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WBLM disc jockey Tommy Carbone, right, instructs Ray Routhier at the WBLM studio in Portland.

Gregory Rec/Staff Photographer

ABOUT THIS SERIES

MAINE AT WORK takes an interactive look at iconic, visible or just plain interesting jobs done by folks in Maine. Reporter Ray Routhier shadows a worker or workers, reports what he sees and tries his hand at some of the job's duties.

IF YOU'D like to suggest a job to be explored in this feature, e-mail rrouthier@pressherald.com or call him at 791-6454.

THIS WEEK'S JOB

TITLE: Disc jockey at the WBLM radio station in Portland.

WORKER: Tommy Carbone, 51, of Portland, known on air as Tommy C.

HOURS: 8:30 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. weekdays.

DUTIES: Playing and organizing music, keeping track of when ads run, doing on-air chatter and promotions, producing ads and promotions and putting CDs and records away.

SURPRISING FACT: Carbone works alone and doesn't wear headphones to hear what's going over the air. After nearly 30 years in the business, he trusts his instincts. He also has memorized the lengths of hundreds of songs.

PERKS: WBLM's collection of classic rock albums at your disposal. Plus a nice view of downtown Portland from the WBLM studio overlooking Monument Square.

PORTLAND — Write everything down.

I thought that was strange advice coming from a radio disc jockey. I thought radio guys just had a gift for gab, grabbed a microphone and let their mouths take over.

That's true to a point, Tommy Carbone was telling me as he cued up some commercials for the classic rock station WBLM. Most "jocks" can wing it when they have to, including him. But there are so many things to remember, so many things a disc jockey needs to tell the audience during a 30-second break, that you really ought to write things down.

"If you don't, you'll forget to mention a sponsor, or you'll forget to tell them it's two for Tuesday, or the call letters," said Carbone, 51, who has been on air at WBLM (102.9 FM) as "Tommy C" since 1986. "You don't want to forget anything. Especially not a sponsor."

I watched Carbone write notes for all of his talking breaks during a two-hour period on a recent "two for Tuesday" – when the station plays two songs in a row by the same artist. Then at around 11:30 a.m., he told me I'd be in charge of the daily "Classic Lunch Hour." I'd pick the songs, cue them up, and talk.

Remember to say the time, Carbone told me, and the call letters should be listed this way: "102.9 WBLM." And then I also was supposed to introduce myself, say I was subbing for Tommy C, mention the songs just played, and the album and songs coming up. And end with the call letters again. And at some point, I'd have a couple of sponsorships to read on air.

"Most people switch stations all the time, and when they hear talking, they might just say 'Shut up' and switch to the next one. I know I do," Carbone said before my big on-air moment. "So I want to talk as little as possible, and I want to say things that might interest people, that might help people enjoy the music. For a lot of people, this might be the one time they hear someone from BLM talking all day. So make it good."

With that, Carbone told me to stand by, and counted down the final seconds of a song by The Who. Then he pointed to me silently. I said into the microphone, without missing a beat, "102.9 WBLM. It's two minutes past twelve, welcome to the Classic Lunch Hour on a two for a Tuesday."

From there, I went on to break the Guinness world record for most uses of "uh" and "um" in a 30-second period.

'HAPPENS TO EVERYBODY'

I'd written down everything Carbone had told me, and tried to ad-lib a little, too. I said I was helping Carbone out in the "cockpit of love," one of Carbone's signature synonyms for the studio. But I sounded like a nervous high school student doing an oral book report.

I did manage to mention the song I had just played – "My Wife" from "Who's Next" – and then I said we had two coming up from Elvis Costello and that "we don't play Elvis Costello enough around here." So in a matter of minutes, I had become part of the "we" at BLM. At least, in my mind.

I stopped and waited for Carbone to push the button for the music. Suddenly, I heard his voice, on air, asking me, "What are we playing?"

"Uh, um, 'Alison,' " I said sheepishly. So he pushed the button, and "Alison" finally began playing.

When we were off the air, Carbone said, "Happens to everybody. That's why I write everything down."

