How many times have you heard it said: “Look at these kids today, always glued to their smart phones,” followed by frowns of adult disapproval? Well, if we adults of a certain age are honest, we must admit that we were no different. The only difference is that the “iPhones” of our day were transistor radios.
It might be hard for those who never lived during a time when music wasn’t portable to imagine what that was like. The family radio was likely in your kitchen or living room, and you listened to your Mom & Dad’s music. (Or, when you listened to your music, they told you to “turn that darn thing down!”) Perhaps you learned your dance moves watching American Bandstand, Shindig, and Hullabaloo on your black and white TV, but you sure didn’t have anyone to dance with. Or maybe you scraped up enough money to buy some 45s, but most of us couldn’t afford that every time a new hit song came along.
Then came the transistor radio and our young lives changed forever. For the first time, we could take our music wherever we went, listen to whatever radio station we wanted, and play the “darn thing” as loud as we wanted. Imagine our joy the first time we could dance on the beach with our friends, sing along to the “Top 40” on the school bus, and listen to our favorite DJ’s while riding our bikes.
WKBW was my favorite radio station. I listened to legendary Buffalo DJ’s like Sandy Beach in the morning, Danny Neaverth in the afternoon, and the dreamy Tommy Shannon in the evening. WKBW knew its young audience well, giving away free concert tickets, as well as thousands of hit singles and record albums, and funny, kitschy things like the rubber duck I won for saying “Peachy Sandy Beachy, lucky rubber ducky” three times without screwing it up.
The contests were fun, but it was the music of our day that kept our radios glued to our ears. The Beatles, Rolling Stones, Kinks and other members of the “British Invasion” changed the face of rock and roll for us, while Motown bands like the Temptations and the Four Tops moved us with their beat. The Beach Boys’ surf music helped us party by the lake in the summer, and later The Doors’ psychedelic sound was the backdrop of dorm parties during Buffalo’s long, cold winters.
The music spoke to us in ways our parents, teachers and other adults could not. And like every generation of teenagers before and after ours, we believed our music was far superior, truly unique, and more profound, than any music that came before it.
Which caused me to wonder: why does every generation think that the music they listened to as teenagers was the best ever? Was the music really that good, or did it just seem that good because we were highly impressionable teenagers? If so, why, so many years later, is it still the music that hits you in your emotional center like the smell of grandma’s warm bread? Why do we remember all the lyrics of those old songs decades later? And why do we know instantly, after hearing just three opening notes, what song we’re about to hear?
Perhaps it is because popular music speaks to the issues most on teenagers’ minds. Love and heartache. Sex and romance. Friendship and betrayal. Rebellion. Popular music helps each generation form a unique identity, different from their parents’, and helps decode the mysteries and challenges they are facing at the time. To my teenage self, the lyrics written by John Lennon, Stephen Stills, Carole King, and Paul Simon sounded like the life lessons I needed to navigate the adult world. Every successful musical artist that has followed has figured this out.
Teenagers need their pop music more than anyone else. My little transistor radio was a constant companion during those years, and I relied on WKBW’s disc jockeys to keep me in touch with the hot sounds of the day. Today’s teenagers can listen to their favorite artists and songs any time they want, able to choose among thousands of options, but it seems like that freedom comes at the cost of having all your friends know your local station’s “heavy rotation playlist,” or the nationwide broadcast of the weekly Top 40 countdown.
I would love to hear your thoughts on the music of your generation, and what it meant to you. And tell me, please, about the portable music device (Boom Box? Walkman? iPod?) that made a difference in your life. I look forward to reading your comments.
Moxie Gardiner is a writer and gardener who grew up on the West Side of Buffalo, NY. In a previous life she was a journalist, magazine editor, speech writer, and policy wonk. Back in the day she made three solo parachute jumps, went on a test flight in an F-15 fighter jet, and crawled through mud pits at the Jungle Operations Training Course in Panama. She now meditates and practices yoga. She is almost ready to publish her first novel, set in Buffalo.