THE CUB KODA CRAZY SHOW
in 1965, I lost my radio in an explosion. Yep. It just BLEW
UP on the patio, just as Sonny Bono was whining-out “I Got You Babe.” Man,
it was weird. No shit; this really happened. Smoke came out and everything.
Now I realize it was an omen - soon FM formats would suck up the Holy
Spirit of cool radio and snuff out the pilot light that was true rock & roll.
For years, I’ve offered up my rhythm-horny ears as sacrificial
lambs to something - ANYTHING - that could justify my owning a radio.
(Heck, if it weren’t for baseball, my squawk box woulda
gotten the old heave-ho ages ago.) Then, one day I heard
IT’S TWELVE O’CLOCK
MIDNIGHT AND IT’S
TIME TO HOWL!
This eekin’ beacon was reekin’ with the same sonic earblasts
that had once transformed a handful of plastic wires and transistors
into a secondary
heart. And who, disguised as Cub Koda, wild-mannered DJ for a 50,000
watter, fights a never ending battle for the truth, justice, and the
American way, jumpin’,
shoutin’, and gigglin’ through platters, chatters, and
all that matters? Yesiree Bobalu, it’s the same Cubby the K we
know and love as the “Vinyl
Junkie” in his GOLDMINE mag column, and the same ol’ boy
whose wax (fromhis teen pud combo the Del Tinos to his current rockaroonie
blooz boy shenanigans
to his shiny gold disc days of Brownsville Station and “Gropin’ In
the Girls’ Room”) ranks him right up there with... um,
lemme see... Nervous Norvus? Yep! And now right here in the nifty fifty
we got us one dee-fried
and bona fida Moondog blastin’ a regular riot known as THE BIG
DISC JOCKEY SHOW IN THE SKY! But hey, this hi-fidelity shin-dig now
knows no bounds, ‘cause
plucked rip and ready from outta those high frequency ozone-rippin’ airwaves
above our heads is a microgroove pancake featuring the Cubmaster hisself
growlin’ and preachin’ and teachin’ and celebratin’ the
advent of electricity like he’d been struck by lightning!
relief at last - an aural antidote to Sonny Bono!
Dive in and dig!
KICKS MAGAZINE, USA