When I was 8-years-old, my parents and I rode in the car as “Yesterday” came over the airwaves. My mother turned it up and slyly looked over at my father while I watched in the back seat. “Who sings this song, Adam?” she asked. “The Beatles,” I responded.

Then came the party trick. “Yes, but which Beatle?” She knew I had the correct answer; we’d discovered this the other day.



“Paul McCartney,” I said, almost as proud as she was.



Thus were the teachings of 97.3FM KBSG, the radio station that boasted “Good Times, Great Oldies.” I’d been listening for as long as I could remember, and the tones and melodies were by then irretrievably burned in my mind.



Fast forward to the present. As I meet with Fastlane Phillips, the former long-time DJ of KBSG, it is to discuss a rather worrisome thought of mine: the death of the oldies. Or, rather, the death of them as we know it. You see, my life as it relates to music was built on a firm foundation of doo wop and Motown; of Brill Building and girl groups. As I grew older, my father led me into the wilderness of classic rock and, from there, a launch pad into alternative rock. While these dalliances have been rewarding, it was with a sense of guilt that I returned to 97.3FM late last year to find the station had flipped to talk radio.

As absurd as it seems, I felt that if I had only stuck with it, KBSG would still be alive.

“The saddest part about it,” says Phillips, “is that we never got to say goodbye to our audience.”



People who make a living in radio are well aware that when they leave, there’s just no time to say goodbye. In KBSG’s wake, another station rose to take the reins. 104.5FM KMCQ came on the air two weeks after the demise of KBSG and, for a while, it seemed to play the same music that I heard in my childhood. Unfortunately, 104.5FM soon proved to be a kind of cold comfort. The selection began to lurch forward, featuring mainly music from the mid-to-late ‘70s. In talking with Phillips, I learn that 104.5FM is a “place-marker.” It exists only because something has to be on the radio. The station itself is currently up for sale. That accounts for its poor programming and slight selection—no one is there.



This process of lurching forward, this evolution of the oldies, is now clearly presenting itself. Stations are moving away from the late ‘50s and early ‘60s, focusing mostly on the 70’s and early 80’s. Most of this has to do with the Baby Boomers getting older and the folks of Generation X coming of age.



Despite these recent changes, radio has remained relatively unaffected by accelerated culture, a powerful force in recent years. Consider, for example, Nick at Nite: When I was a child, I could tune in and watch The Honeymooners or I Love Lucy. Now, 15 years later, I have the pleasure of watching George Lopez and reminiscing over … what? That’s an evolutionary leap of about 50 years in 15 years. It’s hard to figure whom the audience for such a leap would be.



Radio, however, has managed to clutch its past very tightly, slowing this cultural acceleration—at least until the tension causes it to snap forward at an alarming rate.

Fastlane Phillips remains optimistic; he’s sure that it won’t be long now before we see a resurgence of oldies radio. While I agree, my optimism comes with the uncomfortable realization that, though oldies radio may return, it will be forever changed. And it’s only a matter of time before the ‘80s dominate the airwaves, and then it will be too late. Truly gorgeous music — Frankie Valli, the Vogues, the Shangri-La’s, et al — will slip away into the ether.



Perhaps my fears are childish or even selfish. It’s true, after all, that this music can be readily purchased on compilation sets and found on Internet radio. But these avenues effectively drive underground what was once readily available to the masses.



Such is the nature of music, I suppose. It’s in a constant state of flux, the “oldies” in particular being a rather nebulous concept by design. One can only take comfort in the thought that, wherever these songs may go, they will remain inextricably tied to our hearts and our minds.



This is the wonder of music: no matter how far we run, it remains forever by our sides.