Echoes
For "Uncle Joe Benson," and a reverie of KLOS Los Angeles in the 1980's.
It is the spring of 1983 and I am in the west end of the San Fernando Valley in Southern California during the last months of my senior year. My best mate, Keith, occasionally picks me up in his 1969 Chevy Camaro, his pride and joy, for school in the cool, cloudless mornings. By mid-day, it’s in the 80’s and we shed the sweatshirts, zip-up hoodies and other garments for the standard of So. Cal. high school wear, the t-shirt and jeans or “cords.”
Southern California in the 1980’s was a sun-drenched dream, a Fitzgerald-like creation where possibility and promise were just up around the next turn, and where the shimmering lights, beautiful girls and well-springs of hope were all at our fingertips. It was a dream, made more manifest by the soundtrack that underpinned all of it, Rock Radio KLOS, Los Angeles.
As the sun is coming up, Keith and I are listening to the radio. We don’t stop and think about it, it’s just natural to get in the car and tune in KLOS, back when we couldn’t just call up our favorite song. Back when DJ’s were cherished family members who guided us through music we loved or hated, but to which we were never indifferent. Along with its chief competitor in those days, KMET, KLOS, Rock Radio, featured DJ’s nearly as famous as the music they spun for our listening pleasure. We pulled up to school with ‘Sweet Emotion’ by Aerosmith blasting through the rolled down windows. Graduation was coming. Change was coming, and none of us knew fully what was just ahead for our lives, so we cherished now and lived in this moment as only teenagers can really do.
There are so many fine and terrible memories I have of the 1980’s. It was a time of real transformation for my whole family, for my friends and for me. I would meet the love of my life in 1984 at Los Angeles Pierce College where Keith and I continued our tradition of using his car for transport because the Volkswagen I owned rarely started up in the mornings. My parents would finally sever their troubled marriage, and Keith would eventually go off to join the Marines while I left California for college in Maryland, only to return after a bout of mononucleosis and some real soul searching, an adolescent storm whose damage left lasting impacts on me, friends and family.
And I found a real love for radio. I would spend evenings in bed trying to tune in the clear spring and summer night waves of far-away stations who generated enough power to make it all the way to the west coast. I picked up KOA in Denver, CO and I picked up a New Mexico station as well as KCBS in San Francisco. But it was KLOS, the local giant of rock music that was the underlying hum and hymn to that time. From the late Bob Coburn’s program “Rockline,” featuring interviews with all of the greatest artists of the time, to the treasured “Uncle” Joe Benson’s “The 7th Day,” during which Joe would play 7 albums in their entirety and talk about the production of the record, why it was important and its impact. I can hear him now…
The last chords of “Duke’s End” sound through the speakers, and then there is a lot of well-timed silence as I drive down Victory Boulevard toward home. For what seems a moment of digestion, a chance to let the music sink in, the seconds of silence are broken by Joe’s deep, rich and resonant voice, which softly, nearly indistinguishably gravels out…. “Rock radio….. KLOS. That’s Duke’s End, song 12 and the last song on Genesis 1980 album, “Duke.” David Henschel produced the album along with band members Phil Collins, Mike Rutherford and Tony Banks. It’s the band’s 10th album and marks a critical moment for the once deeply rooted progressive rock act as they successfully transitioned to a band that mixed their progressive past with their more commercially accessible music like “Turn it on Again,” and “Misunderstanding….”
Joe Benson passed away at 76-years old from complications of Parkinson’s disease last week. I was never aware of his age, but I have to admit that I’m most surprised that “Uncle Joe” as we knew him was in his 30’s when he was the soundtrack of our Sunday nights in the 80’s. Joe, and really all of those DJ’s felt as close to us as did the music they shepherded us through. And in a time of real turmoil for me, his was a soothing and calming presence for which I’m forever grateful.
There’s probably a lot to like about music services like Amazon or Spotify. But there’s a lot to be missed as well. DJ’s who made connections with their audience, playing music that was creative and clear, experimental and adventurous, are now mostly a part of history and they’re dreadfully missed. Yes, KLOS soldiers on and the DJ’s there are all good folks—but it’s “classic rock” now. We took it for granted, as we do so many parts of our lives that simply fall behind us as we climb to the next great thing.
How did we lose what was ineffably and brilliantly such an important part of our lives? Joy, celebration, pensive moments and love were all at our fingertips and we allowed it to slip away in favor of a distant dream where we just get too much of what we want, so we take it for granted as well. Fitzgerald understood. Music on demand isn’t a challenge, and doesn’t, in fact, demand anything from us. If we ourselves are adventurous, we’re willing to try new music and explore it. More often than not, though—we listen to what we know. But in those days, we listened to voices who became part of us and shared with us. “Listen. You might like this. You might think it’s pretty good….”
Joe Benson was one of those great voices, and a reminder to me of a time in my life that was as tremendous and troubling as adolescence can be. And I didn’t really need therapy, then. I had Rock Radio, and that did the trick.
Godspeed and Peace, Joe. You and your art are missed.
I too cruised the SFV listing to KLOS Fraser Smith mornings " Too hip gotta go" and The mighty Jim Ladd.
Great read Mark!
MB the MD of AC
Mark, beautifully eulogized! I grew up in southern California at that time, also my teen years. My oldest brother listened to KLOS, with an occasional visit to KMET. [I remember the stickers on the stationwagon.] Wanting to be like my big brother, I also tuned in. Uncle Joe Benson had a way of making you feel like he was sharing something with you. You were participating by listening. Not so much like Dr. Demento who was clearly just performing. No offense to Demento and his esoteric Sunday evening program.