What evil lurks…

  • by Drew

My love of Old Time Radio began with The Shadow. Back in my college radio days I got on some mailing lists with catalogs of esoteric recordings. These were back of ‘zine catalogs, mouse type on a single photocopied page with handwritten corrections, send a SASE for a copy of the pricelist kind of things. Within a year or two of my dawning interest, all of this back page stuff pretty much disappeared along with the ‘zines, moving onto the Internet. Sure, it was the early days, but it wouldn’t be long before those types of classified ad pricelists by mail were a thing of the past.

Anyway, in one of these catalogs I found a couple of inexpensive cassettes that I bought for long drives, going to gigs or back and forth between Boston and New York. It was the beginning of an insane collection, but most things big have to start out small…or, at least less big.

One tape I got was War of the Worlds. The other had a couple episodes of the Shadow. Classic, early episodes after the Shadow show format changed from a Tale From the Crypt style show to the more recognizable Lamont Cranston, man about town, version. The first season of Lamont Cranston as the shadow starred Orson Welles. And it was magnificent. Truly, truly, like a couple of Ambersons.

It was dark and moody and less comic-booky than the later seasons. In ran up through the 50s, so there was plenty of time for evolution. In fact, some of the later seasons, long after Welles left the show, were among the most enjoyable to listen to. They were more polished and often better written, if a bit safer or tamer. Radio seemed to go tame and lose a lot of its edge after World War Two. The same goes for movies and even a lot of music, I think. The woo hoo 50s really did end up begging for the 60s.

But in the late 30s, the world was on the verge of massive conflict and the tense energy pervaded all media. Thus, when I first heard the Shadow some 14 years ago, hissing out of the cassette player in my car, it was truly extraordinary. Radio show sponsors in those days were coal and cigarette companies, shaving cream and hair tonic peddlers. Latter day phisoderm and little blue pill merchants, maybe, but who cares. And a couple years later, they’d start asking all good Americans to buy War Bonds and follow the rationing rules.

Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?

The Shadow knows. Ha ha ha ha ha!

[brought to you by Pennsylvania’s finest anthracite, Blue Coal]

Crosstown Traffic

  • by Drew

Old Time Radio is a favorite subject of mine, and an enjoyable pastime that almost no one seems to share with me. Nevertheless, for me, Old Time Radio and Orson Welles go hand in hand. It should come as no surprise, really. I mean, the War of the Worlds Halloween prank gone wrong is a well-enough-known story, and the tales are true.

A number of people tuning in late to the program did not hear the disclaimer at the beginning and believed it was a real news broadcast. This may sound far-fetched today, but if you listen to a lot of Old Time Radio, you can see (or hear) how the Mercury Theater actors gave a performance that sounded like the standard radio fare of the day, and thus, sounded “real.”

But the Mercury Theater on air was only one of the many radio programs Orson Welles was involved with. In fact, he was so in demand as a radio actor that he had trouble travelling across Manhattan from one radio broadcast station to another. Taxis couldn’t cut through NYC traffic fast enough for him to make all the live broadcasts he wanted to take part in.

Then he discovered a loophole in city traffic laws. It seems you didn’t have to be sick to hire an ambulance. So he traveled about the city in a private ambulance, sirens blaring, from appointment to appointment.

Wouldn’t you love to be a cop pulling that dude over.

Cop: What do you mean you’re not sick?
Orson: I’m a famous radio performer going to work.
Cop: You what?!?!
Orson: Just kidding, I just read a some kick ass colonix reviews and think I should check it out before I start gaining weight in my forties and max out at 350 pounds.
Cop: Carry on, chubby.

Bang!!!

  • by Drew

(cue zither music)
That’s the shot that killed Harry Lime, as those of you who saw the movie The Third Man know…

Ah, another old time radio treat I’ve been enjoying of late. The Lives of Harry Lime, a show Orson Welles did for a couple of seasons…somewhat after his Citizen Kane/Shadow prime, but long before his fat burner Touch of Evil days.

