My love of Costa Rican radio and scalding hatred of Phil Collins started way back in 1999. I was living in San Pedro, a small college town right outside of the capitol city, San Jose for a couple of months at the start of a year traveling around the world. My humble apartment was devoid of a television set and computers and weren’t as ubiquitous as these days, leading me and my traveling buddy, coincidentally named Phil, to turn to tune in to local radio stations for any musical entertainment. I don’t remember many radio stations at all and certainly no English speaking stations with American Music, other than Radio Dos.
“Rrrrrrrrradio DOS!” the stern-voiced announcer proclaimed with the authority of a bullfighter, rolling the R and using a soft A, “Que Romantico!” Well I don’t know what was so romantic about the station but at least they had some US music, mostly a mix of 80’s, soft rock, and elevator music, and I recall many afternoons playing cards and waiting for the tropical rain showers to pass with Radio Dos keeping us company. Most of the music was palatable – even Hootie and Blowfish and Air Supply songs are welcomed with a certain nostalgia when you are in a foreign land where there is little English spoken. Unfortunately Radio Dos played quite a few Phil Collins songs. At that point I just mildly disliked Phil Collins and all things Genesis. They seemed, well…stupid, irrelevant, like they were playing a joke on the American public with their soggy, quivering pointless drivel, and we never caught on. But I was willing to be the bigger person and tolerate one Phil Collin’s audio equivalent of a sugar-free cupcake for every ten Rolling Stones, Aerosmith, Chicago, REO Speedwagon, and the pan-ultimate, Guns and Roses tunes. Over the months in Costa Rica my dislike of Phil Collins grew in irritation like a mosquito buzzing your head while you are trying to sleep, but upon departing the country I filed those songs away deep in the dark recesses of my psyche and shifted my condemnation to other horrible artists like Ricky Martin. Mercifully I did not hear another PC song for over a decade in the United States, other than Iron Mike Tyson mocking it in the movie Hangover, not even an instrumental version at Dennys during the 4:30pm senior citizen dinner rush. All was once again right with the universe.
Fast forward eleven years. I arrived back in Costa Rica late one hot evening and got picked up at the airport by my old friend from Colorado days, Pistol Pete and his Tica girlfriend, Cynthia. They were nice enough to pick me up in their black Chevy Trailblazer that comfortably fit my ton of luggage, which included a disassembled kayak, car engine parts, an air mattress and pump, and certain botanical liquids that could probably be used to make an explosive device. I breezed past the slightly gordo, sweaty customs officers with a wink and jumped in the front seat of the truck and off into the balmy night. We chatted a little and caught up on old times as we navigated the only paved road between the Liberia airport and the surf town of Tamarindo. Pete turned up the radio and I was pleasantly surprised that Radio Dos was on the dial. How cute! A Bon Jovi song was on so I told him to turn it up and I hummed along with a smile on my face. Then something dark and terrible happened. No, we didn’t run over a donkey cart full of nuns along the side of the road, it was something far worse - a Phil Collins song came on.
I think it was “In the Air Tonight” that and instantly triggered all of my repressed disdain for this cue-ball looking clown. Trying to keep my cool, I asked Pete if we could put in a CD but he informed me that the CD player was broken. Well maybe if I rolled down the window the wind would drown out the music. I pushed the window button but nothing happened. I pushed it again, and again, and again, panic sinking in. It’s broken, Pete told me, the window permanently stuck in the up position. All of a sudden it felt like it was 110 degrees in there and I was literally trapped, sweating like a hostage, while being serenaded by Phil Collins - my own personal hell. I pondered if I should take my chances and jump out at 90 kilometers per hour, skid and roll to a stop on the pavement, and run all the way back to the airport.
Little else has changed with Radio Dos, 99.5 on the FM dial. It’s still the national radio station for soft rock and pop music and plays the tunes you would never listen to but appreciate on foreign soil. I can’t believe I’m saying this but I’m delighted to hear Madonna club remixes, Simply Red, and the Nelson Twins considering the alternative. The intro is now done by an angelic-voiced Tica, and somewhere along the way they dropped the “Que romantico,” which was really my favorite part, but for some unfathomable reason Phil Collin’s popularity has actually grown exponentially. His presence on Radio Dos is obscenely disproportionate to other artists, and it seems like every four songs we have to endure his whining.
Already after a week trapped in that sweat-box truck under the midday tropical sun I break out in hives and my lip won’t stop twitching when Radio Dos plays “Against All Odds.”
I swear if I hear “Su Su Suido” one more time I’m going to friggin Shoo Shoo Shoot someone.
But this isn’t all about my desire to kick the crap out of Phil Collins; it’s equally about the where Costa Rican radio is today and how it got here. The other day at the bar I had a confusing conversation with a drunken local Tico about Radio Dos. Apparently Radio Dos (Radio Two) is numero uno in the country in popularity. So Dos is uno. I delved deeper over a few semi-cold Imperial cervezas and found out that there was also a Radio Uno! However Radio Uno, 102.7 on your FM dial, is actually not numero dos in popularity, but 4th or 5th in the rankings. So Dos is number 1 and Uno is number 4 or 5 and there is no Radio 4 or 5. Makes perfect sense in a Latin American third-world kind of way. “Have they ever thought of changing the names so that the number one station is called Radio Uno?” I asked the local. He eyed me suspiciously, threw a few Colones on the bar, picked up his machete, and walked out into the dusty, sunny street.
