“When I was a little boy, I told my dad, ‘When I grow up, I want to be a musician.’ My dad said: ‘You can’t do both, Son.'” - Chet Atkins
When I was in eighth and ninth grades, my mind was occupied by three main categories, music, sports and girls. I guess that didn't change through high school, but right now I'm talking about eighth and ninth grades.
Like every other kid then, I got music wherever I could. The primary source was Top-40 radio, a staple for any teen of that era. If I got a little money somehow, I bought albums. Since my pockets were usually bare, I didn't purchase many. FM radio was new on the scene circa 1972, but there weren't many choices, especially out in the hinterlands of rural Missouri. If you could pick up a station from somewhere, what it was broadcasting probably wasn't of much interest to a 14-year old. It was hard for a kid to hear anything that was a little daring, a little edgy, a little rebellious. There was one good source for the determined and music obsessed, though, a late-night AM broadcast called Beaker Street on station KAAY in Little Rock, Arkansas.
The show aired six-nights a week from 11:00 pm to 2:00 am. The airwaves were clear enough at that time of night for us to be able to pick up the signal from Little Rock, 460 miles away. Little Rock seemed like a far off land that I'd probably never go to like London or Antartica. It seemed exotic.
Beaker Street was a show hosted by a DJ named Clyde Clifford who sounded like he was perhaps the coolest guy to ever live. He was mellow and groovy in a non-dorky way and the complete opposite of the fast-talking, flippy dippy Top-40 DJs we were used to. In those days, a show like Clyde's would have been called “Underground Radio.” This was before the days of heavy formatting and Clyde's show had no format whatsoever except to play exactly what he felt like spinning. In his laid back manner he'd play cuts by artists that we only vaguely knew or had never heard of. To experience the show was like being over at some hip older guys house who knew what was cool and was playing cuts from his personal record collection to help educate you. Maybe it sounds ordinary now, but it was revolutionary at the time.
Clyde cultivated a mysterious vibe with the show, playing spacey, twilight-y sounds in the background when he was talking in between songs. It was captivating and alluring for young teen boys. I stayed up late as often as possible and listened on my little transistor radio until I'd drift off to sleep to the sounds of maybe Nights in White Satin or some such. My buddies and I were disciples. We'd talk each day at school about what we'd heard the night before. Maybe someone had heard something new that the others had missed. Be listening.
One cut that Clyde played often was by a folkie named Jaime Brockett called Legend of the USS Titanic. Oh, we loved it. It was 13:30 minutes long and full of references we had to try and figure out.
And then there was Black Oak Arkansas. They were a ragtag bunch of hillbilly hippies from, you guessed it, Black Oak Arkansas. They played a mongrel brand of rock, part Stones, part Levon Helm, part Howlin' Wolf. They were fronted by the inimitable Jim Dandy Mangrum, shirtless in skintight white pants, knee high moccasin boots, long blond hair playing a washboard and singing like a cross between a wolverine in a bear trap and a bullfrog caught under a wheel. He was a forerunner of frontmen to come. If it weren't for Jim Dandy there would have never been a David Lee Roth. Black Oak's music was guaranteed to send into orbit any adult over the age of 30. We LOVED them! Thanks to their relentless touring and Clyde Clifford's promotion they were HUGE through middle America. They were the second concert I ever attended. They played the Pershing Arena on our town's college campus. It's indelible in my memory.
A song that introduced most of us to them was called Lord Have Mercy on My Soul. It was heavily requested and Clyde played it often. It was full of intrigue and curious references that we all tried to determine the meanings of. What did this mean? What did that mean? It was way more interesting than trying to solve algebra problems.
So, that was KAAY radio and Beaker Street in the early 70s, trailblazing and legendary. Thank you Clyde Clifford and goodnight.