One of the little intellectual games that naturally came up around the college radio station involved speculating about other eras of music and what it would’ve been like to be taking our turn on the left end of the dial in those times. What must it have been like to be there in the late seventies, for example, when the burst of punk and new wave brought amazing albums from the likes of the Ramones, Blondie, and Elvis Costello into the rotation on a regular basis? Or to be Music Director when the package from I.R.S. Records arrived with Murmur, the debut album from this odd little band called R.E.M.? By the time I first sat in the air chair, bands like Husker Du, The Smiths, and Talking Heads had already released their final albums. There was plenty of missed experiences to be nostalgic about.

Those thoughts passed quickly, though. I was always aware that I got my FCC operator’s license (speaking of things that don’t exist anymore) at a pretty good time. Many of the stalwart bands of college radio were maturing, but hadn’t yet reached the point where their music was getting stale. There was still room for new, unexpected bands to break through, and, all in all, it still felt like we were forging the path the way we wanted to instead of the way the labels thought would suit them best. I got to play great music on the radio and tell the listeners that it was brand new. To me, much of this is encapsulated in a simple thought: I got to be on the radio when XTC was still releasing new records.

The band’s first album came out in 1978, blazing with the sort of new wave morphing into post-punk sound that can be found on many of the greatest records of that time. There’s a caffeinated energy to it, a edgy, agitated sound that can almost make you nervous while you listen to it. By the time the late eighties rolled around, lead singer and chief songwriter Andy Partridge had long since taken the band off of the road due to his crippling stage fright, and XTC was, by necessity, purely a studio band. This suited Partridge, a devoted and insightful disciple of the Beatles at their most beautifully indulgent, creative and psychedelic. At least from the masterful Skylarking on (and distinctly earlier considering the band’s masquerade as The Dukes of Stratosphear, which seemed to be an overt method of giving themselves permission for sonic reinvention), the band seemed to be striving to see how lush and wondrous they could make their music, as if each song was a decadently rich cake layered with icing. These are the records I got to reach into the new music section of the station library and play.

There were a couple more XTC albums at the end of the decade, after they’d finally completed an ugly divorce from their hated record label. They’re good, occasionally great, but they also have the soft haze of afterthought about them. The music scene had moved on and forgotten about them, and the lingering tinnitus of the grunge years made it hard for listeners to rediscover them. It just made me all the more grateful that I had access to a microphone and transmitter tower when they were at one of their peaks.

XTC, “My Bird Performs”

(Disclaimer: The album that houses this song seems to be out of print on CD, although Amazon seems to have cassette copies available for purchase. It can also be obtained as a digital purchase, but that falls under The Quirk Rule in these here parts. Considering Andy Partridge probably still has no warm thoughts for the label that would reap the proceeds from such a transaction, I feel even better about offering the song here. That noted, should anyone with due authority to request its removal contact me in a huff or, preferably, with understanding politeness, I will gladly comply as see to it that it disappears from my corner of the Interweb.)