What The J?

Life is made up of this and that. Highs, lows, ups, downs, cats, dogs and even days and nights.

Sometimes, jigsaw pieces get mixed together when packing toys away. A human arm piece can end up inside the box of a paddock full of steers.

That could loosely explain my experience with Triple J.

A tape was sent in 1994. A phone call came in shortly after. And then, as sequences and patterns go, another phone call came in, eight years later.

Triple J has always had a generous proportion of armchair custodians. Experts that know what the JJJ's actually IS. And have the stardust in a bottle to prove it. Those that reside in and around the ecosystem, with opinions on what is, or is not, authentic Triple J sound.

To this very day, I still don’t know what transpired. I was working in sales at Scoop Magazine and had been out of radio for years when that call came in from the wilderness.

It was no long jump, because that needs a run up. It wasn't a fifty metres freestyle, because you can push off the blocks and wall to gather momentum. It was more like shot put. All hamstring, from a standing start. No pre or post production. No prep time. A Datsun, choke free, attempting to turn over in winter. A blueprint free munt.

Once the starting horn blew, I began scrambling to set up at the ABC, in a studio that had no earthly business being called, studio, or Triple J. Music librarians who were coasting, suddenly snapping to grid, to ensure we had the required music on tap, labelled appropriately. While I brought out the jumper leads. Attempting to spark my old radio antenna and reboot my broadcasting brain. Good luck.

I don't believe I was quite "in my time" when I worked for Triple J. I remember select phrases such as, “play with the medium or no false graces,” and that’s about it. Only "they" know why I was called, eight years after I was doing my own radio show. What the time in between?

I set up camp in the spare studio, because they had those laying around, back in the day. It was a bit of a shambles. Enough to get by though. All the Triple J on air ID's were sent down the pipe to me, along with a list of the music required for the broadcasts. A mysterious fantasy was playing out in reality. Working in sales by day and about to hit Triple J by night. And please, don't call me circadian. Sleep could wait.

I remember the first time I spoke to a national audience. The Paul Oakenfold song faded, and off I went. Triple J, around Australia. It had a nice ring to it. I found my footing quickly in one sense. I knew from muscle memory how to broadcast. But had no time to reboot a show. Hence, the carrot was too tempting not to chase. I like the improbable, garnished on a seasoned bed of impossible.

There was quite a lot of positive feedback. Which caught me off guard a little. I started receiving letters from listeners all over the country. Er, also drawings, which was particularly something or rather. The picture of me sketched in pencil was very becoming.

There was a lovely lady in Melbourne, who went on to build her own radio career, that was a dedicated J listener and told me she’d never heard anything like what I did. So, maybe I was tapping into something, despite feeling completely underprepared. Insanity maybe?

The tech at ABC was buoyant about the whole thing. He was more present that I was. He said "he loved the thing I had scrambled together." A lot of the staff were a bit puzzled. A show that went to air nationally, delayed due to time differences, meaning I could conveniently driving home, listening to the end of my own show. A slither of back to the future, in semi reality.

I heard some mutterings that a few of the devotees to the station started calling me "Oprah" on Triple J, because I decided to create a more emotional style of program. They forgot about the polymathic, multi everything that went with it. All the karaoke that I brought to air before "like a version" began. Funny that. Pointed opinion surrounded the national broadcaster, of course.

The eleventh hour was verging on comedy also. I remember a beautiful, side eyed, head tilt from my boss, when I ordered a Frappacino, while he was visiting the west. Before we engaged in a conversation about the industry, which doubled as a circle jerk about the lack of industry and a big amount of nothing in small particulates.

In short, I was hired to scramble up some eggs basically. To provide nourishment at no notice. When I went to air, all I could rely on was myself. There were no staff in the west. Nobody knew nuffin. And we'd meet at the docks if we needed to be filled in. It was just little old me and a microphone.

So why the call? Yes, I'm a highly creative talent. Yes, I built my own program eight years prior. I'm nuts in a good way. I have insatiable pattern recognition. I have multiple skills from writing, to music, to broadcasting. And, I broadly love comedy. I suspect it's the Goliath to David extraction cycle. Perhaps it was my ingenuity in terms of creating strange, untapped novel radio? Or, perhaps it was something completely mundane I wasn't privy to? Only Scott or Bracken would know. To this day, I don't have a clue, but I will always treasure the experience.