First of all, if you haven’t seen The Third Man, get off your butt and Netflix that baby. It’s a classic. Orson makes a late and magnificent appearance in the flick, but Joseph Cotten as the confused American in Vienna trying to figure out what happened to his old roommate is pure gold. This film had to be one of Hitchcock’s favorites.

This particular radio show ran from 1951-52, following the film’s release in 1949. The great thing (and I admit this may sound like a plot spoiler, but really, are you going to take my advice and see this wonderful film?) is that Harry Lime is a dead man in The Third Man. Yup. Dead as a doornail. So, this radio show, conceived after Graham Greene’s novel and screenplay, all takes place before the events of the film. How swell can you get?

OTR

  • by Drew

Seriously? You’ve never listened to Old Time Radio? What about Abbott and Costello, Who’s on First. That’s a Camel cigarettes classic. And the Shadow…you’ve never heard the Shadow? Holy crap, man, those old Orson Welles episodes were legendary.

I love the old radio shows. There’s something so magical about radio. For decades, radio ruled. Most shows had one sponsor, sometimes with an addition public service announcement. Maybe a call to all Americans to consider investing in War Bonds (later Savings Bonds). Great stuff, kids. Great stuff.

Of course, today, we’d probably have a variety show hosted by Tonya Harding and Ashlee Simpson, with guest interviewer Courtney Love sitting down with Norman Mailer. It would be sponsored by some acne serum or the 2 volume DVD set, Best of Fox Reality Television from the last 20 years (and the second disc is mostly previews for upcoming new Fox Reality shows).

Yeah, we’d pretty much screw it up. Considering the recent rash of Hollywood remakes of everything from Halloween to The In-Laws to Pelham 123 to The Bad News Bears to Fame to the Manchurian Candidate… Yeah, let’s keep the idiot media-makers as far away from these classics as possible. We can just enjoy them with earbuds. Shhh. Don’t tell.

On the Road…Again…Revisited, with baggage

  • by Drew

I wonder how secure these things are (yes I’m still on the RV kick). I mean, with the rock and roll vein pulsing, I think of how secure a van usually is, especially considering having to leave it in public outdoor space on a regular basis. I mean, maybe it’s not perfect, but they have decent metal doors and all that.

What about these RVs? I mean, do they have, like, school bus doors? Those things wouldn’t keep out a 7th grader with a flat head screwdriver and a failing grade in Shop Class. And I’m reminded of those guys I met way back in the day who drove around in a retired school bus they’d painted psychedelic colors. They had a story about driving off with that back emergency exit door open, and half their gear ended up on the road. They told us the story when we asked why they’d welded the thing shut.

I hope they had some of that monkey-proof Samsonite luggage. Do they make monkey proof gig bags?

Yeah, they were pretty much schmucks.

On the Road

  • by Drew

I want a van. I feel like I’ve always wanted a van. And not some lame ass soccer mom mini van. Calling such a contraption a van should be illegal. I’m talking a cargo van with the back seat pulled out to make room for gear. I think it’s the almost-rcok star in me that loves the 4 wheel road asphalt camels with covered windows.

I’m fascinated by RVs and always hesitate when I get one of those four color brochures in the mail. I can just see myself tooling around in a motorhome, a guitar in the back with a couple bags of beef jerky, a jug of cheap red, and a notebook or two.

Of course, someone else can take care of emptying the chemical toilet tank.

Rock and roll, baby.

Billboard Top 40 Pharma

  • by Drew

Ok, in addition to being annoyed by self proclaimed experts and fake experts, I am really, really annoyed by the crossover specialists. Here I’m thinking of people who have some degree of success in one area, often the music business, and then decide that they are somehow qualified to be fashion designers, fragrance creators, jewelry artists, or furniture makers.

If you can sing and you were lucky enough to get a record deal, with or without American Idol, can’t you just leave it at that? Do you really need to sell me an overpriced hoodie at Kohls? Do you really need to push an ottoman from Raymour and Flanigans with Your Name Collection on the pillowcase tag? Do you really need to suggest that I should try to smell like something that you pretend is what you smell like even though we both know damned well that you wouldn’t be caught dead wearing that chamomile and french vanilla stink water?

