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Can you really miss someone you've never even met?
Much like Doctor Demento has Weird Al, I had Logan Whitehurst. Doctor Demento pretty much discovered Al and gave him the exposure needed to make him famous. Doctor Demento always seems to have a special affinity for Al, playing him constantly and always getting the new stuff. That was how I felt about Logan Whitehurst. Sure, I pretty much constantly played stuff from Luke Ski, Sudden Death, Throwing Toasters, and other bands, but they all had notoriety before I found them. Logan, I always felt, was (to some degree) my discovery.
When I started the Pab Sungenis Project, I went through MP3.com desperately looking for material. I didn't want the show to just be another ripoff of Doctor Demento. I wanted to find some new stuff, stuff not getting much attention, and play that. Even though I was using a variation on the Doctor's show structure, I wanted to make it stand out and give some exposure to new and upcoming artists. That was when I discovered Logan's MP3.com page, and a little ditty called "Monkeys Are Bad People." I played it on my fifth show, and it got response right away.
A few weeks later, I had a request for "Monkeys," and E-Mailed Logan to ask him the story behind the song. That started off a correspondence that, while not very prolific, lasted up until his announcement that he was dying. He also wound up being the first artist I ever interviewed on the air, chatting with me in February of 2001.
The interesting thing, during the early months of the show, I regularly posted my playlists on the Doctor Demento newsgroup on Usenet. Doctor Demento's staff were actively hanging out there at the time (and for all I know, still are). Doctor Demento started picking up on "Monkeys" and "Happy Noodle vs. Sad Noodle" shortly after I was playing them, and Logan's career really took off.
I was very proud when Logan E-Mailed me after being signed to Pandacide Records. He told me that he attributed a lot of his success to my early exposure of him, and was eternally grateful. I even got a "thank you" right next to Doctor Demento in the liner notes for "Goodbye My Four Track," which thrilled me no end.
I have two very close friends, both of whom are fighting cancer right now. One has lost so much weight I can hardly even recognize her. The other is sitting up in a hospital room in North Jersey right now, getting ready for a bone marrow transplant to hopefully end his trip on the cancer-go-round once and for all. (That friend, Brett Fauver, also has a connection to Logan that might not be apparent at first. Brett wrote a series of short plays and sketches entitled Damn The Cancer. I asked Logan to write a theme song for it when he was doing the Very Tiny Songs Project and it seems to have become the anthem for the grieving members of the Junior Science Club. You have Brett to thank for that one, folks, not me.) When you add to it the fact that my partner Bryan's grandfather died of cancer, as did my grandmother, we've really been knocked for a loop lately by the disease.
The funny thing is that, while I never even met Logan in person, I feel as though I lost a good friend today. I feel as though I'd known him for years, even though we only spoke once, and all our other communication was through electrons projected onto a screen. It's funny how this "information revolution" has changed communications, and our concepts of friendship and social circles forever.
The Pab Sungenis Project has been on extended hiatus due to my own family emergencies this year, and I had planned to start things up with a show on December 16th through my new syndication/distribution arm. However, I can't let this go unnoticed, so my podcast and WBCQ (the only station currently playing reruns of my show, and the only one signed up for the new one so far) will feature a special dedicated to Logan this Friday. I'll probably re-play my 2001 interview with him, and fill up the rest of the show with his stuff. It would be fitting to close the book on the Low Budget Radio Network with Logan, since he was there, in a way, from the beginning.
Goodbye, Magic Chef. You went too early.
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