World in My Eyes: The Autobiography

by Richard Blade

  I was still on the high from the new VideoBeat deal when I received a call from a woman named Barbara Joachim. She asked if we could meet as she was producing a TV show and wanted to talk to me about hosting it.

  I met with Barbara and her husband, Larry, at their favorite restaurant at the Beverly Hilton Hotel. At first they came across as a very strange couple. Barbara smoked incessantly and wore her dark hair in a bob cut with a severe fringe across her forehead; Larry was short and bald and sported a very bad attempt at a comb-over. His high-pitched voice and raucous laugh completed the illusion that he was actually the cartoon character Mr. Magoo come to life.

  As I talked with them I came to the realization that appearances aside these were two of the nicest people I had ever met and when they started their good-natured bickering with each other, back and forth, it was all I could do not to laugh out loud.

  Larry and Barbara had made their money in the film business doing overseas distribution for low-budget movies such as Cannibal Holocaust and the Jim Kelly series of Karate films. They had sold several movies to KHJ channel 9 and in return the general manager there, Chuck Velona, had approached them to produce a daily video show for him. Chuck had seen the huge ratings that MV3 had brought his station and wanted to continue that success. But this time he wanted reliable producers who could keep the show on the air so he approached the Joachims and asked them to bring me in as the host.

  The show would air Monday through Friday at 5pm and for the purpose of saving money we would shoot ten episodes back-to-back live to tape every other week at a studio in San Diego. It would be a single twelve-hour shooting day and the tape operator would roll in the videos as I introduced them—no editing and hopefully no screw ups—all in real time. Could I do that? I said I could and we made the deal.

  At the end of our very successful business meal, Barbara wondered if I might know someone who was good at obtaining videos and getting the legal clearances to show them. It was exactly the same question that Mary Kellogg had asked me at CBS six months before. I gave Barbara the same answer. I did know someone!

  The next day I waited until Peter and I had finished cutting the latest episode of VideoBeat. As we walked out of the edit bay I asked Peter to sit with me in the reception area of the video facility. The late-afternoon sun filtered through the big glass doors as we talked and I told Peter of my meeting the night before. Then I got to the crux of it.

  “So here’s the deal. I want you to join me on this. We’ll be back on channel 9 five days a week doing what we do best, a video show.”

  The color drained from Peter’s face as memories of the drugs, guns and disrespect to the artists on the MV3 set flooded back to him. He jumped to his feet.

  “I can’t do it, Mr. Fun, I just can’t. It was terrible last time. I’m not going through that again.”

  “But these are great people, Peter. They are real producers,” I implored.

  “No, I’m not going to do it!”

  Peter ran for the door and sprinted into the parking lot as if video demons from hell were on his tail.

  Shit! My best friend and producing partner was running away from me in panic. I got to my feet and sprinted after him. I caught up with Peter just as he turned and began his dash down Santa Monica Boulevard. I had no choice so I rugby tackled him and we both went down hard onto the sidewalk.

  “Get off me, Mr. Fun. I’m not going back,” he yelled.

  “Peter, Peter! Listen. They’re not Poole. You’ll like them. We’re working directly with the station. It’s not like last time. I promise.”

  “I almost went back to selling ice cream after MV3, Mr. Fun. It was crazy for me,” said Peter, but he was calming down a little.

  “I know. You took so much of it. But this is different. Real producers, a real show and real checks that won’t bounce.”

  Peter was starting to listen now.

  “You’re my buddy, Peter. Let’s do this together. And any problems and we both leave. Okay?”

  “Okay. I’ll meet with them. But if I don’t like them I’m not doing it.”

  “Fair enough. I’ll go with that,” I confirmed.

  “Excuse me,” said a voice. “Are you guys all right?”

  That’s when Peter and I realized we were still on top of each other in a pile of scuffed knees and elbows on the sidewalk at the intersection of Santa Monica and Cahuenga.

