Devil May Care

10/25/1996

Welcome to my nightmare…I think you’re gonna like it…I think you’re gona find you belong…

(If you want to be mad as hell, skip to the last line of this Editorial.  The rest is just filler to get me there!)

That is the theme…however weak…of this week’s magazine:  The Armageddon Issue.  Wouldn’t it be funny if the world really did end with the publication of this week’s Network 40? Okay, funny might not be the appropriate word, but you get my drift.

We initially asked a bunch of radio executives what song they’d like to be listening to when the world ended.  Programmers showed a broad dichotomy.  You can see their responses range from A to Z with no particular format or pattern discernable.  It didn’t work with promotion people.  Are any of us surprised that they would choose records they are currently working?  Of course, we know that’s bullshit.  If the world was truly ending…and they absolutely, positively knew it…their choices would be a lot different. But being promotion people in volatile positions with hair-trigger presidents watching for slipups and virulent managers waiting to jump on the phone for the most obscure reason, they opt for the easy way out.

If the world really did end, how many promotion people would be ecstatic?  Half? One-quarter?  It’s probably even money that the ones working weak records would welcome the opportunity to start a new project with the Big Guy in the sky.  But what about those with the hits?  Would they be making deals with the devil for “…just one more week?”

It would almost be worth having the world end this week to witness the action.  Can’t you just picture Charlie Walk working the Devil?

“Come on, Red, you can’t take me out now.  I’ve got Barbra Streisand getting top requests at WPLJ.  We’re going for adds next week.”

The Devil would lean back in his chair and light a big cigar.  “Charlie, it’s toast.”

“Don’t tell me it’s over, man.  It’s not over until I say it’s over.  I need one more week.  Give me a week and I promise I’ll make it up to you.  How about front row seats to the Journey tour?”

The Devil would shake his head and maybe scratch the horns that stick out between the pointed ears.  “I already got tickets.  Irving Azoff gets me everything I need from the record business.  He owes me from way back.  Besides, Charlie, you don’t’ have anything to bargain with.  You already promised me your soul last year for Sophie B. Hawkins.”

And Charlie Walk wouldn’t be the only one.  Programmers wouldn’t be immune.  Michael Martin would be begging as well. 

“Devilman, you’ve got to give me one more trend, man.  I’m right on KMEL’s tail, no offense, and I know I can beat them in the next book.”

The Devil would turn his back.  “Michelle promised to play me the new E40 mixes if I end it now.”

And then you have some who would put it into perspective.  Andrea Ganis would probably be the most calm.

“I don’t know why I’m talking to you, Devil, You’ve got no weight.”

“No weight,” The Devil would retort, “but a lot of heat.”

“I’m glad it’s ending,” Andrea would sigh, “even if it means I won’t get my picture in Network 40 again when I’m most added for Seal.  By the way, have you seen Danny Buch?’

“He’s downstairs being fitted for a red suit.”

Andrea would gasp.  “Danny’s going to hell?”

“Just as a loaner.  A lot of programmers believe hell would be spending a week locked up in a room with just Danny…and we certainly want to accommodate them.”

“So it’s really over?”  Andrea would ask.

“Afraid so,” The Devil would say.

“At least the Yankees won’t lose the Series to the Braves.”

“You know, I’m a Yankee fan,” the Devil would share.

“Of course,” Andrea would answer, “that goes without saying.  Besides, you have to know that my father took me to see ‘Damn Yankees’ when I was a kid.”

“Steinbrenner talked to God yesterday,” the Devil would say.  “The Big Guy­­—that’s God I’m talking about—told George He would end it all to keep the Yankees from losing the World Series.  Of course, George agreed to go to hell in the process.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, but it really didn’t matter.  I already had him for the Danny Tartabull deal.”

Through it all, Charlie Minor would be floating back and forth on a cloud shaped like a Rolls Royce.

“Hey, buddies,” Charlie would be calling, “y’all come on up.  The stations up here add everything.  And there’s no BDS.”

Andrea would turn to the Devil with a surprised look on her face.  “Charlie’s up there?”

The devil would shrug.  “I had him for a while, but you know Charlie.  He talked his way right up to the front row.”

No matter what the scene, come Judgment Day, I don’t want to be in line behind anyone in our business.  Can you imagine how long it would take if they separated us into groups depending on who we were on earth?  Just standing in that promotion line would take an eternity.

Guys would be cutting deals.  Of course, we would all have to make deals with the Devil just to get in the “good” line.  I’m telling you, there would be a lot of bitching when the movers and shakers of our world found out they didn’t have an “all access” pass.

Think about it. AIR would be busy, trying out excuses on angels to see if they would fly past the Big Guy.  McClusky would be representing a bunch of programmers to see if he could bring them all in as a group.

And those of us in Maui wouldn’t be affected because we are already in paradise…where I am as you read this.

Aloha.