Over the years, I’ve devoted far too much mental energy towards the machinations behind late night television talk shows. I watched with rapt attention when Johnny Carson unexpectedly abdicated his throne, and NBC was left to make a public choice between the mercurial genius who’d spent about a decade patiently auditioning for the job and the devoted company man who’d proven his willingness to subvert whatever edge he had in the name of crafting happily bland entertainment. I raced through Bill Carter’s book on the subject and found myself draw to the skillful HBO movie adaptation whenever I caught it on air. When Letterman’s CBS show debuted, I was a devote nightly viewer, and though every television opinion-maker railed against him in the early years, I watched Conan O’Brien’s new show with similar regularity.

The choice was perplexing at the time, but O’Brien proved to be an appropriate successor to Letterman in the Late Night slot. He brought the same ironic, absurdist bent, and, most crucially, a willingness to mock the conventions of television even as he was reveling in them. If anything, his early lack of critical and ratings success was a boon, instilling a certain go-for-broke freedom that mirrored the fearless indifference of the initial years of Letterman’s Late Night, where the disastrous reception of the previous morning show derivation of the program proved to all involved that cancellation was the worst that could happen. O’Brien soldiered on, simply putting what he found funny up for display and perusal and hoping the audience would eventually get the joke. There was a welcome rawness, a sense of unpredictability that’s almost completely absent from network television now. Even O’Brien’s current stint as host of The Tonight Show is buffed down to something pat and safe.

My fascination with that chunk of the programming day waned, but there are still remnants of that obsession scattered throughout the house, including up on the CD shelf. By 1997, four years into his run on Late Night, O’Brien had enough of a following that a major record label was interested in releasing an album under the brand of his show, collecting live music from the show that had developed a bit of a reputation for having a little cooler taste on that particular front. Live From 6A isn’t a great record, and it already seems like an ancient artifact as YouTube and the respective programs’ Websites have proven to be a far more efficient way to re-experience those sorts of performances. It is, however, an interesting little snapshot of that time, when Edwyn Collins, Jamiroquai and Soul Coughing could be considered good “gets” for such a compilation.

Most of the songs came directly from airings of Late Night, but one song was actually recorded at the soundcheck. Perhaps unsurprisingly, that’s the best track, bearing a different sort of energy, a verve that comes from playing a song because it sounds good, not because you’ve been allotted four-and-a-half minutes of network time to try and move some product. It even helps that the song is a cover.

Matthew Sweet, “Do Ya”

(Disclaimer: The compilation referenced above is apparently out of print, and the selection from said compilation is featured here with the understanding that it is unavailable for purchase in such a way that it would provide money to the artist or the songwriters. If someone with due authority to do so asks me to remove it, I will gladly comply. But come on. This CD probably resides in the dollar bin of most larger used shops.)