One of the advantages of living in Scotland's west central belt these last few years has now wretchedly, and without warning, been taken from us. Returning from abroad the other week, I discovered that, in the few days I had been away, the UK's only radio station dedicated to pure and unalloyed classic rock music had been replaced by something altogether more fey and watery, called X-FM.
By classic, I mean music where the musicians actually put their heart and soul into their work instead of deploying the plinkety-plonk guitar strumming that proliferates on all music stations these days and which too many people insist on calling rock. X-FM is an excrescence.
When Rock Radio 96.3 breenged on to the airwaves barely a decade ago, it seemed that our prayers had been answered. Soon, we were luxuriating in this gift that just kept on delivering: we were never more than half an hour away from another coruscating classic by Deep Purple, Led Zeppelin or AC/DC. These boys know how to play their drums and guitars and could hold a live audience for hours on end. The station was long overdue. The thirst for real rock'n'roll in the west of Scotland has been alive and kicking since the heyday of the great Apollo theatre in Renfield Street. No band that claimed to be genuinely sweaty and heavy could have a decent CV unless it included a couple of appearances at the Glasgow Apollo.
Rock 96.3 also boasted a line-up of crusty and intelligent presenters who refused to patronise their listeners with the barely literate and inane witterings of the holiday camp crew who have replaced them. Prince among them was Tom Russell, aka the Beard of Doom, who conveyed his messages in the sepulchral cadences of one who has drunk whisky with the Prince of Darkness himself.
The station also rendered a great service to broadcasting by giving us the "five word weather" report, a genuine innovation that has, unconscionably been ignored by our national television and radio broadcasters. "What do you know? Snow."
They also had a linkman whose speciality was epithets and aphorisms for everyday life that brooked no nonsense. "Drink responsibly: leave before your 12th pint." I'm sure that was one of his.
I first divined that all was not well on the 96.3 bandwidth when I heard the Smiths being played twice in one hour. How can a band led by a man who hates meat and who ponces about on stage waving a daffodil ever be considered rock'n'roll? Soon we were on to the Happy Mondays. The Happy festering Mondays? Then they had those pretend rock bands such as Muse and Biffy Clyro who spend far too much time on Jackanory lyrics and not enough time on the business of rocking.
I knew, though, it was time to tune out entirely when a female presenter who sounded like she was auditioning for CBeebies informed us that one of the highlights of the forthcoming weekend's attractions on the station was an interview with Alan Carr, Chatty Arse.
A couple of days later, driving back from Edinburgh and looking for some Blue Oyster Cult or Van Halen to hasten me homewards to Glasgow, what sounded like the same woman (it could easily have been one of their male presenters) made this announcement: "Next up it's an interview with Alex Kapranos from Franz Ferdinand." This band, specialising in shallow, tinny guitar music, always sounds like their records are recorded in a lavatory cubicle. There are many words that may be used to describe whatever it is that this regrettable band plays; I would choose Ikea pop.
It most definitely is not rock'n'roll, though. There were other bands called things such as the Mirrors or the Paperclips or the Light-switches, each with the sort of back catalogue that wouldn't bear scrutiny at a shopping centre Saturday matinee.
It's not as if I'm against other forms of popular music. The songs of Mr Neil Diamond and Mr Bobby Darin are exceedingly pleasant and possibly even inspired, especially at any west of Scotland funeral, wedding or christening. I am simply unhappy that music that purports to be rock, but isn't, is squeezing out that which is. Is that not what Smooth Radio and Radio Clyde and Radio Scotland's Get It On show are for? The heaviest that X-FM ever gets seems to be Bruce Springsteen and, I'm sorry, he doesn't qualify either on account of one of his most famous songs featuring something that sounds suspiciously like a triangle being played on it.
Heavy rock is important to society as it portrays and recalls our industrial heritage and celebrates hard work, honesty and integrity. If there was ever a proper revolution in this country, it would provide the soundtrack to the social upheaval and not Franz Ferdinand or the Smiths or Blur. Donald MacLeod is the owner of Glasgow's Cathouse, the UK's only serious rock'n'roll club. It's been running for 23 years and MacLeod reports that business is booming as more and more young people turn their backs on the whining nursery rhymes that so many bands deem to be poetry.
Vinyl record sales are also increasing both in the UK and the US as a new audience thirsts for the dark and heavy magic of classic rock. This has led to an upsurge in vinyl exchanges where aficionados meet to play and discuss their favourite records and discuss the art and philosophy of the cover art. One bar in Glasgow, the Arlington, has begun a weekly Sunday show where many of the city's top musicians bring along their favourite vinyl masterpieces and explain when and why they bought them.
It's hoped that these sessions will feature on a new internet rock radio station located in the bar. I want MacLeod and the Arlington and other like-minded rockers to get their heads together and explore the concept of reviving a proper rock station for Glasgow and the West. I can be contacted at the Observer.
On this Easter Sunday, it is appropriate to recall the words of Stanley and Simmons on a classic by Kiss.
God gave rock and roll to you,
gave rock and roll to you
Put it in the soul of everyone
Amen
