Years ago, I used to live in downtown Boston just off the Common. It’s right in the middle of town, and I walked through it to get something to eat, go to a movie, or take the subway. I work in the music business, and month after month, year after year, we’re presented with new music. Some of it’s niche, some of it has the hopes of thousands riding on its back.

I remember at one point one of our record labels talking about a new band, LCD Soundsystem.

They’re a cool band from Brooklyn.
It’s a little different, electronic. We’re really excited about it.
It’s the kind of music that people would want to play at parties.

When the advance album showed up, it looked different than a lot of the other music we received. Dark green heavy cardboard, with an embossed mirror ball, and the band’s logo on the front. That’s it. It stood out.

Shortly after that, I had to take the subway somewhere. I always used a subway ride to check out new music. I grabbed the LCD album, transferred it to my iPod, and walked out the door. I hadn’t reached the sidewalk when the little yelp that kicks off “Daft Punk Is Playing At My House” started.  Walking through the park and onto the subway, the song burned into my mind.  I don’t hear it anymore without flashing back to that walk, and while I’m not on the Common as much as I used to be, I almost always have it pop into my mind when I walk through.

Describing new music can be tedious, but it didn’t take long for the explanations to click. There was something instantly catchy and appealing about what I was hearing. A heavy, techno-ish beat, tons of percussion, and someone half-singing, half-talking over the music. A few falsetto squeals thrown in for good measure. I got it. I didn’t know James Murphy from the guys across from me on the subway. I never would have guessed that he’d remind me more of someone I’d play darts with at the pub, than a mustachioed Brooklynite.

Earlier tonight I drove into Boston, parked my car, and walked across the Boston Common to see LCD Soundsystem play at the Orpheum Theater. I had seen them years ago when their first album came out. I remember being struck by what a bandleader Murphy was on stage. Beyond singing, he was moving around, directing the band. He was a conductor. I loved the show, but the performance they put on now—years later—is in a different league.

From the first notes, the show is blast of lights, and grooves. Deep grooves. The stage was filled with vintage electronic equipment that would make Jonny Greenwood jealous. The band is super tight, with Murphy singing over the music, and whaling away on the percussion kit next to him.

I bumped into an old friend of mine from the Boston music scene. At one point he turned to me and said: “You know, we’ve been seeing shows together in Boston for fifteen years.” I know, I can’t believe it. “This is something huh?” Sure is.

It felt like it was 110° in the theater. People were dancing and dripping sweat. I was dancing and dripping sweat—and those are two things I generally try to avoid. There was a moment that I had sweat dripping into my eyes at the same time that the music was giving me the chills. That’s exciting, and that’s something that reminds you that it’s all worth it.

It’s really easy to be jaded about music.  I’ve seen a lot of shows over the years.  Only the best ones leave the crowd with a shared sense of euphoria when they walk out. I felt it when I walked out of the theater.  I felt it when I walked across the Common back to my car. And I felt it when those first notes of “Daft Punk Is Playing At My House” came through the speakers on the ride home.

Earlier this month the famed Boston radio station WBCN went off the air.  WBCN was one of those things that was just always there, and I never stopped to think too much about it.  Over the last few days that they were broadcasting, people started to pay more attention in a “I can’t believe this is really happening way.”

I think the first time I really became aware of WBCN was when I was in high school, and living in Connecticut.  I had started to become intrigued by this band from Burlington, VT that I was hearing a lot about—Phish.  Back then, in order to get news updates and tour dates, you had to call into an telephone hotline, which was basically just an answering machine where they would read off the latest info.  I found out that Phish would soon be playing a radio show for the “Rock Of Boston, WBCN.”  I talked my parents into driving me and a friend up for the night and we saw the show.  I remember thinking that if Phish was playing a show for them, they must be pretty cool.  WBCN was now on my radar.

Within a few years I was living in Boston and going to school.  WBCN became an immediate pre-set on my car radio.  You just knew they were a big deal.  You’d pass Fenway Park and see the old, black building out on the far side with the huge, white WBCN logo scrawled across the front.  It was part of the fabric of the area.

When I was in college, I started taking a bunch of classes on writing, and American literature; The Beats and the Vietnam War—your basic liberal arts education.  One of my favorite professors was a life-long Boston resident.  She’d tell us tales of what Boston was like in the heady times of the late Sixties and Seventies.  She talked about how WBCN was always on—an ever-present soundtrack to that bygone era that was so easy for me to romanticize.  And I could still go home, tune the radio to 104.1 and, in a way, tie into that history.

Towards the end of college I started interning for the local radio rep at the Boston Virgin Records office (a position that, incidentally, lead to the job I have today, in a roundabout way).  I have tons of great memories of this time, but I’ll never forget the feeling of excitement when my old boss Howard would stick his head out the door of his office and announce something like “‘BCN added Lenny!”  The whole office would cheer.  It was a big deal.  A big fish in a pretty big pond.

Years later, back in the music business after a few detours, I stood in the BCN studio near Fenway and had one of my all-time musical idols hand me a glass of champagne that had just been poured from a bottle presented to him as a gift from Oedipus, a local legend in his own right.  In hindsight, it made some sort of cosmic sense that that was where we were.  I still have the cork from that bottle.

Over the past few years WBCN changed a lot.  Like a lot of stations, they constantly tweaked the format of music they played.  They seemed to lose a bit of identity, and along the way my listening faded.  Still, I work in the music industry, and even with all the ups and downs, ‘BCN was still ‘BCN.  Having a single added there was still a big deal.

So a few weeks ago, on the night that they were to sign off for good, I knew I had to listen for one last time.  I sat at my computer and listened to them play one last set of great music, and share stories.  Something else cool happened as well.  I started looking on Facebook (a site that I’ve had more negative feelings towards than positive of late), and it seemed like everyone I knew that had any connection whatsoever to Boston was talking about ‘BCN going off of the air.  It was a nice moment, and it reminded me that I’m happy to have a central place to share those thoughts.  The internet may have diluted the community effect that radio has these days, but it also brought a diverse group of people together to share their thoughts on it.

I sat there with my headphones on, listening to them play Pink Floyd’s “Shine On You Crazy Diamond” one last time.  As the song ended, they played a montage of highlights from the long and wild life of the station.  As it ended, the call letters of the new station were spoken, and then it cut to static.  I listened to that static for a long time without even realizing it.  WBCN going off the air was never a “my life will never be the same” moment.  It wasn’t something I thought about on a regular basis.  But sitting there, listening to that static, gave a me a chance to reflect on that thread that has been woven through all my years living in Boston.  It’s strange to think that it’s gone.

Take a listen for yourself: