This song is another collaboration between The Glad Stones and rapper BBS.

It started with a rather intense-feeling chord progression that Jaye came up with; and then he suggested writing a song about the pitiable state of music on the radio these days. We wrote the chorus first – talking about how radio has lost its soul and become over-commercialised, etc… and I came up with the verses after that.

There was only time to record the video on Sunday morning… so we started as early as possible: 8am (no kidding!). But because all of us were terribly sleep deprived, we kept screwing up (even deleting a perfectly good take by accident at one point), and only finished everything mid-afternoon – one of our longest sessions ever!

Well, we finally got it done  – complete with a hilarious blooper at the end 😉 Also, I really like the rap, and the amazing thing about it was that it was written on Sunday morning itself!

Everything we want to say about music on the radio is in the lyrics. ‘Nuff said.

Ain’t On The Radio

There is music, music everywhere but not a drop to drink
Crashing, smashing waves of sound, but I don’t feel anything
Songs on an assembly line, a stale monotony
Clearly I believe the airwaves are all but dead to me

I’d listen to your soothing voice just before I’d fall asleep
You were by my side through lonely nights, you joined me under the sheets
Now I’m deaf to all your overtures, you cannot fill my heart
You turned your back on music, when you put it on a chart

CHORUS
Radio, oh no
Where’s your soul
Radio, oh no
My ears are closed
Radio, oh no
It’s outta control
So that’s why I turned you off
A long time ago

One size, one skin
A big commercial drum machine
Don’t need to sing
Whatever sells, the same routine
Where did all the good songs go (x3)
Don’t know, but it ain’t on the radio

It’s safe to say that music ain’t what it used to be
Abused to please at the whim of slavery
And the flavor be bland and shallow
Function without the head like sleepy hollow
Impervious it be, subservient; it’s permanent
Insentient, limited by the bonds of impediment
Pumping through the waves with subliminal imagery
I turn the page to a chapter with sympathy
As I collide with discolored eyes
It’s colonized with no function to harmonize
You’re blind till you open your eyes
And see how the radio used to be
Abused to please at the whim of slavery
It occurs to me that nothing’s gonna change
The brain controls the hand and the hand controls the waves
And restrain the unrestrainable
Re-train the untrainable
And say what the radio has to say

(Repeat Chorus)

If you wanna be something real, go get you a guitar
Said the music man to the girl next door, who wants to be a star
They’re eighteen, nineteen, channel surfing, and they don’t care
Lapping up the Top 40 radio fare