With all this new-found success I had no shortage of female admirers and there was always that dreaded moment when I would take them back to the little apartment that I shared with Tim Mahoney in Sherman Oaks and they would see my tiny room with the paint peeling from the walls and the foam mattress stuffed into the corner and wonder just what the deal was with this apparently successful DJ.
Egil had the same thought when he came to pick me up one afternoon and drive me to a gig.
“Dude, what are you thinking?” he asked after seeing the squalor I was living in. “You are the ‘golden boy’ right now and it’s going to be that way for at least another year. You’ve got to get yourself a better apartment!”
I knew he was right but I’d been so crazy busy with both my gigs and the loss of my dad that I was just thankful to have a place to lay my head. But in the back of my mind I knew it was just a few months until my mum would be flying over to visit and she definitely wouldn’t enjoy sleeping on a piece of foam on the floor. A new apartment was a must.
We had barely driven three buildings down the street when Egil hit his brakes. He pointed to a brand-new condo complex at the corner of Mammoth and Ventura. There was a “For Lease” sign swinging gently in the breeze.
He grinned at me. “We have time, my friend. Let’s check it out.”
We went inside and it was perfect. Everything was new with a sunken living room, dining room, kitchen and two bedrooms on an upper level. It had a separate two-car garage and a Jacuzzi.
The potential landlord showed us around, then asked, “So what do you think?”
“He’ll take it,” said Egil.
For a second I was going to shoot him down because the rent was so much higher than anything I’d paid before but then I realized that life is short. I found myself rubbing Dad’s ring on my finger and feeling good about the place. So I nodded in agreement. And just like that I was committed to $1,200 a month in rent and a mass of furniture to buy.
I’ve often found that when you take a risk in life good things happen. I don’t mean by being foolish but by doing something that your gut tells you might be a stretch but that it’ll work out. It’s almost like putting vibes out into the universe saying “I’m willing to take a chance” and nature replying “Then I’m willing to help you.”
I think nature approved of my choice because over the next ten days two amazing things happened: I received a phone call that would make my KROQ fame pale in insignificance and I met the second great love of my life.
T.V.O.D.
The phone call was totally unexpected but the words I heard coming down the line were something I had dreamed of and hoped for since being a young boy. I think as we’re growing up many of us secretly wish to be on television. It had certainly been in my thoughts as a kid, so much so that I put it on my list when I was just ten years old.
I knew I would never be a great actor; my years studying drama at Oxford had convinced me of that. I could hit my mark and remember my lines but I could never get lost in the role and become the character. When I was on stage a part of my mind was always saying to me “What would he do next?” rather than letting myself be in the moment and playing the part as it happened.
Working with the talented cast of Square Pegs—Sarah Jessica Parker, Jami Gertz and Merritt Butrick—as young as they were, reinforced my thoughts. Those young actors were so fluid and natural that they were already at a level I had to struggle to keep up with. So my problem became: If I couldn’t be someone else on TV who could I be? The answer was simple: myself.
In January 1981 while I was in Bakersfield at Magic 98 I read in a trade publication of a small cable channel planning to launch on the east coast that summer that would play nothing but music videos. I knew immediately that could be huge.
I contacted the local TV station that worked with my radio station and they helped me film a five-minute on-camera demo which I dutifully mailed off to Les Garland and Robert Pittman at that start-up channel in New York. The months went by and I heard nothing back and watched sadly as MTV debuted on August 1 of that year.
Now, sitting in the production room of KROQ on that Thursday morning in October 1982, I picked up the phone expecting a sales call and instead received the chance of a lifetime.
“This Richard Blade?” said the voice on the phone.
“That’s me. How can I help you?”
“My name’s Steve Poole. I’m putting together a music video show for television. We’re looking for someone to do a daily rock report on it. Think you could do that?”
“Yeah, absolutely,” I said.
“Do you have all your hair and teeth?”