  “We’re fine, thanks,” I assured the voice. I looked at Peter, “We should get up. We’ve got a new show to do.”

  Video One went on the air on April 9, 1984, with me as the host. Unlike MV3 it was primarily videos but Peter and I kept pushing Larry and Barbara to spend a little more money and start shooting interviews for the show. It was something that they promised they’d keep in mind.

  By the end of April our two video shows were making waves in California and the record companies were flocking to us asking if we could play their label’s videos and interview their artists. Finally I seemed to be in a sweet spot until I went to deposit the funding check to cover VideoBeat’s sixth week of production.

  I knew the manager of the Bank of America branch in Sherman Oaks well. Sarah was a lovely girl and was always a pleasure to deal with. I would go directly to her desk to make my deposits and withdrawals, and once the business was done we would talk about music and concerts. That’s what I thought was going to happen today but instead I was in for a major shock.

  I handed Sarah the VideoBeat funding check for $6,500 and she casually ran it as we talked. Then she stopped speaking and stared at her computer screen. She typed in a few numbers and looked again. I could see she was concerned. She scrolled down a little and tried to take in what she was seeing.

  “Hang on a second, I’ll be right back,” she said. Sarah got up and walked over to another bank officer who followed her back to her desk and studied at Sarah’s screen with her.

  “There’s no doubt what it says,” stated the officer conclusively.

  Sarah looked again at her screen and then at me. I’d never seen her eyes so sad.

  “There’s a problem with this check,” she said.

  I shook my head, “Don’t tell me it’s no good!” Visions of MV3 began to float through my head.

  “It’s not just that,” Sarah answered hesitantly. “It’s . . . got an FBI hold on it. It’s been flagged for suspicion of embezzlement and money laundering.”

  She took a breath. “If you want to come around to my side you can see the note on my computer that came up when I ran the check. It’s requesting that we have the depositor remain here at the bank until the authorities arrive.”

  I read the warning and advisement. Sarah wasn’t lying and unfortunately I was the depositor the authorities were referring to! It also said about freezing the account.

  “Is that my account that they are talking about?” I asked in total disbelief.

  “Yes. We can’t make you stay here but if you leave we have to put a hold on your account until we are told we can lift it. That might be a few days if all goes well. If you stay we can keep your account liquid.”

  “But I haven’t done anything. I was just depositing the check I was given.” I was starting to get anxious.

  “Unfortunately that check links you to the investigation. I’m sure once they talk to you it’ll be fine. If you want to wait you can sit in my office. I’m so sorry.”

  So was I. This was something I had to take care of now, so I waited in the back office reading and re-reading the Los Angeles Times until a little over an hour and a half later two federal officers arrived.

  They asked me a series of questions regarding the check, my business and my relationship with the person and company who issued the check. They went through my bank records and saw that the previous five checks had been deposited and cleared. They also noted the checks I’d issued from BladeRocker to the video company and to myself and Peter for salary that backed up my story.

  “Well, it all checks out,” the first officer
said. “It looks like you are a victim too. We have all your contacts; if we need any further information from you we’ll be in touch. Thank you for your cooperation. You are free to go.”

  “So what’s the deal? What did they do wrong?” I asked.

  “We can’t comment on an ongoing investigation but you have been very helpful,” said the other officer.

  And just like that, after only five weeks, the funding ran out for VideoBeat. I went to the investor’s office but it was shuttered and over the next few months I read about pending legal action against the person who had been underwriting VideoBeat. We were small potatoes compared with some of the other questionable activities they had been up to.

  But my problem was either finding the cash to keep VideoBeat on the air or pull it off and risk a lawsuit from Tribune Broadcasting. I had signed a contract to deliver fifty-two original shows and with only five paid for, I now had to come up with the money myself to fund the remaining forty-seven. At $6,500 an episode that meant I had to find over $300,000. I didn’t have anything close to that.

