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Note: This is my half-assed eulogy
for The Best Show. It won’t be pretty and it probably won’t make much sense if
you’re unfamiliar with the show, or even if you are. I’m not writing to tell
you what the Best Show is. I’m not even sure I could. But if you’d like to know
more, check out Jake Fogelnest’s 2011 profile of it here.
If you want to read a more cohesive and moving eulogy of the Best Show, I’d
check here
and here and here and from just about every other great Best Show fan out
there. And probably Patton Oswalt’s site in the next few days. There's also a great little interview with Tom here. For now, though,
I just need to get my thoughts out regarding one of my favorite things ever.
The Best Show on WFMU is grinding
to a halt in less than a week.
The above sentence was written over
an hour ago and it’s still sitting directly above my flashing cursor. It’s not
like I have nothing else to say about it. If anything, I have too much to say.
I could fill pages and pages about so many different aspects of the program,
but instead I’m just sitting here and thinking of all the joy that the show has
brought me.
Like a lot of other people, I’m not
entirely sure about what I’m going to do after the show ends. I mean, I know
what I’m going to do: go to work, love my wife, raise a child, cook meals of
varying quality… i.e. live my life. But the show’s departure leaves me with one
less ritual in my home, perhaps my favorite, one that has come to mean a great
deal to me. The Best Show is consistently the highlight of my week, a weekly
call home to Mars.
One of the reasons it’s so hard to
really describe being a fan of the Best Show (Friend of Tom) is because it’s
not like being a fan of anything else. The easiest comparison to make would be
to that of being a fan of a television show, but that’s also probably the worst
comparison. Watching a TV show is so passive and controlled, a polished product
that is complete long before anyone sees it*. Even shows live SNL or Larry King
(I refuse to name that other clown) seem to have been pre-planned almost to a
fault.
The Best Show, while clearly the
product of two minds, has a huge margin of spontaneity that arises both from
the creators themselves and also the callers. The show isn’t a finished product
until Tuesday has become Wednesday, and sometimes just a stray thought or call
can derail huge chunks of the show, usually for the better.
I first encountered the Best Show
about seven or eight years ago, but I have to admit that it didn’t really take
for almost a year. I would listen to ten minute segments or cherry-pick
episodes (usually ones with semifamous guests on them) from the archives and
listen, but I’d skip around a bunch and listen mostly to the interview.
The first time it totally clicked for me was during a Wurster call
that would later be dubbed “Darren from
Work Shakes His Moneymaker to the Greasy Funk.” I haven’t missed a show
since. Suddenly, I wasn’t listening for the comedians that I liked to be on. If
anything, I started viewing them as a speed bump that would interrupt the pace
of the show.
I think that every fan of the show
has a similar experience, that sudden click where the show goes from a passing
interest to something you suddenly want to know everything about. The archive is combed. Youtube clips are scoured,
articles read, and for the first time you realize that everyone’s already been
talking about how great this show is and how
did you not know about this for so long?
Another common experience for fans
to share is tragedy. Not anything specific, but just those down times in our
lives where shit just doesn’t work the way we’d hoped and nobody knows what to
do next. It seems weird that a radio show (or a podcast) would be the logical remedy
to that, but in times of despair, routine is often what gets us by. Sometimes
you just need a break from feeling sorry for yourself. Sometimes listening to
someone talk about how terrible Frank Zappa is can help to put the world into
perspective. Sometimes you know how
fucked you are but you still need a laugh. I know this not only from firsthand
experience, but also from the sheer number of people that has called in to
thank Tom for what he’s done**. These calls are rarely explicit, but you can
spot them from a mile away. You can hear a cracked voice and an earnestness
that sounds almost out of place. Anyone that has ever been in a spot like that
knows just how grateful you are to the person who helped you out, even if they’re
completely unaware of doing so. You can tell these call mean something to Tom,
but also that he is made uncomfortable by them. How do you respond to something
like that on the spot, over the radio? Still, it obviously means something.
It’s worth noting that the support
system works both ways, as well. A few years ago, Tom’s friend Dogmo died and
he started a few stories about what he loved about his dog so much. He clearly
felt awkward putting this stuff on the radio, if it’s too personal or sad or
whatever. But it was also weighting heavy on his mind and he had to talk about
it. What followed were dozens of calls of support, and any apprehension Tom
might’ve had about mourning a pet on his radio show vanished. In its place was
an outpouring of grief and empathy so widespread and moving that it puts tears
in my eyes to remember it. We’ve been there too. We know how silly and
painful it feels all at once and you do too.