I laughed, “Yes, last time I looked.”
“Our studio is in Burbank. Can you be there this afternoon with a sixty-second piece on a band prepared? That way we can test you on camera.”
As I wrote and voiced ROQ Notes every day for KROQ that would be no problem for me. I would just use that day’s segment.
“Sure, give me the address and time and I’ll be there.”
Two hours later I was heading west on the 134 freeway, running the script out loud to myself in the car. As I sped downhill towards Glendale I clearly remember thinking that if I pulled it off and landed this gig that everything would change for me once again.
Steve Poole’s studio in Burbank was a converted warehouse. I parked next to his chocolate-brown corvette, got out, took a deep breath, kissed my Dad’s ring for luck and walked inside the building. What I saw there was impressive.
There was a large dance floor, a full overhead studio lighting rig, a thirty-foot raised stage at one side and on the other wall, framing the dance-floor, a huge painted television towing twenty feet high with the screen painted a bright blue.
Three people were waiting for me, Steve Poole, John Farley and Monty Gast, all producers and executives on the show.
Steve stood out from the trio in his leather jacket, late sixties style shaggy hair and orange face that screamed “fake tan.” He spoke first.
“Well, you’ve certainly got your own hair,” he quipped.
“And most of my teeth,” I answered. “I’m Richard Blade.”
I held out my hand and we made our introductions.
Steve went over how it was going to work. He wanted me to stand in front of the giant blue-screen TV where he would frame me in one of the cameras, call action and I would go into a run-through of the MV3 World Rock Report.
“MV3?” I asked.
“That’s the name of the show.”
“Great name. And this is a pilot for television?”
Steve looked at John and Monty and grinned. “No. The pilot was sold months ago. We go on the air in January in more than thirty cities.”
“Wow.” Now the stakes were even higher I realized. “Even here in LA?”
“Especially here in LA,” said Steve. “We’re on KHJ channel 9 five days a week at 4pm. Perfect for when the kids come home from school.” He took a moment and continued, “So anytime you’re ready . . . ?”
“I’m ready,” I said and turned and walked to my mark trying not to show my nervousness.
Steve went behind the camera and focused in. Happy with what he was seeing he called out, “Don’t worry if you screw up; we can do as many takes as you need. Okay, in 3, 2, 1, action!”
I locked my eyes on the huge square lens of that massive broadcast camera and remembered Brian Clifford’s words to me in Torquay all those years ago when I was starting with Soundwave and he told me to “bring the show.” Now, like never before, I had to bring it.
“I’m Richard Blade and this is MV3’s World Rock Report. Today we are going to cross the Atlantic to introduce you to the band Yazoo, except for one thing,” I paused, smiled and raised my finger to the camera, “and that one thing is that over here in North America they are known simply as Yaz due to a copyright problem with their name. But legal complications and the lack of two o’s aside, their music speaks for itself and that�
�s no surprise because one of the two members of this talented duo is Vince Clarke, the guy who founded Depeche Mode just two years ago. Now Vince has left that group and started a new band with an incredible vocalist called Alison Moyet and together they’ve released their debut album Upstairs at Eric’s named after their engineer, Eric Radcliffe.”
“This LP features eleven amazing tracks including a salute to disco on ‘Goodbye Seventies’; a dance floor stomper called ‘Situation’; a beautiful ballad for any love birds watching, ‘Only You’ and an up-tempo track about unhealthy obsession called ‘Don’t Go.’”
“And that’s the video we’re going to leave you with right now as Dracula, Frankenstein, skeletons and bats pursue Yaz through a haunted house of horrors. Don’t get too scared and I’ll see you tomorrow right here on MV3.”
I finished and there was silence. You could hear a penny drop in that huge sound stage. Steve emerged from behind the camera and walked quickly over to Monty and John and the three of them huddled and talked for a few seconds. John hurried away from the stage and disappeared upstairs. Steve turned to me.