  The first thing I did was cut my salary to zero. Peter reduced his to $500 and I convinced the video company to reduce their weekly costs to $2,000. Now it was a little more manageable but it still meant it would take all of my salary from Video One and most of my money from KROQ to keep the show afloat. Only one thing to do, and that’s up the number of club gigs I was doing.

  This was tough because to be on time at the station to do my morning show I had to be up by 4:40 in the morning. With the clubs keeping me out until 1a.m. it meant barely three hours of sleep a night. But when you’re pushed into a corner you have two choices, give up or come out swinging, and I hadn’t come to America to give up.

  Video One and VideoBeat logos

  While Eric Gold hustled the streets looking for another sponsor—hopefully one who wasn’t the target of an FBI investigation this time—I started picking up some outside television work to replenish my bleeding bank account.

  Paramount enlisted me as a reporter for their new afternoon talk show America hosted by Sarah Purcell of Real People and ESPN hired me to cover a series of skateboard events for Vision Sports.

  In September of 1984, with almost $70,000 of expenses paid out of my own pocket, Eric found a new sponsor for VideoBeat. I happily signed the deal and my financial hemorrhaging ceased.

  KTLA offered to renew VideoBeat’s contract for a second year. I felt like Peter at this point and wanted to run for the door but instead our new investor was happy to keep the money coming so we accepted the twelve month extension with Tribune Broadcasting and VideoBeat continued through to April of 1986 with 104 successful, but financially challenging, episodes.

  Our hard-working, underpaid VideoBeat crew

  RADIO GAGA

  Ramondo and Blade were flying high. The two of us just clicked together on the radio. Ramondo’s dry American wit and precise timing matched with my British enthusiasm and music knowledge worked well with the listeners and in just a few months we had hit number one in the ratings in virtually all of KROQ’s key demographics.

  We were friends off the air as well. We both had similar experiences in radio, paying our dues and coming up through the smaller markets. Raymond’s last gig prior to KROQ was in San Diego at the rock station KPRI and just like me he had fallen into an open spot on KROQ.

  Raymond was very supportive of my outside TV adventures. He would often come to the shoots and show up at the TV set in Burbank and a number of times I was able to get him on camera doing segments. Our live audience loved him and within just a few weeks he starting dating one of our MV3 dancers, Pam.

  Our morning show had a team of characters who appeared on the air with us including Rhonda Kramer, our flirtatious traffic reporter, and two surf reporters—this was Southern California after all—Rockin’ Fig and the Poorman. But we still had no budget!

  We had been together for four months and with Christmas rapidly approaching we were being inundated with thousands of Christmas cards sent in to us from fans. Many would enclose a stamped addressed envelope asking if we could mail a picture of Ramondo and Blade back to them just as I had done with my photograph for the listeners in my first days at the station.

  We asked the management if they would pay for a few thousand cards to send to our fans and were laughed out of the office. That got me pissed.

  We borrowed a camera and had Quay Hays snap a couple of pictures as we stood in the corner by his desk. I had the photos developed and made into a Christmas postcard that would fit into the stamped addressed envelopes and spent hours lickin’ and stickin’ them.

  It cost us a little money but it was worth every cent. Those cards were going to the kids who listened to us every day and loved their station. We knew that they would treasure anything with KROQ on it. We were building loyalty, one card at a time.

  KROQ was notorious for being cheap. Our salaries were miniscule and while every other morning show in LA had a producer, a writer and a talent booker Raymond and I only had each other. But we made it work and fortunately because of our mammoth ratings every record company, movie studio and TV station would come to us and ask to have their stars appear on our show.

  And it wasn’t just the TV stations and press agents pushing to get their clients on the air with us, they also wanted to use our growing popularity and name recognition to promote their shows, newspapers, and magazines by booking Ramondo and the Blade to boost their ratings and sell copies.

  Suddenly it was Raymond and I who were in demand which took us by surprise. There were times we would look at each other and think, Holy shit!