I can’t even get into the shows after 9/11 or
Sandy without having to go back and listen through the shows. Sometimes you can
hear people put down whatever bullshit and just come together to grieve or work
on helping or just to get out of their own thoughts. These past few years, the
Best Show has been my place to do that as well. The show is a public house, in
the classical sense and not spelled all dumb with a k.
To me, the show has several vital
components. A better writer than me would be able to tie these all into a
wonderful commentary about life and loss. Unfortunately, I am no longer a
better writer than me, so I’m just gonna have to list them.
WFMU
The Best Show was probably a tough
sell before it started and then
evolved for 13 years. It has experienced growing pains, audience chances,
personnel changes, etc… you probably couldn’t have paid a commercial radio
station enough to put it on their airwaves. So of course it was a
listener-sponsored radio station that put it on. Even if you’re not a fan of
the show (and if you aren’t why are you still reading?), that station has such
a diverse programming schedule that there is virtually something for everyone.
Please go check it out when you get a chance. If you are a fan of the show, please don’t forget how much WFMU relies on
donations. As soon as I heard that the show was ending, my thoughts turned to
the station and how much money The Best Show brings in. This station is
invaluable and should be supported forever.
AP Mike
Associate Producer Mike is sort of
the wild card of the show. He’s super contrarian and probably takes as much
shit as anyone (often from squirrel puppets). He’s probably more known for the
can of Coors he opens at the beginning of every show than he should be. He
never fails to provide some perspective that might not have considered, and his
voice is a perfect sounding board for Tom’s. I think one of my favorite
surprises of the Best Show is how much I’ve enjoyed its fill-in show Depravity’s Rainbow with Mike and
Therese. I can only hope that he’ll continue to appear on WFMU.
The Callers
I had a whole thing written up
about how I believe callers almost always fall into at least one of four
categories (crazies, assholes, self-promoters, and FOTS), but it’s longwinded
and unnecessary. What I will say is that the callers of the show (even
especially the bad ones) are a vital part of it. Earlier I said that the
easiest analogy to being a fan of the show is of being a fan of a television
show. It certainly isn’t the best, though. Because being a fan of the Best Show
is like being a fan of… I dunno, the Christmas tree lighting ceremony at
Hershey Park. You definitely have something in common with everyone there, but
probably not as much as you would think. Aside from the show, the most unifying
theme of FOTS is a fascination with the absurdity of Western pop culture. In
this regard, it’s no surprise that GG Allin is the patron saint(?) of the show,
or that KISS is a frequent topic of discussion. Tom will still occasionally
reference that TV show Cavemen, or Hider in the House. Once, I heard him
mention Vice Squad, which remains one
of the most troubled and baffling films I’ve ever seen. I’ve meant to call in
about that since he said it 3 years ago.
The callers of the Best Show are a
disparate group, and that’s part of what makes the show work so well. They’re
not just a sounding board for Tom, they make up a community of people that
talk among themselves, that theorize, and all of
whom want to make the show better. They don’t always succeed, but their efforts
are usually in earnest.
The regular callers, meanwhile, are
frequently as entertaining as anything else on the show. There are too many
names to list here, and too many names to insult by listing just a few. In an earlier draft of this paragraph, I had
named a list of like 25 callers that was still growing, and I’d feel terrible
if I left anyone out. But they know who they are. There are voices that I love
to hear on the other end of that line, and they’re the ones that I’ll probably
miss the most after next week.
Jon Wurster
I find Jon Wurster to be completely
enigmatic. I’d be a huge fan of his for his Twitter account alone. He also
happens to be a member of more than one of my favorite bands ever and has played with pretty much
everyone. He’s also a Philly guy, which I tend to keep close track of for some
reason. But more than any of that, he is the voice of Newbridge. In fact, I
first started listening to the show because his most popular character, Philly
Boy Roy, kept getting mentioned on Philly-area message boards. Like many people
from the area, I was also appalled by the character until I realized what he
was doing. Of course, it only took me about twenty minutes to realize that I
know lots of Roys and that they’re from everywhere. The accent smarted at
first, though. Still, it’s a testament to Wurster and the show that I can talk
to people all over the country about Wawas, or that there are people who make
pilgrimages to them. I don’t blame them. I’ve missed Wawa every day since
moving to the west coast.