“If it’s okay with you we’re going to have you do that again.”
Fuck. I blew it.
“Okay. What would you like different about it? The song—”
Steve cut me off, “Do it exactly the same. John’s going up to the control room to fire up the lights and we are going to roll tape on this one.” He grinned, “That is if you want the job?”
And just like that my audition became slated to become the first World Rock Report on episode one of MV3.
Over the next month things began to fall into place for the launch of MV3. The first thing was my salary. Two days after my taped screen test Steve Poole had a contract drawn up and waiting for me.
“Look it over, Daddy. I think you’ll find it’s all standard,” he said.
Steve had a vocal tick of calling everyone Daddy even if he was older than them. I figured it was a sixties hangover like his hairdo. As long as he didn’t call me “fired” I was okay with it.
I skimmed the contract but couldn’t see the amount I would be getting.
“Does it have my salary in here?” I asked.
“Yeah. You’re down for fifteen hundred. Should work, right?”
I was used to this. Fifteen hundred a month was a little more than KROQ was paying me for being one half of the morning show. Just over $350 a week. Not great but with my gig money on the side it would work, plus it was a TV gig and who knew what that could lead to.
Steve continued, “And when we get picked up for a second season there’s a built-in increase from fifteen hundred a week to two thousand. After that we can renegotiate for a third through fifth year.”
Wait a minute. Was I hearing correctly? He was offering me $1,500 a week? As a starting salary? Apart from one change, and that was including a line allowing me to continue appearing on Square Pegs, I couldn’t sign the contract fast enough.
I met the music coordinator of MV3, a fellow Englishman, who hailed from Yorkshire, Peter Facer, and the two hosts, comedian David Maples and a beautiful, nineteen-year-old actress, Karen Scott.
The show was to be shot on Steve’s soundstage with teenage dancers in front of the giant TV which would be playing videos on its blue screen using a process known as an Ultimatte. The dancers wouldn’t be able to see the videos but to the viewers at home it would look amazingly cool. I was introduced to the girl who was booking the dancers and suggested that she come to my club gigs and pick some of the trendy kids there. Everyone loved that idea.
Two days a week we would have live bands on the show and before their performances we’d do an interview with the groups. Then the bands would play two of their hits while the dancers swarmed around the stage.
I looked over the list of groups already booked to appear and it was very hip with acts like Oingo Boingo, X, Thomas Dolby, Wall of Voodoo and Falco. I suggested Berlin, and also my good friend Jeffrey Spry and his group, Felony. Both made the cut and our lineup for the first few weeks was in place.
Our debut air date was Monday, January 10, 1983, and we started shooting pieces for the daily hour-long show in early December. Halfway through our first day of shooting Steve called me upstairs to his dual-purpose studio and control room. I noticed several lines of white powder on his smooth desktop. Steve saw me looking at it.
“Want a line, Daddy?”
“No, I’m good, Steve. You wanted to see me?”
“Yeah. I’ve been watching everyone’s segments and we’ve been talking up here. John and I think that you are wasted just doing one report a day. We want you to be one of the hosts. It was going to be just David and Karen but we want you to be there on camera as well throughout the show. Would that work for you?”
“Sure!” I was thrilled at the idea.
“Good. You’ll do most of the band and music stuff, we’ll have David do the comedy and Karen will be on the floor with the dancers. Sound good, Daddy?”
“Yeah, I love it.”
“And it makes sense. The name of the show is MV3 and now the audience will think that means that you, David and Karen are the three.’”
“So what does MV3 mean, Steve?” I asked.
“Do a line with me, Daddy, and I’ll tell you.”
“Can’t, Steve. I have to shoot some more stuff today. I gotta go.”
I turned and hurried out of his office. As happy as I was to get higher billing I was taken aback by the cocaine. I’d never done drugs and didn’t want to start. But if it was that common . . . ? I made my way downstairs where the first shots of “the MV3” were taken of us together on the set.