I had written it down, but the pressure of talking to thousands of BLM listeners was too great. I blanked anyway. This wasn't quite how my dreams of being on the radio had gone. Funny, but when I played DJ in my room, with my 45s and my "Close N'Play" record player, there just wasn't a lot to remember.

Watching Carbone for about three hours during his 9 a.m. to 1 p.m. on-air stint, I realized that in a real radio studio, there were lots of things to keep track of and lots of things that could go wrong.

First, Carbone works alone. He doesn't have a producer telling him when to talk or to cue up albums for him. He does have, on a computer screen, a list of what is scheduled to be on air and when. This list includes songs that are already in the computer system and ready to play, plus pre-recorded commercials.

Carbone could let a lot of this run on its own, but he prefers to play songs as the spirit moves him or as listeners make requests.

Like when somebody e-mailed a request for "Box of Rain." That wasn't on the computer list for the day, so he asked me to find it and cue it up. He pointed me to the giant wall of CDs and I started looking, alphabetically, for the CD. I found that many of them weren't labeled.

"Oh, yeah, that's Grateful Dead stuff in there. Trust me, I know it's not labeled, but it's there," Carbone said.

He told me to put it in the CD player and press the "cue" button on the big mixing board under "CD 1." Then he had me press "cue" on the CD player to make sure it was the right song. Trouble was, I put the disc in without checking to see what track "Box of Rain" was. So I had to take it out again.

"Happens to everybody," Carbone said. It happened to me at least three more times. At least I didn't accidentally cue up a song on air, which Carbone tells me is another accident waiting to happen.

At one point, I had to read a sponsorship on air and put in a plug for Gritty McDuff's Black Fly Stout. I had to say it about 10 times off air to make sure I didn't say Back Fy Slout or some other incorrect configuration.

When we were picking the songs for the classic lunch – those are never pre-programmed, Carbone always picks them on the fly – I realized that after nearly 30 years as a disc jockey, Carbone had acquired a strange talent for knowing the lengths of almost every song.

"Now, we've got six minutes until the next break, so that election ad is 60 seconds, the Lowe's spot is 10, Jared is 30, you need a song that's maybe 4:00, 4:20. So any of that Elvis Costello stuff would probably be too short; let's look for some of that Tom Petty instead," he said at one point.

CLASSIC FM RADIO PIPES

Carbone told me he didn't grow up dreaming of being on the radio, though he has a classic '70s disc jockey voice, something that sounds like it's coming from a warehouse or cellar or some other deep, dark place. His voice and style are a reminder of the days when (and this is true fact, kids) FM radio was sort of an underground medium run by hippies and other fringe elements. At least it seemed that way.

Carbone grew up in Haverhill, Mass., a big music lover and a fan of the pioneering Boston FM rock station WBCN. As a student at the University of Massachusetts/Lowell, he heard there was a college radio station and that he could play whatever he wanted. So he jumped at the chance.

At WBLM, Carbone continues to try to make the music the biggest part of his show. Sure, he has to keep track of when ads run, and he has to produce ads, and he has to talk about products he knows nothing about.

At the end of his shift, he has to put all the CDs and written sponsorship scripts away, and generally get the studio in order for the next disc jockey.

And when he goes off the air, he still has to work another 3 hours or so, recording commercials and creating things that can be played at a later date.

The way Carbone looks at it, he still gets to play the music he loves and hear from people who love music.

Does that mean he only plays what he loves? No, says Carbone, that wouldn't be fair to the listeners. And it probably wouldn't go over well with station managers.

But just because he has to play music he's not fond of, that doesn't mean he has to listen.

"I can tune out Scorpions, that's no problem, and I never, ever hear Styx anymore," says Carbone. "But when I get to play Springsteen, or the Stones, it doesn't matter how often, I listen. Songs like those are in your DNA."

And he likes to talk and spout trivia, just enough to remind people there is a live and local person at the station's controls. Not every radio station today can say that.

"That's why I say the time and the call letters a lot," he said.

"I want people to know somebody's here, in Portland. Somebody's with them."

Staff Writer Ray Routhier can be contacted at 791-6454 or at:

rrouthier@pressherald.com