[an error occurred while processing this directive]
|
|
|
[an error occurred while processing this directive] |
|
|
|
Mojo & Betsy KRQ 93.7-FM READERS' PICK: Who'd a thunk it? In a business where longevity is measured in months, these two have been at it for years. There's nothing terribly new or unconventional about what they do; but what they do, they do well. Mixed in with the staples of drive-time radio--news, traffic, and weather reports--are regular features involving phone-booth gags, psychics, and contests. Oh, and there's Confession Wednesday, where people call in and admit to the most amazing things. (Apparently, these people think they can go on the air and tell Southern Arizona that they slept with their brother-in-law last weekend and no one will recognize their voices!) And we'll never forget their crowning moment, when Mojo & Betsy went to a live remote to rescue a little boy's dog, snatched and mistreated by a Simon Legree type. One of the truly great moments in local radio history. READERS' POLL RUNNER-UP: Mark & Brian, KKHG 104.1-FM A REAL SCREAM: Mike & Tyler, on KLPX 96.1-FM. Few realize that the reason former Panamanian strongman (and CIA employee) General Noriega finally surrendered was not, as was popularly supposed, the result of being bombarded by bad heavy-metal music, but rather to avoid hearing the moronic patter of the disc jockeys between songs. ("Hey, people, we just got through playin' another killer cut from Foreigner, and comin' up next, a kick-ass tune from Eddie Money! Aw-RIGHT!") The foregoing makes the continuing presence of KLPX's Mike Rapp and Tim Tyler on Tucson radio such an aural delight. This is the only music show we know of where the songs are actually an unwelcome interruption to the talk. Working with the deceptive ease and precise timing of a veteran vaudeville team, Mike and Tyler possess a gift truly rare in modern media: a sense of humor punctuated by an intelligent, self-deprecating wit. This does not, unfortunately, play well in Peoria. Indeed, many early-morning callers to the show seem unsettled by the elevated level of discourse, preferring that Mike and Tyler just "shut up and play some Skynnrd." (We hope they'll sleep in later, or tune in to someone else's show.) A REAL SCREAM: Upon first encountering Don Imus and his cohorts on the radio, one experiences emotions similar to those felt by people facing imminent death: anger, denial, bargaining, etc. Once past the initial shock, however, you'll be unable to listen to anything but Imus in the Morning. The show is crude, juvenile, misanthropic, racist, cruel, sophomoric, tedious, funny and thoroughly addicting. In many respects, the three people primarily responsible for the show--Imus, news director Charles McCord and producer Bernard McGurk--function as embodiments of Freudian theory. McCord, a born-again Christian, is the superego, constantly urging calm and conciliation; McGurk, a savage wit who delights in shocking, politically-incorrect statements, plays the role of the id; and Imus, of course, is the ego, fluctuating constantly between both poles. One of the show's attractions is its high-caliber guests: U.S. senators, governors, White House staffers, authors, news anchors, and Kinky Friedman. As an interviewer, Imus--a former Arizona resident--can be both thoughtful, well-read and articulate, as well as a shouting, profane, moronic lout. Mention must be made of Rob Barlett, who provides many of the show's song parodies; Fred Imus, Don's monstrous white-trash brother, constantly hawking jackets and salsa; and Mike Breen, the voice of the Knicks, who provides hilarious, homoerotic sports news every hour.
|
|