MV3
I didn’t spend much time with David or Karen off camera as my radio and club schedule was keeping me super busy, but when we were shooting we got on really well; there was never any arguing or friction between us.The really fun days were when we had both the dancers and the bands on the set. Each group would do their performance twice so we would have extra footage to edit from, making it look like we were using six cameras to shoot them rather than three, upping the show’s production value.
I was excited when I watched tape of some of the daily footage that we’d shot and couldn’t wait to see it on the air. I invited the other KROQ DJs down to the set, but apart from Raymond, Egil and Katy no one else came. I began to feel a little jealousy from them.
The New Year rolled around and TV Guide came out for the week of January 8–14 with John Madden on the cover and there it was, proudly on page A-59, the ad for MV3. That’s when I knew it was real. The show was actually going to air.
TV Guide ad for January 10th, 1983
I was shocked to see I had top billing on the ad. I sent a copy to my mum and prayed that somewhere my father knew that his little boy was still chasing both their dreams.
That Monday afternoon in January about forty of us from the MV3 crew crowded into Steve Poole’s hillside house in the valley to watch the premiere of MV3 live on channel 9. The show looked amazing. Unlike MTV which was just a series of video clips and the occasional interview, here we were with real dancers dressed in the latest street fashions, cutting-edge bands putting on the performances of their lives and a massive video screen which the camera would fly into or out of, “the million-dollar move” as Steve called it.
As the show finished we all applauded. Karen, David and I were hugged and kissed by the producers and crew. We had a hit on our hands. The euphoria was everywhere. But I had noticed something very troubling.
Steve and John had told me that MV3 was syndicated across the country in cities like Chicago, San Jose, Detroit, Charlotte, Atlanta etc. on what is called a barter basis. That means that the TV channel gets the show for free and in return gives back to the producers approximately six minutes of commercial time within the program to sell. Now this is great if you can get national sponsors to step in and buy the open spots; the money from companies like Coca Cola, Ford or McDonalds can not only underwri
te the show but yield massive profits to the production company. However I saw none of those on MV3.
Maybe I was more aware of this having worked in radio and producing commercial spots to air on a daily basis, but to my eye the direct-response “1-800” ads selling cleaning products, hand-held sewing machines and the perfect egg poachers would hardly generate enough money to feed the group of people at the screening party, never mind fund the TV show. And if the money wasn’t coming in then just how long could MV3 stay on the air?
On the MV3 set with David Maples and Karen Scott
That night after the show’s premiere it was off to the 321 for my regular Monday night gig. I parked around the back of the club as usual and as I walked along Third Street and turned towards the club’s entrance on Santa Monica I noticed a group of kids pointing at me.
They were young, too young even for the “Three-Two-Young,” but they seemed to know who I was. They all ran across the road as one, disregarding the traffic, and surrounded me.
“You’re Richard. You’re that English guy from the TV show!” one of the girls cried. “Can you sign something for me?” She searched her purse and pockets for something, anything, to have signed.
As she fumbled for a pen a couple more kids came up and had the same reaction. It had barely been five hours since the first episode of MV3 had aired and already this was happening.
One of the bouncers from the 321 saw the kids around me and moved quickly towards us.
“Everything okay here?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I replied, “they just want an autograph.”
I looked at their faces and saw myself in them, that fanboy who is desperate for a memento. And now they wanted one from me. But I was no different. I hadn’t changed from yesterday. It was only that I’d been on TV, in their house, in their room that afternoon and now they wanted proof to show their friends that they’d met “that guy from the TV show.”
I signed the autographs happily and would have stayed out there on the street talking with them all night if it wasn’t for the fact that the club was calling me. As I walked inside the 321 I realized that even if MV3 might already be in trouble because of the lack of well-heeled sponsors the fans didn’t know that and my ride into the TV spotlight was just beginning.
World in My Eyes: The Autobiography Page 26