The end came not with a bang, but a twang.
Then the whimpering.
Flip back to our Letters Page for a sampling of the understandable sense of loss when KJUL-FM, the Sinatra-anchored standards station at 104.3, abruptly went all Opry on us, transforming into a country-western hit-spinner calling itself the Coyote.
Somewhere, Frank is cryin' in his one-more-for-the-road.
But it doesn't matter a damn that no less than the Godfather of Vegas Entertainment was struck down in the town he helped immortalize. Nor that just last month, KJUL ("K-Jewel") was named Adult Standards Station of the Year at the National Association of Broadcasters' Marconi Radio Awards—scant consolation when Frank's "My Way" gave way to Toby Keith's "How Do You Like Me Now?" Nor that for much of its decade-long concert starring the likes of Tony Bennett, Steve & Eydie, Sarah Vaughan, Nat King Cole, Antonio Carlos Jobim (and regrettably, the likes of Kenny G, as well), plus a Sunday big-band program that spun discs from as much as 75 years ago, KJUL ruled the overall-listeners ratings.
Demographic correctness will be served.
As a statement on 104.3's website says: "We are aware of how much the 'Great Music' format has meant to listeners like you [read: older people advertisers desire as much as a fungus] ... Unfortunately, recent shifts in the demographic characteristics in the Las Vegas market caused KJUL's audience levels to decline. Please know that the decision to change the programming was not made lightly."
I believe them but it doesn't make the market realities any more palatable. Or any less true. As my dad always told me: "The circle turns." For everyone. No exceptions. The diminishing and eventual irrelevance of the pop lifestyle—music, movies, TV, radio—that once sustained you, superseded by the emerging tastes of succeeding generations. Once baby boomers ushered in America's youth culture, the advertising mantra was cemented: older customers—set in their ways, less likely to switch brands they've woven into their daily routines, their expensive purchases in life already made—need not tune in. Nor will advertisers waste spiels on media outlets catering to them.
Though elephantine numbers of Southern Nevada seniors patronized KJUL, it soon would wield the economic power of a gnat. The station made token concessions to more "youthful" sounds—i.e., my mom once asked me why KJUL was playing "the music the kids like": Barry Manilow, Elton John and Neil Diamond.
All motion is relative.
But we can consider ourselves comparatively fortunate. In New York, the radio culture's acceleration rate far outpaces ours. The equivalent WNEW-AM, the "Time of Your Life" station, vanished years ago, and a couple of months ago, the market picked off my generation's last refuge when the voracious, ubiquitous "Jack" format supplanted cherished oldies station WCBS-FM. At least in Vegas, KOOL 93.1-FM still serves those of us with memories of the Kennedy assassination.
Every generation deludes itself into believing it created America's "best" popular music. But "best" is useful only for the intellectual parsing of the nattering critical class—us Weekly nitpickers included—as if music were some sterile, quantifiable equation applied to a magical, unquantifiable art. Of course ability and technique can be measured and ranked. But if a particular artist fails to touch your particular soul, no matter their gifts—then no matter the music.
Sinatra is not the "best" ever. Nor is Elvis. Nor Dylan. Nor the Beatles. Nor any of the contemporary performers chronicled on our Noise pages. "Best" is music that fueled your youth, transports you back when youth is gone, and warms you when music you can't fathom fuels your grandchildren's youth. And on we go.
The music of the "Greatest Generation," though still echoing in scattered showrooms, has been silenced on Vegas airwaves. Blow "Taps," toss dirt on the casket and hoist a beer in honor of the deceased. But remember that God invented those music-store backroom bins—with CD names the multi-pierced, spiky-haired, green-dyed clerks stare at blankly—for a reason.
Steve Bornfeld will come to your house and sing Sinatra hits a cappella. Reach him at
[email protected]