  We were featured in the Los Angeles Times, Daily News, LA Weekly, BAM Magazine, The Press Telegraph—virtually every publication in Southern California came after us. Then we got a call from Playgirl magazine.

  This was big. It was national and international but we said yes—except I insisted that there be no nudity. Four months after the shoot the magazine came out with Kurt Russell on the cover and for the next few weeks Raymond and I would be met at all our gigs by fans clutching the magazine and wanting us to sign it. I have to admit it was a little disturbing to have a fifteen-year-old girl approach you with a Playgirl in her hand asking for an autograph.

  The main thing that differentiated us, and the rest of KROQ’s airstaff, from every other station in the market was the music. We played what nobody else would play and we played it first.

  Music was defined and pigeon-holed by its categories; you had top 40, rock, oldies, hip-hop etc. but in Southern California a new genre was born, K-Rock music. Everyone called it that. We owned certain bands: Duran Duran, The Cure, The Smiths, New Order, Depeche Mode, The Police, Tears for Fears, Talking Heads, Missing Persons, Berlin, Oingo Boingo. If you went to a record store and bought an album from one of those groups, and many more, you were buying K-Rock music. It was a phenomenon.

  KROQ became an adjective. And it was everywhere. Clubs all over LA and Orange County staged “KROQ nights,” meaning that was the music you would hear if you went there that evening. No other station in America had that kind of influence or following and the record companies knew it.

  In 1983 Adam Ant had a huge hit with his debut solo single “Goody Two Shoes.” To build on his chart success Adam embarked on a five-month tour of the United States. At many of his dates he had a little-known Australian band opening for him. In fact the group was so new that no one knew how to say their name correctly so all the newspaper ads read “INXS, pronounced in-excess.”

  Their record label, Atco, saw the huge potential in the band and promoted them hard, so when they came to town at the end of March they pushed to have them on MV3 and KROQ. I talked with Raymond and agreed to both.

  For the MV3 TV shoot the record company persuaded me to interview lead guitarist Tim Farriss and singer Michael Hutchence at the LA Zoo in front of the kangaroo enclosure. They wanted all my viewers to be sure to know that INXS were from Australia, the home of Men at Wor
k. It sounded cheesy but I loved to take the show out on location so I went along with it.

  With Michael Hutchence and Tim Farriss for a TV shoot at the LA Zoo

  The next morning Michael and Tim came on the Ramondo and Blade morning show for their radio interview. They were both tired and dragging a little and that made Ramondo think they didn’t want to be with us at KROQ.

  “I guess we got you out of bed too early,” said Ramondo.

  “No, mate,” replied Tim, “We wanted to be here today.”

  “Seriously?” laughed Ramondo. “Then you’re the only ones! No one wants to come to Pasadena at seven in the morning!”

  “It is early,” agreed Michael, “but it was important for us to be here.”

  “Why, did you want to check out the Rose Parade route?”

  “I don’t know what that is, but we wanted to see what K-Rock was like,” explained Tim.

  It was my turn to be doubtful. “Right. We’re the number-one tourist attraction in California right after Disneyland.”

  Everybody laughed. I continued, “I bet you never even heard of us until the record execs dragged you out of bed this morning.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, mate,” said Michael. “We know all about you in Australia.”

  “What?” asked Raymond. “They can barely hear us in Irvine, never mind Australia.”

  “Yeah,” said Tim, “but if you’re in music then you know that to make it in America you have to be played on KROQ first.”

  Michael caught Raymond and me looking at each other in disbelief.

  “Tim’s right,” agreed Michael. “We know all about you down under. You’re the world-famous K-Rock.”

  And just like that a slogan was born that over the next year was used side by side with our existing “ROQ of the ’80s” and went on to become one of the most recognizable catchphrases in radio and would be featured on every bumper sticker from then on out, “The World-Famous KROQ.”