These days, it sometimes feels like everyone has a podcast. Your father has one. Your mother has two. My cat has a show devoted to birdwatching. The birds on my ledge do a program where they debunk common myths associated with avian stereotyping in cinema. It’s a good one if you can get beyond the constant chirping. So with fresh podcasts popping up every day, few remember the days of dial turning and irrational FCC regulations. Back when the radio ruled the airwaves. When you could only swear if it was to God. My next guest, Domenico “Ray” Decibelli, remembers that era well. Having announced thousands of radio commercials over the years, he’s familiar with a time when these ad buys mattered. Long before Spotify and Pandora, when car radios were the item that thieves cared enough about to steal. They’d ignore the handbag on the dash and the cash on the passenger seat. Remarkable. Can we go back there? Though he spent much of his life talking fast, Decibelli’s life has slowed down considerably since retiring. I caught up with him earlier this morning.
MTP: Morning, morning. How are things down in the Lone Star State? Is that an antenna I spy in the background?
DRD: Let’s skip the small talk. If this were a 30 second spot, you’d be out of time already.
MTP: What are your thoughts on ham radios?
DRD: I prefer prosciutto.
MTP: How’d you get into voiceover?
DRD: It’s a quick story. I was driving somewhere around here, opening up the throttle. Must’ve been doing 125. A cop pulled me over, as it happens when you’re doubling the speed limit. I rolled down my window and just started rambling. Talking real, real fast. He was actually writing a ticket when he crossed it out and gave me a number of someone to call. Turned out his cousin was an auctioneer in West Texas who, from what I could tell over the phone, had developed a pretty bad case of the hiccups. He needed an apprentice and I needed a job. That go me started talking for a living. Eventually, some adman in the audience heard me announcing the annual egg toss. Something about the way I said "yolk" made him believe I had a future in radio.
MTP: Did you get any points on your license?
DRD: Are you listening to me? I never got the ticket.
MTP: But your insurance went up, right?
DRD: How much longer is this? I have an early tee time.
MTP: That depends entirely on you. Moving on…who were some of your heroes growing up?
DRD: Jean Shepherd, Wolfman Jack, his Quebecois compatriot, Wolfman Jacques. The usual folks.
MTP: What’s something they don’t teach you at voiceover school?
DRD: To make it in radio you have to break all the rules. Take two innocent little phrases “accessories sold separately” or “may cause an irregular heartbeat.” Speech coaches will instruct you to sound out every syllable. Not here and never when the light turns red. Take all your diction and toss it. You want words to bleed together to form, not simply a run-on sentence, but a run-on thought.
MTP: Any tricks?
DRD: I would hang out at taverns, paying close attention to the speech patterns of winos. Slurring was my secret. Drunks have a way of compressing a monologue into a single guttural sound. It’s really something.
MTP: And this worked?
DRD: Every time.
MTP: Is there anything you'd change about your career?
DRD: This interview.
MTP: How so?
DRD: I'd make it much shorter.
NB: Immediately after uttering this comment, a dial tone appeared. I couldn't believe anyone would hang up without saying goodbye or adios. I said "hello, hi, howdy, bonjour" for about 10-15 minutes before transitioning into a lovely conversation about pie with an operator. But Ray never called back.
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