YoungAmerican
Aug 14th, 2005, 06:24 PM
I thought this (http://www.santacruzsentinel.com/archive/2005/April/21/style/stories/01style.htm) was a really cool article... and really well written for a local piece.
Radio host Jesse Thorn tries to establish an alternative to creeping NPR-speak
By WALLACE BAINE
Sentinel staff writer
Jesse Thorn loves National Public Radio. Honest, he does.
But he also hates it.
He loves it for many of the same reasons millions of Americans love it. But he hates it with a kind of lonely intensity for reasons that never occur to those same millions of Americans.
"There are some really amazing people working in public radio, like Terry Gross (of NPR’s ‘Fresh Air’). I would never say anything bad about Terry Gross," said Thorn, the host of "The Sound of Young America," a weekly interview/talk show on KZSC (88.1 FM).
"But it’s just so dominated by one cultural group and yet so unwilling to acknowledge that. Public radio just ferociously clings to this idea that it’s this multi-cultural wonderland when in fact, it’s really just a bunch of 50-year-old white people."
Jesse Thorn versus NPR isn’t a David-versus-Goliath battle. It’s more like a bacterium-inside-David’s-colon-versus-Goliath battle. From his seat at KZSC on the campus of UC Santa Cruz, Thorn is so far from the centers of power in public radio, he might as well be in orbit. It’s difficult to overestimate Thorn’s pipsqueak-itude in the radio industry, a fact that Thorn himself readily acknowledges.
But, here’s the thing. Thorn’s audacious, jokey, mock-ironic show — now airing at 2 p.m. Saturdays and streaming on the Internet at — is great radio: snappy, smart and possessed of a kind of gabby spontaneity that often eludes more polished NPR programming. It features interviews with prominent cultural figures who have no business talking to such a media serf as Thorn, who jokingly refers to himself as "America’s Radio Sweetheart," as well as weirdly absurd dummy commercials and occasional comedy bits with his sometime co-host Jordan Morris.
"The Sound of Young America" — even the title suggests a goofy faux grandiosity — is just different enough to bring up some intriguing questions about the state of radio today. Is this show such a stand-out because of the unique radio talents of its host, who turns 24 on Sunday, or because radio has become such a vast ocean of sameness that even a slight deviation from the ordinary seems like a revelation?
Which gets us back to Thorn’s beef against NPR. While dutifully saluting the content of NPR (with the exception of "A Prairie Home Companion," the hatred of which Thorn calls one of his "core values), Thorn feels the influence of the public-radio behemoth — like its often-derided commercial radio rival, Clear Channel — is positively Soviet in its dominance.
"The thing that’s oppressive about NPR is that people look to NPR for an alternative to media consolidation," said Thorn. "But what is the single most powerful force for media consolidation in America? Sure, it might be Clear Channel, but it also might be National Public Radio. If you’re from Santa Cruz, for example, you can hear the same NPR programs on two different stations at the same time. There’s just no public value in that at all."
Like a weed growing up through the sidewalk, Thorn is trying to find space to grow between the inane pablum of drive-time commercial radio and the sober monotony of NPR and its many imitators. And that space is hard to find.
"The Sound of Young America" — which is now among just a handful of radio shows being "pod-cast" on the Internet (see sidebar) — is now in its fifth year on KZSC. Thorn, who graduated from UCSC two years ago, is a kind of connoisseur of performance comedy and, as such, his program tilts heavily towards stand-up comics and comedy writers. He’s had on his show many of the top names in the comedy-nerd universe including "Mr. Show" provocateurs David Cross and Bob Odenkirk, rude-girl comic Sarah Silverman, even antique yuk-ster Shelley Berman.
He’s also had on musicians such as hip-hop icon Chuck D, cheesy party rocker Andrew W.K. and the eccentric duo They Might Be Giants, as well as electronica misfit DJ Spooky, weirdo comic-book writer Harvey Pekar and rebellious former big league pitcher Bill Lee.
In recent weeks, Thorn has offered up his show to radio stations across the country and has, thus far, found two takers, one in Hattiesburg, Miss., the other in rural Alaska, giving him the justification to call "TSOYA" a "national" show. That’s important because Thorn relies on a bit of duplicitious salesmanship to land his interviews.
"It takes an elaborate skill set to talk people into thinking that doing an interview on community radio in Santa Cruz is worth an hour of their time," said Thorn, who works without a producer.
So, how does he do it?
"Well, first, I use my most focused radio voice on the phone. I describe the station as a ‘public’ radio station rather than a community station or, worse yet, a college station. I talk about how it’s an hour south of San Francisco, give or take, which, of course, allows them to think that maybe it could be heard in San Francisco. I never mention the Santa Cruz Mountains. They might say, ‘Oh, it’s NPR’ and I say, ‘Yeah, it’s an NPR-like show.’ I never lie. It’s more like sophistry."
But, he says, once his guests have come on the show once, it’s easier to bring them back again.
"These people are so used to doing these horrible radio interviews on morning drive-time radio. Everybody they talk to is either a second-rate version of Howard Stern, or a second-rate version of Terry Gross. I have to convince them I’m neither."
