Radio ... and Me - 3

Rock ‘n’ roll and radio were made for each other.
In the early 1950s, both were mired in the 'doldrums.'
The smooth, tightly-crafted 'big-band' music of the 1940s was getting stale.
Radio -- reeling from heavy competition by ‘television’ -- was an ‘old’ medium, badly needing to present something exciting, or, at least, get a face-lift.
Other factors contributed to this need for change;
-- Post-war society saw an expansion of jobs and consumer goods.
-- Teenagers now had a lot more spending money.
-- The new 45 r-p-m ‘doughnut’ record, cheaper to press, was replacing the heavier, more brittle 78. It was perfect for the 2-minute song. The 33 1/3 ‘Long Play’ disc, introduced 1948, was relegated to ‘serious ‘ and classical music.
-- Tunes featuring big bands -- requiring ever-rising union scale fees -- became too expensive to produce, even by the major labels, such as R-C-A, Columbia or Mercury. Songs by four-singer groups -- whose vocals replaced the sounds of most musical instruments became the norm, produced by scores of small companies, who would even produce hit songs in warehouses, because they couldn’t afford to book big studios.

A few ‘new sound’ pioneer songs had already made their mark; one was Rock Around the Clock, by Bill Hailey and Comets, a smash hit from the movie, The Blackboard Jungle.
The term ‘rock-n-roll’ had been coined -- if you can believe the stories -- by a fast-talking disc jockey, Allan Freed, in Cleveland.
What was it?
Rock ‘n’ roll was simply a hybrid of country 'rockabilly' and urban 'rhythm and blues,' In some conservative quarters, it was quickly branded, ‘the devil’s music.’
And, when all the conditions were just right, rock ‘n’ roll took off like a rocket!

The big spark was ignited when a shy, young country singer from Tupelo, Mississippi, walked into a ‘Sun Records’ studio in Memphis to record a couple of songs as a gift to his mother.
Elvis Presley, they noticed at that first session, had something special; he had performed rockabilly -- heard on white country stations -- for a few years on radio and TV in the South, but was perfectly at home doing rhythm and blues -- played on urban Black stations. He could appeal to both styles; shaking his hips on the fast songs, and also crooning ballads in the Bing Crosby style. Here, in essence, was a white guy who could sing ‘Black’ music.
The ‘Sun’ folks, led by Sam Phillips, knew they had a winner, but they needed money to even keep their company afloat. After that word got out, things began happening quickly.
The biggest deal of music business history saw the sale of the Elvis Presley’s recording contract, from Sam Phillips of ‘Sun’, to R-C-A, for a paltry $35,000, by a wheeler-dealer / opportunist called Col. Tom Parker, who, from that moment, micro-managed Elvis for the rest of his career.
Elvis didn’t disappoint at R-C-A; his breakout hit, Heartbreak Hotel, raced to the top of the charts, and stayed there for a month, aided and abetted by hundreds of hip disc jockeys. He soon followed that with a double-side hit, Hound Dog / Don’t be Cruel.

-- Remember, dear grandchildren, that a vinyl record had an ‘A’ side and a ‘B’ side.

By this time, Alan Freed had been lured by buckets of money to the ‘big-time,’ the rock powerhouse station, 10-10 WINS, in New York.
Living on the Atlantic seaboard, I was able to listen to a lot of rock ‘n’ roll American radio stations -- especially those pushing out 50,000 watts -- because of a phenomenon known as AM radio skip waves, after dark.
Freed, I recall, had a great, flowing, hip, delivery, and owned the lucrative 7-11 p.m. time slot in the ultra-competitive 'Top-40' New York radio business during the mid-to-late 50s.
However, his career would soon be placed in serious jeopardy by widespread allegations in the payola scandals, as the 1960s began. Many well-known disc jockeys were rounded up, called to appear at televised government hearings and accused of accepting money under-the-table from record companies to list and push their tunes.
Some, such as a young Dick Clark, 'a.k.a., 'world's oldest teenager,' and later perennial host of TV's American Bandstand were successful in beating the rap, but, alas, Allan Freed was not, and paid a heavy penalty -- his reputation.