says You! in Geneva in June.