Literature always runs into trouble when it tries to capture the essence of rock radio, because the inner world of the airwaves is so cloistered off from all but industry insiders. The realities of running a commercial radio station are also about as mundane as -- well, the sound of commercial radio stations. After the morning zoo is done for the day, it's basically just a small office that happens to be connected to a transmitter. With Clear Channel taking over just about every local radio station with a blip, it gets even less interesting. Bill Fitzhugh, a former DJ, knows his stuff all right, and in Radio Activity he reads as if he's trying to impart a well-meant manifesto on what constitutes classic rock, and more specifically classic rock radio, in the context of an amateur private-eye story. It's not as horrible as Jim Ladd's Radio Waves, which spoke with the voice of an audio engineering intern who finished Ayn Rand's Anthem on a lunch break. But it's not a success, although it is a snappy read.
After unemployed journeyman DJ Rick Shannon sells his old vinyl to a Bismarck, North Dakota used record shop, he receives a call from station manager Clay Stubblefield from WAOR in McRae, Mississippi, inviting him to take over for a DJ who's suddenly gone missing. We learn in the second section of the first chapter that the missing DJ, Captain Jack Carter, has been shot and haphazardly buried. Shannon takes the job and relocates to his old home state, only to find that Stubblefield misled him about the job duties: He wants Shannon to be program director and turn the station into a "classic rock" station. Shannon accepts, but since Stubblefield is generally a hands-off manager with far too much going on outside the station, he tries to carve a unique niche for the station, conspiring with the other on-air staff to "redefine classic rock." Less Led Zeppelin, more Nazz is a good way of putting it.
Shannon also gets possession of a dilapidated trailer that used to be Carter's before his mysterious disappearance. This includes a treasure trove of old records that are right up Shannon's alley. But in the book's best in-joke, Shannon discovers a hidden reel-to-reel tape inside the empty box of Chicago's overblown, 4-record live album from 1971, Chicago IV. The tape features a lurid conversation with Stubblefield and an unidentified other man, describing perversions Stubblefield had enjoyed with beauty pageant contestants and associates, and some other snatches that may or may not lay out some sort of illegality. Shannon figures the tape might have something to do with Carter's disappearance and begins playing private detective -- using the alias "Buddy Miles" -- to find out what.
The rest of the book intercuts Shannon's investigation, negotiations with the staff over the classic rock format, and an affair with the much-younger receptionist. All three feel like separate components and never correlate in the way Fitzhugh must have intended.
The radio station reads like an amalgamation of WKRP and the radio station from the lousy flick FM, with overwrought depictions of cliched figures, like the Johnny Fever type who chortles and quotes song lyrics as conversation, or the overnight, aging DJ whose quiet approval is the best accolade anybody at the station can hope for. At first Fitzhugh's obsessive detailing of rock and roll theory is amusing, but before it can become revelatory it's negated by the criminal plot, which never becomes as salacious as we'd like it to be.
Also: A station like WAOR could never happen here, not in a commercial sense. It certainly wouldn't happen in backwoods Mississippi. It sort of happened with Tom Donahue's legendary KSAN in the '60s and '70s, but that was San Francisco and it died out when corporatization took over radio. It's hard to take the radio content seriously when it's obviously being presented as a wish fulfillment on the part of the author. Fitzhugh scores some sentimental points about commercial radio's homogeny and over-reliance on business intelligence, but that's all.
On the positive side, it's a zippy read. I polished it off over one 3-day weekend, so if you're into summertime potboilers it may work for you. There are also enough specific references to artists and songs that one could go back and fashion a pretty good playlist from the citations in this book. But High Fidelity had an arguably better playlist and a much better result integrating the music into the story. Too much of my time with Radio Activity was spent wincing at dialogue for me to hear the music.