NEW HAVEN, CT (1982) “College Radio”

It was a lot of pressure, going to Yale. Sometimes it was too much for people.

In January of 1982, I flew from Portland to New Haven, Connecticut to rejoin my band after an extended trip home to the West Coast.

Our band had formed at Wesleyan University (also in Connecticut) but New Haven would now be our home base.  Our bass player had a research job there, we played there all the time, our drummer was from there.    

Also, they had our first 7” single on the jukebox at the local punk club. Which I think counts extra, in terms of places where you would want to live.

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At that particular moment (winter ‘81/’82) we had not only played in New Haven, we were “the hot new band” in their scene. 

Just that fall we had played a break-out gig, headlining at a local ballroom on a Friday night.  We nearly filled the place and then played the best show of our lives.

Afterward, we returned to our dressing room and found it packed with people.  We were surrounded by well-wishers, new fans, people who wanted to hang out. 

This was our coming-out party, I suppose.  It kind of freaked me out to be honest, standing in the midst of all this energy and excitement, awkwardly sipping my beer, not knowing who to talk to, or what to say, or how to escape ….

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Because of our band’s recent success, everything came easy when I arrived in New Haven.  This is the special magic of being in a good band.  Everyone wants to help you. 

I quickly found a room to rent. It was in a student house, with two physics grad-students. They both had great taste in music and were super smart and trippy as shit.

The rent was cheap.  They were gone during the day.  I had access to an amazing record collection.  And then I got to chat with them occasionally about the nature of reality.  It was literally the best roommate situation ever.

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A bit later, I got the easiest, funnest job you could have in New Haven:  I became the receptionist at WYBC, the Yale college radio station.  

My job was to show up at eleven. Sit at a desk.  Answer the phone if it rang (it rarely did).  Open the door if someone buzzed up (once or twice a day). Empty the waste baskets.

While sitting at my desk, I could read, or write letters, or mess around on the electric typewriter, or write songs, or call people. Occasionally, I read the news coming over the AP wire, if the DJ was otherwise occupied.

WYBC played mostly jazz during the day, so the DJs were mostly local jazz buffs, older black guys.  We’d get high a lot, when the manager wasn’t there (she was an actual Yale student and was fairly strict about the rules).  

Other local volunteers at the radio station would come and go, some of these people had been “volunteering” (getting high with whoever was around) for years.  It was a very easy-going, low-stress job. 

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