Thorn’s interviews run anywhere from 15 to 30 minutes. As an interviewer, he displays a sunny kind of facetiousness that is prevented from sliding into sarcasm by a relentless self-mockery. For instance, he always alludes to his puny listener numbers, occasionally holding contests for the benefit of his "five or six regular listeners." When one on-air guest congratulated him for scoring a listener in Brooklyn, an obviously pleased Thorn cracked, "Well, what is there to do in New York, really?"
Thorn’s brimming intelligence and shaded humor is of a piece with a goofy, sophomoric side. He regularly airs gonzo comedy routines that, relevant to nothing, extoll, for instance, the pleasures of "flavorful, delicious mustard." He and Morris once did a broadcast in their underwear.
"Jesse is very opinionated," said sidekick Morris, often called "Boy Detective." Morris left Santa Cruz after graduation from UCSC and now works as a production assistant in the television industry in Southern California.
"He’s also very driven. He was never one to say, ‘Hey, let’s just get in there and see what happens.’ He always has a clear plan and everything is labored-over. That’s part of the reason he stands out, particularly in college radio where there’s a lot of screwing around. Next to the guy who stumbles in 30 minutes late to his show, then plays a death-metal album and kicks back, Jesse is a different category."
Thorn’s commitment to "TSOYA" comes at a price, though. Currently unemployed, he lives in San Francisco, the city where he was born and reared, and drives down to Santa Cruz every week to do the show, for which he doesn’t get paid, a significant expense considering the price of gas these days.
"It was old from the start," said Thorn of the drive from San Francisco every week. "I don’t even like driving. I didn’t get a license til I was 21.
"But it’s really fun. In what other context would I have had the opportunity to talk to Art Spiegelman for half an hour and have him like me?"
Thorn’s central inspiration is the hourlong syndicated show "This American Life," hosted by former NPR staffer Ira Glass. Though "The Sound of Young America" is nothing like "TAL," both are refreshing changes from the consistent-to-a-fault tone of National Public Radio, which Thorn calls "profoundly, sickeningly humorless."
Glass also offers a career model to a talented young programmer trying to find a wider audience, draw attention from the industry and, gulp, maybe even make a living at what he’s good at. Glass offered his show for free for five years to affiliates to build an audience but still found himself swimming upstream against the hidebound conventions of public radio, despite his fervent following.
"The Ira Glass model is, the way to become successful on public radio is to work for free for a long time and become so popular that you can’t be denied," said Thorn. "My dad, who is a vet and a peace movement activist told me, ‘You know, Jesse. These people have to retire one day and if you just keep doing it long enough, you’ll be in power.’"
Radio host Jesse Thorn tries to establish an alternative to creeping NPR-speak
By WALLACE BAINE
Sentinel staff writer
Jesse Thorn loves National Public Radio. Honest, he does.
But he also hates it.
He loves it for many of the same reasons millions of Americans love it. But he hates it with a kind of lonely intensity for reasons that never occur to those same millions of Americans.
"There are some really amazing people working in public radio, like Terry Gross (of NPR’s ‘Fresh Air’). I would never say anything bad about Terry Gross," said Thorn, the host of "The Sound of Young America," a weekly interview/talk show on KZSC (88.1 FM).
"But it’s just so dominated by one cultural group and yet so unwilling to acknowledge that. Public radio just ferociously clings to this idea that it’s this multi-cultural wonderland when in fact, it’s really just a bunch of 50-year-old white people."
Jesse Thorn versus NPR isn’t a David-versus-Goliath battle. It’s more like a bacterium-inside-David’s-colon-versus-Goliath battle. From his seat at KZSC on the campus of UC Santa Cruz, Thorn is so far from the centers of power in public radio, he might as well be in orbit. It’s difficult to overestimate Thorn’s pipsqueak-itude in the radio industry, a fact that Thorn himself readily acknowledges.
But, here’s the thing. Thorn’s audacious, jokey, mock-ironic show — now airing at 2 p.m. Saturdays and streaming on the Internet at — is great radio: snappy, smart and possessed of a kind of gabby spontaneity that often eludes more polished NPR programming. It features interviews with prominent cultural figures who have no business talking to such a media serf as Thorn, who jokingly refers to himself as "America’s Radio Sweetheart," as well as weirdly absurd dummy commercials and occasional comedy bits with his sometime co-host Jordan Morris.
"The Sound of Young America" — even the title suggests a goofy faux grandiosity — is just different enough to bring up some intriguing questions about the state of radio today. Is this show such a stand-out because of the unique radio talents of its host, who turns 24 on Sunday, or because radio has become such a vast ocean of sameness that even a slight deviation from the ordinary seems like a revelation?
Which gets us back to Thorn’s beef against NPR. While dutifully saluting the content of NPR (with the exception of "A Prairie Home Companion," the hatred of which Thorn calls one of his "core values), Thorn feels the influence of the public-radio behemoth — like its often-derided commercial radio rival, Clear Channel — is positively Soviet in its dominance.