For me, it’s impossible to see Jon
Wurster playing drums on TV or something and not think about some of the
characters he’s come up with. The mosaic of degenerates and weirdos that he and
Tom have constructed over the past 13 years is nothing short of genius. I feel
like he must have had a spasmodic imagination as a kid that, instead of being
suppressed by medication, was fed Miracle Gro or something. Yes, Newbridge is a
festering place that is inhabited by connivers, scam artists, copyright
infringers, and more than one belt whipping league, but it’s also one of the
greatest places on earth. It’s a horrendous place with inexplicable pride in
itself. It’s a Mayberry that enacted Marshall Law after a tire fire, and then
never really got over it. I know that sounds like hell on earth, and I’m sure
if would be, but I cannot help but absolutely love the idea of it.
I think the things that tend to
crack me up the most about his calls are the waves of idiosyncrasies that have
his characters have shared: frequently
mishearing words or phrases, repeatedly offering to “wiki” things, giving out
absurdly long URLs (usually featuring at least 5+ tildens) over the air, or
stopping a line of conversation with “Wait. Whuuuuuuut?” Many of the characters
tend to use “pants” as an adjective. Since I started listening, he’s probably
called AP Mike at least 200 different names (“Call Screener Pierre” being my
favorite). These little quirks aren’t even the punchline to Wurster calls, just
little bits of weirdness to add to the surreality of Newbridge.
My favorite Wurster appearances
have been in-studio. He was a sound guy working on the station’s mixing board
who just happened to get caught up in the show, and Matthew Tompkins from the
Shout! Network, promoting a new show. But the most jaw-dropping example of
Wurster’s in-studio performances has to be the Mayubernatorial debate show,
where he played what felt like all of his characters fighting with one another
(and Tom, of course). That show was radio history and should be remembered for
decades as the crowning achievement of the medium. Take that,
Herbert
Morrison!
Tom Scharpling
Forget Newbridge for a second. Forget
the music that he’s exposed us to. Forget that Tom just riffing on stuff in the
studio is funnier than most standup albums (and that he does it every week). These
are all qualities that deserve their own essays and I’m sure they’re out there.
It’s testament to how talented and funny the guy is that I’m not even going
into those aspects of the show, which have brought me countless hours of
laughter and joy. But there’s something else.
The first thing to note about Tom
Scharpling on the Best Show is that he is the most genuine human being to
appear on mass media in the past generation. If you turn on the TV or radio or
whatever***, you hear a script. You hear synergy and corporate tie-ins. You
hear people suppressing their humanity in order to present a generic and
likeable face. Everything, for the most part, is so deliberate that your brain
tunes it out. The only time we ever really take notice is when something
unplanned happens, like an errant curse word or a lunatic is interviewed on a
news channel. The rest, though, is like focus-grouped white noise.
Except for Tom. As The Best Show
has progressed, we have heard Tom’s on-air personality has become more and more
sincere and realistic. Instead of suppressing the components of personality
that make him an individual, he airs them out for exploration.
A lot of the criticism that I’ve
seen online or the Best Show is that Tom is always cranky or complaining about
something, which has its merits I guess. But to me, that’s what’s so great
about the show. Complaining is human nature, and if you don’t have a little
voice in your head that complains about everything
in your head, I neither trust nor believe you. Personally, I harbor ridiculous
grudges or explode with rage sometimes at the dumbest stuff ever. Why is this person acting like such a clod
and why isn’t anyone saying anything? How does this person have a book deal?
Why can’t I stop watching this garbage TV show? Imagine if you had to deal
with some of the mutants that call into the show, and think about how long
you’d last before exclaiming “what am I supposed to say to that?”
Tom gives voice to the same
frustrations and anxieties that most of us share, but rarely say. He’s the
little guy too, just as appalled by internet commenters and what Subway calls
bread as I am. And more importantly, he’ll be the first one to admit how dumb
it is to be so worked up over something so insignificant. Instead of storing
anger, he vents it briefly before pointing out how absurd the reality of it is.
95% of anger in this world is completely fucking ridiculous, and that’s
something that everyone needs to hear at some point. I’ve disagreed with Tom on
plenty of things over the years, but it’s never mattered, since the big stuff
is what counts. Try to be a decent human being, and who gives a shit whether or
not we like the same movies.
