I had planned on writing another FNV mini-essay, this one devoted to just how cool and nearly godlike ’70s FM disc jockeys were. Rebels with turntables and a deep love for and knowledge of the music they played. Then came segmentation and computer-aided music directors and program directors who might not have ever even visited the cities where half of their stations broadcast. And worst of all: Clear Channel.
But then I figured I’d sound like an old fogey, and I already do enough of that at home.
Instead, just enjoy the title song to the movie that inspired me to spend four years of my life playing records for strangers.