In the production department, we don’t pull many late nights.
It’s been wonderful actually, a huge relief to be able to go home at 7 p.m. and not think about work again until 10 a.m. When I’m sitting at my desk on the second floor of the studio, I write spots and edit audio and browse CD racks. And then I leave to go to choir or the library or take a walk on the beach or sit around the kitchen table talking to my fellow volunteers. Somehow I never realized in college that I could like my job and not dedicate every hour of my day to it.
But this week I fell a little bit behind, and found myself wandering around the music library at 9:30 looking for just the right music bed. I knew exactly what I wanted, which is worse than having no idea. Chances are slim that you’ll find exactly the song you need, and I hadn’t had any luck earlier in the day. We had a great recording of “Let’s Call the Whole Thing Off” (first performed by Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers in the 1930s), but it didn’t have a bridge—the instrumental part in the middle of a song that is kinda boring when you listen but really important when you need to put in a voiceover.
Finally I clicked my way through to Wikipedia, which happened to have a list of the most notable recordings of the standard. On the list was Billie Holiday, the famous female jazz singer and songwriter who ran the scene in the ‘30s and ‘40s. I’ve admired her powerful, raspy voice since I first heard it during a high school history lesson. It was my last shot, so I headed back to the stacks in search of some greatest hits CD.
It turns out that we don’t have any Lady Day CDs at KNOM. I was at a loss. Nothing by this icon of American jazz at a radio station as eclectic as this? I sat back against the old record collection lining the walls for a few minutes before the solution hit me. Another minute and I was holding “The Billie Holiday Story Volume II” on vinyl. I popped it onto the turntable we have wired into our computer system and recorded my song straight into an MP3 file, bridge and all.
For the next two weeks, Billie will croon about saying “potato” or “potahto” whenever my minute-long family advice spot comes up in the log. It’s a tiny little detail that no one will notice except me, and maybe the people I’ve told about it. I don’t even think other people should notice such a small thing.
But in my research nerd heart, I’m rejoicing. Imagine how long that record, which so perfectly filled my need, has sat on its shelf without notice, and how long it will continue to sit when I put it away. Imagine the potential that’s accumulating dusk around me each day, and imagine what wonders might be found this year if I just keep looking.