And it’s not like it’s all
negative, either. Anyone who’s listened to Tom rave about good music or Clifford or SCTV knows just how giddy he can get about something he loves. When
Fucked Up’s David Comes to Life came
out, I didn’t really pay attention because it was a band that I’d never really
gotten before. I think he played a track from that album every week for a month
before telling the listeners just how incredible the rest of the record is. I
ended up buying the album not because I felt like I was supposed to, but
because I wanted to hear anything that could inspire such a reaction from anyone, let alone Tom.
And I think that’s what a lot of
the cult of Best Show fandom is. People identify with him mostly because he’s
sharing his thoughts in earnest and he’s trying to stand for something. It’s
just people relating to someone who isn’t gonna bullshit them. We gravitate to
the show because hearing someone be truthful about their frustrations and
insecurities is so refreshing and human. We tune in because for three hours a
week, a normal person gets complete control over his surroundings, talking
about what and with whomever he wants to. He has no problem hanging up on someone
who wants to discuss something he doesn’t care about, which probably a personal
fantasy for all of us. He does things exactly how we all like to think we
would, although way better and much, much funnier.
It is empowering to listen to. The
good guys win on Tuesday nights, that’s just how it feels. And that’s a very
hard feeling to walk away from.
This is gonna be a weird story, but
bear with me. Years ago, I read a reprint of an article about John Belushi in a
Rolling Stone collection. I don’t
remember much of the article other than the writer describing being terribly
depressed and upon seeing this, Belushi told him “don’t take shit from anyone”.
The writer (Charles M. Young) eulogized Belushi with that same phrase later in
the article. These words had a profound effect on me in spite of the somewhat
juvenile sentiment (I was 14, give me a break), and I’ve repeated them plenty
over the years. Of course, the rub of it is that we all take shit from plenty
of people in our lives. Try getting a bank loan or getting pulled over without
taking a certain amount of shit.
Years ago, I bought some show merch
from
stereolaffs.com and it never showed up in
the mail. I sent Tom a sheepish email explaining this and apologizing for the
confusion. His response was terse, apologizing in kind and saying he’d re-ship
before adding:
“don't
ever apologize for writing about getting something you paid for, no matter who
it is you're writing to! That's your money!” It was totally true and I was embarrassed
immediately. Sometimes we grow so accustomed to deferring to people that we
expect it, which should never be the case.
I think one of the big things I’ve
learned from the Best Show is that there’s a difference between not taking any
shit and not rolling over. That you and
I have every right and dignity afforded to us as the assholes who don’t know
how to act like civilized human beings. What’s more, we outnumber them. I’ve
learned that sometime the world puts so much attention on terrible behavior
that we lose track of the fact that the overwhelming majority of us are
considerate, decent people. Keeping that in mind makes life a lot easier sometimes.
I’m gonna miss Tuesday nights
because we’ll never have something like this again. I’ll miss Tom’s
astonishment of how a show like Sons of
Anarchy can exist, and Spike’s bad celebrity nicknames. I’ll miss Ploptron
5000, Roy Jr, and all of the other morbidly obese, drug-addicted denizens of
Newbridge. I’ll miss deconstructing “Chestnut Mare”. I'll miss the theme song(s).
I know that it has to end, and I
know that we’ll all get to experience some amazing new things. I can’t complain
about a show ending that has existed so consistently for so long. Nobody from
the show owes me anything, and I thank everyone for making my world a better
place. I’m just happy to have been a part of it, even if I didn’t participate. Scharpling
and Wurster will continue to work together, and I know that I’ll love whatever
they do. But I don’t think any of their future work will allow their
personalities to shine through as much. There can’t be as much interaction with
such a giant cast of weirdos, outcasts, and FOTS. There will never be another
Best Show, and if you missed it, I’m sorry. If you caught it, I’m glad we all
got to share it together. I’ll see you in the archives.
*As I wrote that, I realized that
the closest TV analogy to The Best Show is probably the Chris Gethard Show,
which also features a cast of lunatics and people who are fascinated with them,
just in a different ratio.
**This was made even more in the
most recent show, when several calls came in to that effect.
*** I’m discounting podcasts, which
one could easily argue he is the godfather of (Suck on that that,
Adam Curry). The show is a
precursor to podcasts, but it’s worth noting that podcasting also helped the
show develop an even more massive audience.
