Wil Wheaton first found fame in the classic movie Stand by Me but now was best known as Wesley Crusher in Star Trek: The Next Generation. But Wil looked lost and he just wanted to beam out of there. I approached him and asked if he was okay. These words from his blog say best what happened next.
When the show was over, I couldn’t find the car that was supposed to pick me up. It was a little frightening, and I felt like a kid who had been separated from his mom in a crowded department store. Before I could completely panic, though, I saw a familiar face in the mob: KROQ’s Richard Blade.
I knew Richard because he was on the air and for several months, after going to school at Paramount in the morning, I’d stop at the KROQ studios in Burbank on my way home to hang out with him. I’m sure I overstayed my welcome, but nobody ever said, “Hey, kid, stop coming around here, you’re overstaying your welcome.” I wanted to be a KROQ DJ so badly in those days, and the jocks and interns at KROQ were all so fucking cool, I was a total groupie idiot.
Richard was extremely kind and patient with me, though, and when he saw me wandering around the crowd after the concert, he offered to drive me home. So not only did I get to see the greatest concert of my life, I got to end it by getting a ride home with one of my favorite DJs and his girlfriend.
101 set the standard for stadium concerts in the 1980s. It established several records including highest grossing box office for a single show, highest merchandise count per person, and highest food and drink expenditure per person. But business aside it was simply an incredible show. And it wasn’t just special for the audience; it was special for the band as well. Dave Gahan said this in a follow-up interview after the show:
It wasn’t just an important show for DMode, it was an important show for new music in America. It was like 70,000 people or something, and this was something that we were pretty nervous about doing, playing this big gig. When we actually did the show, it didn’t matter. We didn’t play particularly good, my voice went, everything went wrong during the gig, like, from what we thought we were doing and what we thought was important about it, but it wasn’t. It was, like, the event, it was what was really happening there.
It’s hard to describe unless you’re standing there, watching it or being a part of it. But I think everybody who was in that concert and was part of it felt that moment. And, you know, I just kind of started, like, blubbing on stage, and trying to cover it up, and still look very macho and do my thing. But I just stood there for a minute, stood on this big kind of riser, and I looked, and at that moment, everybody’s arms were, like, waving in the air. And I looked down, and it sounds cheesy, but it just looked like this big field of corn or whatever swaying, and I just stopped. It didn’t matter that I was singing or anything, it was just happening.
And I remember afterwards, walking off, and the deflation of, like, “It’s over”, bang, and then I was like, “ughhh”. I wonder if that’s ever gonna happen again. And I sat backstage, and my wife was there, Joanne, and I sat in this room, and I remember I just started crying, I don’t really know why I was crying, I was happy, sad, everything at the same moment. I remember that, it was a nice moment.
That whole event was just one of those special things, and fortunately we caught it on film. I get these little goosebumps when I watch it, because I remember the experience, it’s that euphoric recall that kicks in. A combination of everything: nerves, anxiety, happiness, sadness, the end of it. That was the last show of our tour as well. So, I would say that was one of the most special moments of, I guess, nearly twenty years that we’ve been together, one we did not know what was going to happen, but it was a beautiful moment.
ALONE AGAIN OR
With Ramondo in rehab I was flying solo on the morning show. It was a tough position to be in. Ken Roberts and Pat Welsh refused to release any extra money to help with the program. That meant I had no producer, no writer, no talent booker, no nothing to assist me. I was literally all alone on the radio in one of the most competitive markets in the world.
My two most important tools were USA Today, which gave me capsule reports on what was going on in the news that I could quickly refer to, and my interns whom I increasingly used to put on the air and joke with. I also had Rockin’ Fig, Poorman and Rhonda Kramer to banter with. But every day it became increasingly harder to stay fresh.
A m a z i n g l y though the ratings went up. I was shocked to see all of the key demographics that we hit number one in. The show remained the talk of the town. A lot of credit for the ratings has to go to my two TV shows. Both Video One and VideoBeat ran ads for KROQ and the cross-promotion of viewers and listeners certainly did nothing but help.
Going solo on KROQ, 1984
Doing the morning show alone was a huge responsibility. If the ratings were big from 6am to 10am it tended to lift the rest of the station’s broadcast day so as long as I was performing I could get away with anything I wanted to do.
In late May, 1984 I received the brand new single from Frankie Goes to Hollywood a week before its scheduled release date. It was the follow up to their mega-hit “Relax” and I couldn’t wait to hear it.
I sliced open the plastic wrap from the twelve inch and talked to the listeners on the air as I slipped it from the sleeve, “It’s got a picture of Reagan and Chernenko fighting on the cover.”
I looked at the title on the label, “It’s called ‘Two Tribes – the Annihilation mix’ so let’s give it a listen together.”
I faded it up and was blown away. I love a song that has a fat sound with good production. This one had that and so much more. From the spoken intro, “The air attack warning sounds like this…” to the driving rhythm, it was unique. The music seemed to flow from the speakers and envelop the studio in a wash of sonic color. It played for nine minutes and as it faded out the control room felt empty.
