Earlier this week Steve Nelson posted 90-minutes of radio from REV-105 on Soundcloud. First of all, I’ve listened to this about three times through now and I smile the entire 90 minutes — like a full-on, teeth showing, eyes crinkling smile.

Today is, apparently, the 20th anniversary of the station going off the air. In my head, the death of REV-105 happened in the summer on a sultry day in August or something like that. In my memory I walked over to the gas station I worked at in short-sleeves and no jacket, escaping into cool air-conditioning, settled into the office with a Camel Light and the radio set to REV-105 like I always did. REV-105 was my only friend in that time between college and real life, when I felt like I was wasting away at a job that allowed me to smoke cigarettes and read books while occasionally taking money from people for gas and OK Sodas (just kidding, I think Sister #4 was the only person who consistently consumed OK Soda, she loved that shit).

It took me awhile to figure out something was up. I mean it was REV and they played whatever they wanted, but an hour of shitty heavy metal? When I realized something was wrong, I busted out the yellow pages and tried to find someone to call for some answers.

The yellow pages.

Someone I could call.

God, 1997 was like the Stone Ages.

Anyway, listening to the music and the DJs is like a happy field trip to nostalgialand, but it was a spoken word poem called “Indictment” by Nicole Blackman (it starts at about 56 minutes into the Soundcloud thing) that zoomed me back into my 20something GenX slacker days. I’m a forty-four-year-old spinster sitting here on a couch growing out my grey hair and nearly every line of this poem made me think, Yeah, yeah, that’s right. Yep. Mmmhmmm.

Here, let me post a bit of it that I transcribed and see if it doesn’t stir up a few things for my fellow GenX slackers:

We don’t live, we just scratch on day to day with nothing but matchbooks and sarcasm in our pockets. And all we’re waiting for is for something somewhere worth waiting for.

We shrug off labels and dismiss all the consultants who sell our rap sheets and buying patterns to Madison avenue all the better to sell us another chair at IKEA.

And we need something to kill the pain of all that nothing inside so we take an Advil because it goes down like an M&M and we understand that.

We asked for a real future and what did we get? Clear beer. But we fear that no one will ever understand us. We fear that all we are right now is all we’ll ever be. We fear that we don’t know who the middle class is anymore. We fear that pop culture is the only kind of culture we’re gonna have. We open a Victoria’s Secret catalog and think oh yeah, I’m always lounging around on the porch wearing a garter belt.

We fear hope because hope means doing something new. Our lifestyles have no life and no style. We want to stop reading magazines. Stop watching TV. Stop caring about Winona Ryder movies. But we’re addicted to the things we hate. We can’t stop going to brunch, start a band, defending Hillary. We never finish reading books.

That part about defending Hillary . . . really slayed me in light of the recent fascist takeover. And the whole thing makes me feel like a disaffected 20something all over again. I’m glad I’m not, that’s for damn sure, but it’s been really fun visiting again.

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And then there was that one time this winter that Mary Lucia said, “Jodi from Shakopee is a writer, so you know she has no money, but she’s renewing her membership” during Minnesota Public Radio’s membership drive.

And then there was this. . . prepare for the all caps (you have been warned):

I’M GONNA BE ON ART HOUNDS! (it’s Thursday morning at 8:15 a.m. and either 4:15 or 4:45 p.m. You can stream it from their site)

Art Hounds is MPR’s arts program that airs on Thursdays and asks the very happeningest, smartest, most-intelligent people to talk about arts events going on around the Twin Cities. I was there talking about Ander Monon’s Vanishing Point: Not a Memoir and his upcoming reading at Magers & Quinn on Tuesday (June 15, 7:30 p.m.)

Going to MPR was a trip. I love that radio station (home of The Current) and being in the building felt a little bit like a pilgrimage. Recording the short spot with Chris Roberts was a lot of fun. He is infinitely patient, which is good because I talk fast and even when I read “slow” he said I was breaking land-speed records. I can’t help it, I told him, I grew up in a house with three sisters if you didn’t talk fast you’d never get a chance to say a damn thing.

I also learned I have a bit of problem finding the line between faux enthusiasm and sarcasm.
“I don’t mean to sound sarcastic,” I said.
“Just try it like this,” he said, and then read the Art Hounds intro.
I read the line again trying to mimic the way words he emphasized.
“Yeah, you still sound sarcastic,” he said.
“Now you see why my acting career never took off.”
“You wanted to be an actor?” he asked.
“No,” I said, shaking my head.

Like I said, it was a lot of fun and made me feel like professional book-talking woman about town. There’s something really nice about having your voice validated, and that’s what it feels like.

Now, I just hope hope hope I don’t sound like an idiot. I know I used the word ‘explode’ about 12 times too often and I’m convinced that I added an S to Ander’s name (it’s Ander and not Anders and he even has a whole essay about it in the book). So, even if I said Umm 58 times you gotta tell me I sounded brilliant, okay?

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They had this great little feature they called “Evolution of the Revolution.” It was just short 15 to 30 second snippets of songs and it was all if you like X then you should check out Y.

I distinctly remember bombing around in my 1979 Chrysler Newport, Sugar, on a bright sunny afternoon bouncing from bookstore to record store with Rev105 cranked high. They did an Evolution of the Revolution spot. If you like Matthew Sweet then you should check out Big Star.

Because I was 23 and lived at home and worked at a gas station and had more discretionary income than ever, I said, “I love Matthew Sweet I am going to check out Big Star!” And the very next CD I purchased that day was “#1 Record/Radio City.” After I slid the CD into my discman (which was connected to Sugar’s stereo via one of those tape dealies), I popped open the liner notes.

Holy shit, I thought. Alex Chilton is a real person.

Having the Matthew Sweet comparison along with The Replacements’ golden seal of approval was all I needed to make Big Star my new favorite band. Everyone always assumed I discovered Big Star through The ‘Mats, but now, it was Matthew Sweet.

Since that day the band and I have had a long storied relationship a lot of which I don’t feel like rehashing. Suffice it to say one of my most vile ExBFs was nicknamed after a Big Star song.

Alex Chilton died tonight at the age of 59. You can never predict how the death of a celebrity is going to hit you. If you had asked me yesterday about how I’d take the death of Alex Chilton, I’d have told you that I would be saddened but not shaken.

I would have been wrong. Chilton’s death smacked me upside the head. Tears sprang to my eyes the moment the words Alex Chilton R.I.P. flitted across my screen. Reading the Westernerds’ reactions on Facebook (right now there are 16 different mini-tributes to Chilton on my homepage) makes the tears roll down my cheeks, and makes me want to hug every single one of them.

Thank you, Alex Chilton.

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and lucky for you people not so fortunate to live in the twin cities area, they have a live streaming version of the station on their web site. it’s been so long since i’ve been in love with radio, probably since the demise of Rev-105, it’s nice to be back. i’ve missed it.

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