Briana Oakley, WOJB DJ and News Director

The radio was on in my childhood home, always. A radio keeps songs alive – long after they’re hits – if you find the right station. 

I was two years old when Harry Belafonte’s Banana Boat Song climbed the charts, but my hometown station played it for years where it lodged in my mind. Belafonte’s energetic tenor belting, “Day-O, Day-O,” where it reverberated up the wooden stairs of a small house in North Menomonie, Wisconsin. 

As a teen learning drums, the car radio became my portable music room and my gateway to rock and roll, leading me to mind-blowing world-beats from brothers of other mothers. Voodoo Child by Hendrix haunted my teens and Day-O became old and decidedly un-hip. Rock ruled, and I tossed Day-O to the wind like a well-worn carpet, exchanging it for a Steppenwolf kind of carpet and ride. 

In the 70’s, Ginger Baker and Keith Moon were my gurus and they rattled my brain. I tried copying them, my hands building an iron-grip on my drumsticks like mighty magic wands. I figured if I gripped my Ludwig 5A’s tight enough, and pounded my drums hard enough, my boring Midwestern clothes would burst into technicolor garments, the kind worn by wizards, rock stars, and Jimi Hendrix’s voodoo child in flaming yellow and orange.

When my parents bought a small cabin on a lake in Northwest Wisconsin, a transistor radio perched on the ledge of a south-facing window for better reception. Almost 50 years now, and it’s still there. Over the years, I listened to that radio, waiting for the dawning of a wild child and a new song.… read more...