“Amazing,” I said on the microphone, “I have to play it again.”
And I did, over and over for the next hour. The listeners called in nonstop and said how much they loved it. After sixty minutes I went back to regular programming and the hotline rang. I answered and heard a familiar voice.
“It’s Rick. I just want to let you know that was one of the best hours of radio I’ve ever heard. Loved the song and loved your energy. Good job.”
After he hung up I realized how fortunate I was. Any other PD would have screamed and yelled at me and probably fired me on the spot but not Rick. For him, if you were making good radio then you were doing your job. His only precondition was if you were going to stray from the music key then make sure it’s better than what you would have played. And Rick was secure enough and smart enough to acknowledge when you’d come up with something better than what he’d already planned. Being able to step away from himself and view the station as a listener would was part of his unique magic and contributed to making him the legend he became.
I was burning the candle at not only both ends but in the middle as well. In addition to the radio and TV, my club gigs were out of control and sometimes I would do two appearances in one night and grab barely two hours of sleep on a couch or in a car because I had no time to go home. I think I DJ’d just about every prom or school dance in the Southland and with all this exposure our listenership continued to grow. Some of my gigs were crazy big and I found myself headlining DJ shows at the Hollywood Palladium and at the Pico Rivera Sports Arena.
Pico Rivera Sports Arena and the Hollywood Palladium
I didn’t know how long I could keep it going but having worked so hard to get here I didn’t want to give it up. I figured as long as I had the strength to get out of bed in the morning and make it to the station then I would keep pushing forward and doing my shows. But a decision to call it quits was almost made for me by Rick Carroll.
Rick disappeared in the spring of 1984 on a bender of immense proportions. We’d only hear from him about once every ten days when he’d ring in with a phone call on the hotline.
“Who’s on the air?” he
’d ask.
“It’s me, Rick. It’s Richard.”
“Good. What are you playing?”
“A new one from Tones on Tail.”
“How is it?”
“It’s great. Really uptempo.”
“Is Larry doing the music?”
“Yup. Have the music keys right here.”
“Okay. Tell everyone I called,” and he’d hang up.
It was so sad. One of the most innovative programmers in radio history was caught up in a downward drug spiral. He was a lost soul, trapped in a whirlwind of hurt, holed up in a sleazy motel without even a radio to tune in and hear the station he’d created.
Rick was KROQ. Without him you could feel it starting to unravel.
KROQ needed someone at the helm so once again Pat appointed Freddy Snakeskin as interim program director but it was an impossible job trying to fill Rick’s shoes and no one envied Freddy having to try. The word around the hallways was that perhaps this time Rick had pushed the boundaries too far and was gone for good and that KROQ wouldn’t give him another chance if he did try to return. It was in this uncertain environment that KIQQ came calling.
Sitting right in the middle of the dial at 100.3 FM, KIQQ had a strong signal and were a mix of top 40 with a token amount of new wave thrown in. But they were getting their butts handed to them consistently by KIIS and KROQ. They wanted that to change and they approached me in the hope that I might be the one to boost their ratings.
Their first proposal was to have me do afternoon drive but after a secret meeting with their PD and general manager at their studios on Sunset they changed their mind and offered me mornings.
Their deal was simple. They would double my salary, give me the money to hire the producer and writer of my choice and put me on a bonus scale based on any ratings increase. As their existing morning show was on death’s door a boost in numbers seemed easy to achieve. It was all very hush-hush but then somehow the press found out about it and there were newspaper articles on “Blade leaving KROQ” everywhere.
Pat called me into his office and pleaded with me not to go and explained that while he couldn’t match KIQQ’s offer he would give me a 50% increase in salary if I’d stay. For me money was never the motivator, it was all about the music and respect. KROQ felt like home and I was already hesitant to split so I used the opportunity to make a deal with Pat. I told him if Rick Carroll came back as program director I would stay with KROQ. Pat agreed to that right away but we both knew the problem was locating Rick and then convincing him to return.
The assignment to find Rick fell upon Spacin’ Scott Mason. Despite his on-air nickname, Scott was anything but a space cadet. He was a talented engineer and along with Rick and Larry he was responsible for making KROQ the force that it was. If Rick and Larry were the heart and soul of KROQ, then Scott was the backbone. He was the one who kept us on the air, made sure our transmitter functioned and actually went to Washington D.C. in person to battle the FCC face to face when our license was challenged.
I got on very well with Scott but we did have our occasional run-ins when I pushed the limits. At the beginning of 1984 when we were solely vinyl and tape, I brought in a CD player to the KROQ studio and plugged it into the console where our reel to reel machine was connected. Then I played “Synchronicity” by The Police on the air.
I proudly announced, “For the first time ever on KROQ I’m going to play a song from a CD. Let me know if it sounds better than vinyl. This is Sting, Andy and Stewart on K- Rock!”
The hotline rang instantly. It was Scott and he was in full panic mode.
“What are you doing? You can’t broadcast a CD!” he yelled.
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because it gives off a square sine wave, that’s why.”
