Whatever happened to Clyde Clifford?

"It was midnight on the sea,
the band was playing "Nearer My God to Thee."
Jamie Brockett, "The Legend of the Sinking of the USS Titanic"

Whatever happened to you, Clyde Clifford?
You were my midnight comfort, the disc jockey
With the voice that I wished my father had possessed,
A God-like voice, beaming through the heavens
On fifty thousand watts of AM power,
Reaching out to touch me like God to Adam
In Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel depiction.
You were no silent stone shibboleth
Or symbol of suffering and death on a cross.
Your voice was that of an understanding parent.
Your Beaker Street program was my church,
Your playlist my hymnal and the lyrics my gospels.
I felt that I could trust you and turned to you for solace
During nights when music seemed my only friend.

"And where was God!!!"
The Guess Who, "Friends of Mine"

I guess he dwells at K double A Y now.
Fifty thousand watts of wonder-working power
Blasting Holy Roller religion across the Midwest.
Divine sustenance, the grits and collards of God's glory
Served along with a jug of his fiery wrath.
"Give me that old time religion,"
If it's good enough for rednecks,
If it's good enough for rednecks,
If it's good enough for rednecks,
"It's good enough for me."
The word of the Lord has driven the old hippies
From their Little Rock radio station,
Banishing them like demons,
Pulling the plug on their devil music.
Did you put up much of a fight, Mr. Clifford,
Before they drove you away as well?

"The Revolution Will Not Be Televised."
Gil Scott-Heron

The images of flower power have withered.
Bill and Hillary were part of our generation.
Did you watch with bitter disappointment, Clyde,
As Hillary discarded Chomsky and army fatigues
For power suits and a seat on Wal-Mart's board?
Or When Bill threw it all away to chase cheap bimbos?
The revolution doesn't play on Clear-Channel radio,
And you'll see nothing controversial on Murdoch TV.
The Great Society has been sold out by politicians
Who've peddled their influence and votes
In return for corporate campaign contributions.
Politicians who've sold us into minimum wage slavery;
Why should we matter to them? They've got theirs.

"We want the world and we want it.....NOW!"
The Doors, "When the Music's Over"

Were you able to grab your piece of the world, Clyde,
When the opportunity to do so still existed?
Or did corporate radio stick it to you when you got old,
Discarding you like Chapin's DeeJay in "W.O.L.D.?"
What are you doing with your life now, Clyde?
I'd hate to think of you having to
Supplement your Social Security by working
As a greeter in a Wal-Mart store. Having to chant
Their mind-rot inducing cheers in the morning,
Having to waste that wonderful voice of yours
Repeating, "Hello, welcome to Wal-Mart.
May I get you a cart?" Muttering
Just under your breath, "Fuck you, asshole."

"Feed your head....Feed your head!"
The Jefferson Airplane, "White Rabbit"

Margaret Burbridge, the astronomer, has stated
That 'human beings are made of stardust."
It's also said that radio waves never perish;
They travel, like light, through deepest space.
Wherever you are now, Mr. Clifford,
Whether your star has sparkled or has turned to dust,
It's nice to think of Beaker Street living on as
Your program beams out to faraway galaxies.
Perhaps, on some distant world, some sentient being
Has just taken a bite of a mamalanga root, savored its juices
And felt a rush of divine insight explode in his mind
Before he passed it on to a friend. He's saying
"Turn your antennae just a bit this way and listen to this."
His friend lets his mind run with the music for a time
before he passes the root back to his buddy.
Impressed, he utters his language's equivalent of
"Yeah, man. That's some really good shit."

It was, Clyde. Peace.
And....Thanks.






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