Do you remember the good old days when the half talents on American Idol were just competing for a chance to sing other people’s music in the dictated genre for a pittance? Look to the future when they’ll be singing their hearts out for a chance to do the next Stimerex ES jingle or P&G radio spot…I mean, if they still have radio.

btw

  • by Drew

With all the icky no-sleep sickness going on during the holidays I forgot to mention Christmas. It was a swell ride. I mean, no orlando vacation in my stocking or anything, but I have no complaints. I got all my favorite stuff, including some tasty treats, especially my traditional bag of pistachio nuts. The best part for me was the Christmas Story-esque ruse we played…Hey look, there seems to be one more present back there.

Instead og a BB gun, though, we had a ball of string for the boys to follow down into the basement. At the end of the trail was a shiny new electric guitar with 10 watt amp and junior ludwig 5 piece drum kit. That’s right, I’m getting the band together with my boys. Hey, at 4 and 7 they’re totally ready to rock.

And while they start learning the basics, I have a bad little drum kit to bang on. Sweet.

That’s Okay…

  • by Drew

“It’s colder in this house than anywhere in Boston. It’s okay, Christmas means little to me.”

That’s a lyric from an old Fuzzy song – pretty close anyway. Man, I used to love Fuzzy, even shared the stage with them one time. I’m sure I remember it far better than they do.

The song just popped into my head and set me on another one of those thought-spirals that go nowhere, but oh, what a ride. I was thinking about some of the apartments I lived in, particularly back in the day, back in Boston. I think of these relatively small houses. Or rather, decent sized houses, but with room after room. I mean, you could really cram a lot of rooms into one of those houses. And you could cram a lot of people and stuff in, too. Built-in shelves and such helped in that you needed less furniture, but there was just so much less wasted space. seriously.

I love my house. I really do. And the addition upstairs means we have a bunch of smaller rooms instead of two big ones. More nooks and crannies, too. And though it is pretty new construction, I feel that it is reasonably unpretentious. I would like a cooler kitchen, and if ever we renovate, that is where I would be willing to kick it up. Nicer, solid surface counter tops instead of laminate. Probably not copper kitchen sinks or convection ovens in our future, but some nice granite or marble, maybe. I mean, it is the room we spend the most time in.

But I think about some of those tight little apartments. Those little spaces I crammed so much into. White walls covered with the glossy printed temporary colors of my presence. Surround sound was not really necessary. Big screens…didn’t need one of those either. Different time, different priorities. No kids. But…not so bad, either.

So, Fuzzy. I’ve always loved Christmas, but it means more to me now than ever before. Kids and a fire in the stove, and no Boston… It’s not an anti-Christmas song, by the way. At least, it seems much more of a break up song. A you-broke-my-heart-and-even-though-I’m-lonely-on-Christmas-I’m-going-to-deny-it-and-be-alright. It walks a tightrope between depressing and empowering. Remember when pop songs could do that?

“Silent night and all the lights are low…”

Tone

  • by Drew

Look, dude, I know she looks like she lives her life on a Life Fitness treadmill, doing the old binge and purge and getting regular high colonics, but Jessica Simpson is a lowlife. She is a dim bulb with no morals and will happily go ho whenever necessary to boost her little blond ego. Deal with it.

Seriously. But this gives rise to another topic. Tone. Not muscle tone. Musical tone. Rock and roll tone. Read the guitar mags and it is all they talk about. Of course, in the guitar mags, tone is defined by the core readership. And if you haven’t ever been a reader of guitar mags you may not realize that 9 out of 10 guitar mag readers are metal-heads. So, the tone discussed in these pubs is not necessarily the tone that everyone would be interested in. For example, I am not so into the metal-head tone most of the time.

I have found the tone I love, though. My new Taylor acoustic. Holy geez, I’m in love. It was cheap, by Taylor standards, but man, what a beauty. It’s a grand auditorium style…quieter and less bass-thumpy than pretty much any other guitar I’ve ever played. Great for finger picking and mid-range noodling. Yup. I’m a-lovin’ it baby.

© 2026 Drew Bancroft. All rights reserved. Totally.