I envy those who lived through John Peel’s radio shows, especially the ones he did on the pirate station Radio London—a station that broadcast from a ship until the law changed in 1967 and it was shut down (the comedy The Boat That Rocked is well worth watching). The BBC quickly snapped up many of Radio London’s producers, and Peel was, of course, one of them, remaining there until his death in 2002.
The book follows a chronological structure and, through 265 of Peel’s broadcasts, attempts to capture the mindset of a man who influenced music on the island more than any other DJ. People listened to him devoutly for years, almost like followers of a religion.
The selection of chapters/broadcasts in the book is based on whether something musically significant had happened—one of Peel’s discoveries, for instance—or even on what was happening in the news on the day of the show. Peel went on air at night, when the noise of daily events began to fade and everyone’s ears tuned into the magical musical window that opened through the radio. Cavanagh writes somewhere: “it’s sobering to think that some listeners tune in to Peel at 10pm to hear songs of loneliness and apocalypse, because they find that these two hours of the day make more sense to them than anything in the previous twenty two”—and I think that perfectly describes the magic of waiting for a radio show.
You read this nearly 600-page book and thousands of artists pass before your eyes—a vast, paper-made musical timeline. Let’s not forget that Peel’s greatest credit was giving a platform to countless bands and artists long before they became known, and in many cases they became known precisely because of his persistence (David Bowie, Siouxsie & The Banshees, Undertones, and dozens more). He took risks, like playing the entire first side of Tubular Bells (sending its sales skyrocketing), and just as impressively, he kept his ears open to completely different genres. That’s why he could play everything from psychedelia, blues, prog, post-punk, and reggae to folk, indie, Napalm Death, goa trance, and Green Day.
What set John Peel apart from other producers was that he would give airtime to someone even if they had only released a single demo—if he liked it, he played it on air. An independent label might then cut them a single, he’d play it for a week straight, other radio stations would follow, a proper contract would come, tours would happen, recognition would follow—but the magic was right there at the start, in that passionate little demo. If that isn’t real support for the underground, I don’t know what is (and that’s also the compass I use in my own shows when I give space to new bands—obviously on a very different scale of radio reach).
In any case, Peel’s 37 years of uninterrupted presence on BBC Radio 1 were no accident, nor was his appeal to younger listeners even in his 60s, when he often had higher ratings than colleagues half his age. Last but not least (as they’d say in our British village), there were of course the legendary Peel Sessions: musicians would perform or submit material before its official release, giving listeners a glimpse of the future. Did I mention that I’m jealous?
