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AM Radio In The 70s 10:13:24 11.43 PM
Manage episode 445068707 series 2800436
Το περιεχόμενο παρέχεται από το Gail Nobles. Όλο το περιεχόμενο podcast, συμπεριλαμβανομένων των επεισοδίων, των γραφικών και των περιγραφών podcast, μεταφορτώνεται και παρέχεται απευθείας από τον Gail Nobles ή τον συνεργάτη της πλατφόρμας podcast. Εάν πιστεύετε ότι κάποιος χρησιμοποιεί το έργο σας που προστατεύεται από πνευματικά δικαιώματα χωρίς την άδειά σας, μπορείτε να ακολουθήσετε τη διαδικασία που περιγράφεται εδώ https://el.player.fm/legal.
Intro music: Samplefocus.com
Usage: Standard license
Story and Cover art by: Gail Nobles
You didn’t think podcasting could have an AM radio sound, did you? Well, I suppose in this digital age, sound quality is king, but let’s not forget the charm of those crackly, static-filled airwaves we grew up with. Ah, the golden days of radio! There’s something about tuning in to your favorite station, praying that the signal comes in clear so you can enjoy the music without the distraction.
Once a radio station ceases to exist, it’s as if the very spirit of its history diappears. It’s left like a whisper in the wind—only lingering in the minds of those who once tuned in. Take WHIT, for instance. There I was, a little girl in the 70s, listening to what felt like magic coming from a car radio as I enjoyed a ride. I have a notion that it was an AM station, broadcasting from somewhere that felt like a world away.
I can almost hear the strains of Randy Newman’s “Short People” floating through the air, mixed with the smooth vibe of Paul McCartney’s “Silly Love Songs.” There was Charlie Dore crooning “Pilot of the Airwaves,” and Debbie Boone telling me, “You Light Up My Life.” How can I forget Melisa Manchester's “Don’t Cry Out Loud,” or Candi Staton’s “Run, Heart, Run Free”, and Yvonne Elliman’s “If I Can’t Have You.” Now, I don’t know if I heard all these hits on WHIT specifically, but the memories are neatly tucked away with that station.
And let’s not overlook the charismatic Wolfman Jack—how could we forget the man who owned the airwaves? He spun records with the enthusiasm only a true radio DJ could muster.
AM radio might have been fuzzier than a cat’s fur, and the static could drive you nuts, but there was a certain warmth to those imperfect sounds. The music managed to shine through the noise, and that’s what made it special. I didn’t care about the interference; I was too busy lost in the melodies that carried my dreams.
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Usage: Standard license
Story and Cover art by: Gail Nobles
You didn’t think podcasting could have an AM radio sound, did you? Well, I suppose in this digital age, sound quality is king, but let’s not forget the charm of those crackly, static-filled airwaves we grew up with. Ah, the golden days of radio! There’s something about tuning in to your favorite station, praying that the signal comes in clear so you can enjoy the music without the distraction.
Once a radio station ceases to exist, it’s as if the very spirit of its history diappears. It’s left like a whisper in the wind—only lingering in the minds of those who once tuned in. Take WHIT, for instance. There I was, a little girl in the 70s, listening to what felt like magic coming from a car radio as I enjoyed a ride. I have a notion that it was an AM station, broadcasting from somewhere that felt like a world away.
I can almost hear the strains of Randy Newman’s “Short People” floating through the air, mixed with the smooth vibe of Paul McCartney’s “Silly Love Songs.” There was Charlie Dore crooning “Pilot of the Airwaves,” and Debbie Boone telling me, “You Light Up My Life.” How can I forget Melisa Manchester's “Don’t Cry Out Loud,” or Candi Staton’s “Run, Heart, Run Free”, and Yvonne Elliman’s “If I Can’t Have You.” Now, I don’t know if I heard all these hits on WHIT specifically, but the memories are neatly tucked away with that station.
And let’s not overlook the charismatic Wolfman Jack—how could we forget the man who owned the airwaves? He spun records with the enthusiasm only a true radio DJ could muster.
AM radio might have been fuzzier than a cat’s fur, and the static could drive you nuts, but there was a certain warmth to those imperfect sounds. The music managed to shine through the noise, and that’s what made it special. I didn’t care about the interference; I was too busy lost in the melodies that carried my dreams.
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