"The thing that’s oppressive about NPR is that people look to NPR for an alternative to media consolidation," said Thorn. "But what is the single most powerful force for media consolidation in America? Sure, it might be Clear Channel, but it also might be National Public Radio. If you’re from Santa Cruz, for example, you can hear the same NPR programs on two different stations at the same time. There’s just no public value in that at all."
Like a weed growing up through the sidewalk, Thorn is trying to find space to grow between the inane pablum of drive-time commercial radio and the sober monotony of NPR and its many imitators. And that space is hard to find.
"The Sound of Young America" — which is now among just a handful of radio shows being "pod-cast" on the Internet (see sidebar) — is now in its fifth year on KZSC. Thorn, who graduated from UCSC two years ago, is a kind of connoisseur of performance comedy and, as such, his program tilts heavily towards stand-up comics and comedy writers. He’s had on his show many of the top names in the comedy-nerd universe including "Mr. Show" provocateurs David Cross and Bob Odenkirk, rude-girl comic Sarah Silverman, even antique yuk-ster Shelley Berman.
He’s also had on musicians such as hip-hop icon Chuck D, cheesy party rocker Andrew W.K. and the eccentric duo They Might Be Giants, as well as electronica misfit DJ Spooky, weirdo comic-book writer Harvey Pekar and rebellious former big league pitcher Bill Lee.
In recent weeks, Thorn has offered up his show to radio stations across the country and has, thus far, found two takers, one in Hattiesburg, Miss., the other in rural Alaska, giving him the justification to call "TSOYA" a "national" show. That’s important because Thorn relies on a bit of duplicitious salesmanship to land his interviews.
"It takes an elaborate skill set to talk people into thinking that doing an interview on community radio in Santa Cruz is worth an hour of their time," said Thorn, who works without a producer.
So, how does he do it?
"Well, first, I use my most focused radio voice on the phone. I describe the station as a ‘public’ radio station rather than a community station or, worse yet, a college station. I talk about how it’s an hour south of San Francisco, give or take, which, of course, allows them to think that maybe it could be heard in San Francisco. I never mention the Santa Cruz Mountains. They might say, ‘Oh, it’s NPR’ and I say, ‘Yeah, it’s an NPR-like show.’ I never lie. It’s more like sophistry."
But, he says, once his guests have come on the show once, it’s easier to bring them back again.
"These people are so used to doing these horrible radio interviews on morning drive-time radio. Everybody they talk to is either a second-rate version of Howard Stern, or a second-rate version of Terry Gross. I have to convince them I’m neither."
Thorn’s interviews run anywhere from 15 to 30 minutes. As an interviewer, he displays a sunny kind of facetiousness that is prevented from sliding into sarcasm by a relentless self-mockery. For instance, he always alludes to his puny listener numbers, occasionally holding contests for the benefit of his "five or six regular listeners." When one on-air guest congratulated him for scoring a listener in Brooklyn, an obviously pleased Thorn cracked, "Well, what is there to do in New York, really?"
Thorn’s brimming intelligence and shaded humor is of a piece with a goofy, sophomoric side. He regularly airs gonzo comedy routines that, relevant to nothing, extoll, for instance, the pleasures of "flavorful, delicious mustard." He and Morris once did a broadcast in their underwear.
"Jesse is very opinionated," said sidekick Morris, often called "Boy Detective." Morris left Santa Cruz after graduation from UCSC and now works as a production assistant in the television industry in Southern California.
"He’s also very driven. He was never one to say, ‘Hey, let’s just get in there and see what happens.’ He always has a clear plan and everything is labored-over. That’s part of the reason he stands out, particularly in college radio where there’s a lot of screwing around. Next to the guy who stumbles in 30 minutes late to his show, then plays a death-metal album and kicks back, Jesse is a different category."
Thorn’s commitment to "TSOYA" comes at a price, though. Currently unemployed, he lives in San Francisco, the city where he was born and reared, and drives down to Santa Cruz every week to do the show, for which he doesn’t get paid, a significant expense considering the price of gas these days.
"It was old from the start," said Thorn of the drive from San Francisco every week. "I don’t even like driving. I didn’t get a license til I was 21.
"But it’s really fun. In what other context would I have had the opportunity to talk to Art Spiegelman for half an hour and have him like me?"
Thorn’s central inspiration is the hourlong syndicated show "This American Life," hosted by former NPR staffer Ira Glass. Though "The Sound of Young America" is nothing like "TAL," both are refreshing changes from the consistent-to-a-fault tone of National Public Radio, which Thorn calls "profoundly, sickeningly humorless."
Glass also offers a career model to a talented young programmer trying to find a wider audience, draw attention from the industry and, gulp, maybe even make a living at what he’s good at. Glass offered his show for free for five years to affiliates to build an audience but still found himself swimming upstream against the hidebound conventions of public radio, despite his fervent following.
"The Ira Glass model is, the way to become successful on public radio is to work for free for a long time and become so popular that you can’t be denied," said Thorn. "My dad, who is a vet and a peace movement activist told me, ‘You know, Jesse. These people have to retire one day and if you just keep doing it long enough, you’ll be in power.’"