The good news is that there are many alternatives to Radio Dos – in fact Tico radio has grown to over 112 stations, mostly with Latin American rock bands, reggaton, merengue and salsa, and sad Mexican songs. Looking for other US music, I did a little research on Costa Rican radio stations and found out that this country has an extreme pop music fetish. Of course there is Radio Uno, 102.7 FM, which is a rock station that boasts a “strongly masculine” feel (huh?), Radio Dos, 99.5 FM, which is claims to be adult contemporary and plays the music that “makes you vibrate” (double huh?), Los 40 Principales (urban pop), Radio Reloj (conversation and pop), Radio Actual (sports and pop), Zoom Radio (San Jose pop), Raxa (80’s pop), and Radio Z (Latin pop). The only proverbial new kids on the block are several university and student radio stations, who play local artists and rock bands like Ghandi, Pato Barroza, Evolucion, and El Parque.
There are 3.7 million Ticos and 900,000 radio receivers. The more populated cities or touristy coastal towns have internet access but in the interior – isolated jungle and hills – radio is still the main medium of getting information and staying connected. In 1993 the government instituted the “Teacher in Your House” radio programming to educate people in those rural areas. They can listen to correspondence courses from public schools and English lessons right there at home on the radio. Voice of America, or VOA, offers a popular morning program called Buenos Dias America, a morning educational and news program that wraps up with the national anthem, broadcast on 28 stations nationally. The most politically liberal station is Radio America Latina, the voice of the disenfranchised and the popular movement.
In fact most serious news stations have a political edge, slanting either far right or far left, similar to most media or journalism outlets in Latin America. Even in Costa Rica, known for being safe, stable, and not having an army, there is violence against those who speak out against the power players: the government and drug cartels. This was most recently demonstrated by the July 2001 murder of popular radio journalist Parmenio Medina, who had just won an award that same evening for defending freedom of expression. His popular show “La Patada”, or “Kick in the Pants”, denounced official corruption and exposed improprieties within the drug cartels, Catholic church, and government. He was shot three times at close range and died on the way to the hospital. In face in a recent poll more than half Tico journalists reported receiving threats of violence.
The birth of Costa Rican radio can be traced back to one amazing man – Tico broadcaster Armando Cespedes Marin. Born in the 1880’s on the Caribbean side of the country, he moved to New York City to pursue his dream of being an entrepenuer and learning English. He returned a decade later, bringing the first steam engine to the country, starting the first national newspaper, opening the first motion picture show, and filming arrival of first plane landing in Costa Rica. In Nov 1923 built a one tube regenerative receiver that picked up Mexican radio stations. Word got out and people lined up requesting that he build these homemade receivers for them. He eventually built and sold 800 for friends. In Dec 1924 he built a transmitter that broadcast 5 miles to talk to friends and play phonographs, and in 1927 progressed with an AM broadcast through a 5 watt transmitter. The eureka moment came when Armando put a 15 meter bamboo antennae on top of roof, testing it by sending a message to his wife 10 meters away asking “how many eggs have the hens laid?” The answer came from as far as Gatun, Panama and Guayaquil, Ecuador, over 1200 miles away. The first Costa Rican radio station was born, and the rest of his days were spent hosting regular radio programs and watching the modernization and growth of his beloved country.
Now THAT is the man we should be celebrating, a pioneer and patriot a hundred years ahead of his time. Conversely by now Phil Collins should be a sad vaudeville act, broke and lonely, relegated to making $250 a night plus free drinks on the Bar Mitzvah circuit. Instead he has aged somewhat gracefully –he looked 60 years old back when he was 30 and he looks 60 years old now that he is 90. His management website boast that Philly boy is available for all sorts of celebrity and corporate appearances, recently won a Grammy for composing the theme song to “Tarzan” (frankly, who gives a shit), and goes on to shower him with ridiculous accolades: “There was a time, of course, when Phil was ubiquitous and inescapable - one of the dominant musical presences across the entire planet." Really? Did I miss something? Who wrote that, his mom? By “the entire planet” do they mean the men’s room at the mall in Paramus, New Jersey? Did anyone EVER rock out to “Two Hearts,” or lose their virginity to “You Can’t Hurry Love?” These songs should have been painted over ten times already and culturally invisible.
Ticos deserve better, Radio Dos deserves better, and Costa Rican radio deserves better - that’s all I’m saying. I can’t wait to come back to this charming, picturesque country one day and see their musical selections expand to equal parts reggae, hip hop, modern rock, and yes, pop. Until then they have sand, sun, and ocean to keep them company, and during the rainy season we’ll all wait out the afternoons taking siestas and playing cards. Like Phil sings, it’s just “Another Day in Paradise.”
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