As most people in the Columbus, Ohio music community are already aware, today - January 31st, 2024 - will be the last day of programming for CD-92.9 (formerly CD-102.5 and CD-101). James Baumann presents his tribute/memoir to that irreplacable, unforgettable radio station. It will be missed.
WWCD-FM, the alternative music radio station more commonly called CD101, famously went on the air the same day Jane’s Addiction released Ritual de lo Habitual, August 21, 1990. That’s some opportune timing. Barring any last-minute reprieve this week, the station, now CD-92.9 after a series of moves, will leave the air. This is not the place to rehash the wrangling and the they-said/they-said that got it to this point. (For what it is worth, my TooLong/Didn’tRead take is that the radio station wanted to keep on operating in good faith, and the other side can go kick rocks.) Undeniably, a large part of the Columbus community is suffering a loss, and it’s hard to imagine anything that could take its place.
I will admit that I haven’t been as ingrained in the WWCD world for the last 10 years or so. But through the 1990’s and 2000’s it was the focal point for me and many other people in many ways. My old brain can’t recall all the memories that came out of hanging out at the station on S. High St. and later in the Brewery District. Even if I could, I’m not sure the internet is big enough to hold them. Part of it was, of course, the music acts that stopped by on their way through town. We saw Wilco, Soul Asylum, Ben Kweller, Matthew Sweet, Flaming Lips, Indigo Girls, They Might Be Giants, Cracker, and so many others. I was out of town at grad school the afternoon three guys in a band called Nirvana straggled through the studio relatively unrecognized. If I had a dollar for every bleary-eyed musician I pointed toward the restrooms, I would have been able to buy the station myself.
The acts came and went. The station staff, though, stuck around. Gary, Randy, Amy, Leslie, Brian, Jane, Tom, Rudy, Maxx, and Dirk to name only a few. And, of course, Andy. Always Andy. When one of your dearest friends starts working at a radio station on the late-night shift, let’s just say that hijinks will ensue. We brought him dinner, shared stories, and laughed ourselves silly while “taking calls.” We saw amazing concerts together (Royal Crescent Mob, Lemonheads, Replacements, Afghan Whigs, etc.) and endured others (Live and the infamous “no drinking when I’m playing” Tori Amos show come to mind). Everyone was so proud of him as he worked his way up to the program director position. And, outside of his family, there was nothing he was more proud of than that narrow strip of the radio dial. Not proud in a “check out the Q3 earnings way” or even a “holy crap, I got to interview Paul McCartney” way. It was the type of pride that I imagine a good and successful mayor has in their city. Rally around, gang. We are going places, and everyone is welcome to come along.
Like I said, I’m an old now. Our children that used to run around the studio and announce songs during the Andyman-a-Thon (“It’s for the kids!”) are now the same age we were when we would end our nights out visiting the studio. There’s a new generation of listeners who have bonded with the current crop of DJ’s, love the latest bands, and call the Big Room Bar home. I may not identify with them, they definitely don’t need my graying self to be hanging around, but that doesn’t make me any less sorry that their time to create lifelong memories is going to be cut short.
Still, all these thoughts and emotions – mine and others – that have been flowing since the news came down are microeconomics. On the macro level, even more is being lost. I’m not a business person, so I won’t talk about ad rates, license costs, or audience sizes. But I do understand the concept of community and what it takes to maintain it.
There are plenty of CBUS musicians who can testify to the role the station played as a local music megaphone <link to your story> (Memory flash: Watching Happy Chichester in the station studio build a song by himself with loops before launching into a greasy version of “You’re a Mean One Mr. Grinch.”) The presence of WWCD also put Columbus on the map for national touring bands that, most likely, would have skipped the capital city while hitting Cleveland in the north and Cincinnati to the south. During those years, festivals were collections of bands that crisscrossed the country together, versus now when they all fly in for the weekend-long BlahBlahBlahFest shindigs. Does Columbus get Lollapalooza, Horde, Lilith Fair, Womad, or even the Central Ohio Music Fest (Superchunk and Scrawl on a racetrack!) dates without the radio station? Probably not. Does it get anything similar moving forward? Who knows?
In addition, the growth of the internet certainly made a difference, simultaneously dividing the world into thinner and thinner niches while also wiping out traditional city, state, or regional boundaries. Calling the local request line to hear the hot new song has been replaced by clicking a “like” button. Weird and wacky news from the morning DJ are memes before the morning commute even begins. TikTok, not a radio station, breaks songs. Does the phrase “listen local” even mean anything anymore? Meanwhile, music bars and stages are turned into Targets and flavor-of-the-month clubs. Time - and the big bosses who own the frequencies and the buildings - marches on. WWCD is yet another domino to fall. And, for what it’s worth, almost everything I just listed could be equated in some way to local newspapers, TV stations, stores, restaurants, neighborhoods, and politics. But that’s another story for another time.
Finally, I fully recognize that this development has real-world implications for real people, so I don’t want that to be overlooked. But when I started writing this, I also didn’t want it to be a eulogy. As they say, don’t be sad something is gone; be thankful you had it while you did. I believe that humans, naturally, want to find something that links them together, regardless of what other differences might exist between them. I also believe that music and performances are some of the most powerful catalysts. Maybe WWCD pulls another rabbit out of the hat and comes back once again. Maybe something totally new will take its place. Regardless, I hope that everyone who ever experienced what made (“I still call it”) CD101 special will treasure it, hold tight to those memories, and keep looking for opportunities to experience that feeling of community again, no matter how fleeting.