“And what does that do? Is it like a death ray? Will everyone tuned to the radio die?”
“No. But it doesn’t transmit correctly.”
“So can you hear it? How does it sound?”
Scott paused and listened for a second, “Actually it sounds really good.” he said.
“Awesome,” I replied, “because I’ve got “Rio” cued up on CD and that’s on next.”
“Nooooo...” said Scott as I hung up on him.
Six weeks later he installed CD players in both the on air studio and the production room.
Now Scott was tasked to find Rick and he went at it full force. Scott approached all of Rick’s friends to find any leads as to where Rick might be found and eventually located him in Orange County. He drove down that day and sat with Rick for a while and persuaded him to come back and start over.
Rick took Scott’s advice and returned to us with a new attitude and focused on not only the music but also on himself and trying to stay clean. I knew with him back in control, KROQ would continue to be the most influential music station in America.
The press reported on the entire situation, from KIQQ’s offer to Rick’s return and it became a running soap opera for several weeks in the trade publications and newspapers. On May 20, 1984 the LA Times printed the following;
‘The rumor mills have been working overtime with the news that KROQ’s Richard Blade, rock radio’s answer to Simon Le Bon, is leaving the station to take over the morning-drive deejay post at rival KIQQ…..with Rick Carrol’s return to the KROQ helm, Blade says he’s now ‘reconsidering everything.’
“KIQQ made a very generous offer.” Blade explained. “But Rick’s return is a very important factor for me, because I really have an enormous amount of respect and trust for his musical judgement and I think KROQ had floundered without him.”
BAM Magazine also picked up on the buzz;
Popular KROQ DJ Richard Blade was leaving that station to take over the morning slot at KIQQ, but now it appears that Blade is considering staying at the ROQ since programmer Rick Carroll is now back at the helm. Stay tuned.
Excited at what now lay ahead I passed on KIQQ’s offer and happily stayed at KROQ despite the fact it remained just me on the morning show.
Sadly just a few months after his return Rick started to relapse and again we felt his hand slip from the tiller. The irony was that most of the drugs that Rick was getting came from the record company promo people who hoped that Rick’s weakness for cocaine would help get their music played on KROQ. What they didn’t think through was that Rick and KROQ were virtually the only avenue to break their new acts.
It was a known fact that if we added a song to our playlist then within two weeks more than 200 other stations across America would also add that track because they all followed what KROQ did on air so closely. This could pave the way to landing a spot on MTV and the song breaking out and becoming a national and even international hit. So getting it on KROQ was their number one priority and the drugs that flowed into the station arrived in staggering quantities.
All those eagerly-offered drugs were destroying Rick, but without Rick there would be no avenue to get their music played. The promo guys put that consideration out of their minds because that was long-term. All they wanted was “this record on KROQ, right now.” It was “full speed ahead and damn the torpedoes.”
But this time the torpedoes hit quickly and Rick again left the station. His role became limited to “consultant” and when in 1986 Infinity Broadcasting offered Ken Roberts the biggest cash sum in history to buy a radio station, 45 million dollars for the station that he’d paid $2 million for just a decade before, we knew that Rick’s role would be, at best, diminished even further.
During all this uncertainty, in November 1986, another station came to me and asked me to move across-town and work for them, the legendary KMET.
However that station was now a shadow of its former self and was barely surviving in the ratings. The firm hand of their previous PD who had mocked me was long gone and it seemed like their current programming staff didn’t have a clue how to adapt to the rapidly changing world of rock.
I met with their latest PD and he told
me that KMET was still the music powerhouse in LA and what an honor it would be to work there. As I looked around this failing station I wondered about his questionable grasp on reality.
He told me he wanted to make the morning show hipper and expand from straight ahead rock to incorporate new music.
“But not too much new wave or punk,” he qualified.
So right off the bat I was being given limitations by someone who obviously had no clue as to what either new wave, punk or hip was or how the listening audience related to it. No wonder KMET had fallen so low.
Plus I had a strange feeling about that meeting; nothing seemed right. The money they were offering was great but there was something that didn’t sit well with me. Even though KROQ was now in a state of flux with new owners getting ready to come onboard I decided I would rather remain at KROQ and take my chances there than go against my gut and leave for a financial reward.
I turned KMET down, a station that just four years earlier I would have given anything to have worked at, and returned to the morning show on KROQ.
Two months later the news hit the press that KMET was changing format. They were firing all of their DJs, going to a smooth jazz mix and even dropping their famed call letters to become KTWV – The Wave. Had I made the move it would have marked a sudden end to my career.
There were only two possible scenarios as to what had happened. Either their owners had hoped that if I’d had joined KMET their ratings would have had a rapid resurgence and the rocker would have come roaring back or they had (more likely) already planned on the format change and simply wanted to take one last swipe at the station and the morning guy that had helped cause their demise. The fact that it would possibly destroy my career and devastate me personally didn’t bother the corporate suits one bit – in fact they were probably hoping to do exactly that in retribution for their failure.
World in My Eyes: The Autobiography Page 37