THE LATE NIGHT RADIO SHOW MANIFESTO

WHY?

I don't sleep particularly well.

Never have.

Some nights my brain comes up with exciting new ideas.

Other nights it likes to revisit every questionable decision I've made since 1978.

It's a fun little organ.

But one night, somewhere between an exciting new idea and wondering if I had completely wasted my life, I started thinking about why I fell in love with radio in the first place.

And immediately I was back in my car.

Late at night.

Driving nowhere in particular, completely mesmerized by the voices coming out of the dashboard.

Back then, before podcasts, streaming, social media and having access to every human being on Earth whether you wanted it or not, there was late-night radio.

I'd slowly turn the dial and suddenly pick up some giant AM signal broadcasting from hundreds—sometimes thousands—of miles away.

And just like that, my tiny little existence in Orange County, California cracked open.

There were strange people out there.

Smart people.

Funny people.

Lonely people.

People who believed in UFOs.

People who probably WERE UFOs.

And they were all awake with me.

That was the magic.

I wasn't alone anymore.

Nighttime radio became my best friend.

I couldn't wait for the sun to go down because every night there was another idea, another story, another person who made me question something I thought I already knew.

And some of the hosts were absolute masters.

Art Bell could make a guy calling from a pay phone about a triangular object hovering over his barn feel like the most important story in America.

George Noory carried that tradition forward.

Phil Hendrie remains, in my opinion, one of the most insanely creative people to ever sit behind a microphone. His show was hilarious, brilliant and—perfectly enough—a giant spoof of the exact kind of radio I loved.

And Adam Carolla and Dr. Drew taught me about sex and relationships.

Some of it I probably should've known already.

But the hosts weren't even the real stars.

The callers were.

Crazy ones.

Funny ones.

Heartbroken ones.

Horny ones.

People who were confused, scared, curious, pissed off or just desperately needed somebody to talk to at 1:17 in the morning.

There was something about darkness that gave people permission to tell the truth.

They'd open themselves up to a complete stranger on the radio while thousands of other strangers listened.

And somehow...

we all became friends.

That's when their dream became mine.

THEN I GOT MY SHOT.

It took me longer than most people to get my first radio job.

Then it took even longer to get my own show.

Finally, I got it.

10 PM–2 AM. KTYD. Santa Barbara.

I had arrived.

And...

I sucked.

But thankfully, I was sucking at midnight when fewer important people were paying attention.

That shift became my laboratory.

Every night I'd walk into an almost completely empty radio station.

The daytime people were gone.

The hallways were quiet.

I'd walk into the studio, dim the lights and settle in.

Before every show, I'd say a little prayer.

Just thank you.

Thank you for letting me do this.

Then I'd turn on the microphone and practice becoming the person I'd dreamed about becoming.

I was ridiculously overprepared.

Topics.

Jokes.

Guests.

Bits.

Segments.

Backup topics for the backup topics.

I probably had enough material prepared for a six-hour show in case the first four hours somehow disappeared.

Then I learned one of the greatest lessons radio ever taught me:

The best shows happened when I threw all that shit away and listened to the audience.

They always took me someplace better.

And I loved it.

There was no money.

At one point I was sleeping in my car.

Didn't care.

I was happy.

Because something I'd spent years imagining was finally real.

I was becoming a radio host.

THEN SOMETHING TERRIBLE HAPPENED.

I got promoted.

I walked into the station one day and found out they wanted to move me to mornings.

Morning drive.

The big shift.

The coveted shift.

The one with actual money attached to it.

Naturally, being a man of deep artistic integrity...

I immediately took the money.

I've been doing morning radio ever since.

And I've had a career beyond anything that broke idiot sleeping in his car could have imagined.

But I've never completely forgotten that dark studio.

I've never forgotten what radio felt like after midnight.

I've never forgotten those blinking phone lines.

And I've never stopped missing MY LATE NIGHT RADIO SHOW.

SO WHY NOT DO IT AGAIN?

A few months ago I was thinking about those nights when something ridiculously obvious hit me.

Nobody has to give me permission anymore.

Technology changed everything.

I don't need a radio station to hand me the 10 PM–2 AM shift.

I don't need some program director to believe late-night radio can work.

I don't need a giant transmitter.

Hell, apparently I don't even need pants.

I have a studio.

I have a microphone.

I have cameras.

I have the internet.

And somewhere out there are still people awake at night looking for something.

Insomniacs.

Night-shift workers.

Truck drivers.

People going through shit.

People avoiding going to bed because that's when their brain starts holding meetings.

People looking for a laugh.

People looking for an interesting conversation.

People who feel a little misplaced.

People who just don't want to feel alone.

Those are my people.

Radio stations may no longer be in the business of creating great late-night radio.

Fine.

I am.

I don't want to recreate 1995.

I want to take what made those nights magical and see what happens when we combine it with what we have now.

YouTube.

Cameras.

Live chat.

Phones.

Guests.

A worldwide audience.

And absolutely no idea where the conversation might go.

That's the part I'm most excited about.

MY PROMISE

WE'LL SLOW DOWN.

The rest of the world can keep screaming for your attention every seven seconds.

We're going to talk.

Listen.

Tell stories.

And occasionally sit in an uncomfortable silence because somebody just said something way too fucking honest.

WE'LL BE FUNNY.

Or at least we'll take the chance.

I want to experiment.

I want to try things that might fail.

I want moments where I think, Well... that seemed like a much better idea at 3 this afternoon.

That's radio.

EVERYBODY IS WELCOME.

You don't have to vote like me.

Think like me.

Look like me.

Believe what I believe.

Or agree with the person who called before you.

You just have to be willing to talk.

And listen.

THE CALLERS MATTER.

I don't want you to just watch this show.

I want you in it.

Bring your stories.

Your questions.

Your weirdness.

Your problems.

Your victories.

Your theories.

Your heartbreak.

Your completely indefensible opinions.

Especially those.

WE'LL GO PLACES OTHER SHOWS WON'T.

Great guests.

Strange topics.

Real conversations.

Sex.

Relationships.

Death.

Friendship.

Fear.

UFOs.

Regret.

Hope.

The future.

The unexplained.

And whatever the hell happens when the phone rings.

Because the whole point of late-night radio was never knowing exactly where the night was going to take you.

WHEN?

LIVE Wednesday nights at 9 PM Eastern.

The first show is September 2nd.

WHERE?

Streaming live on the LATE NIGHT RADIO SHOW YouTube channel, Facebook, and basically any other social media site willing to tolerate me.

Dim the lights.

Pour something.

Put on the headphones.

Call the show.

Join the chat.

Tell me something you don't normally tell people.

Let's make nighttime weird again.

Subscribe.

And let's see where the night takes us.

Because I've spent my entire career talking in the morning.

I've missed the dark.