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Photos: Michael Parrish |
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Portland's Largest KBBT-FM 107.5, ALTERNATIVE ROCK Jacor Communications Inc. Entercom KNRK-FM 94.7, ALTERNATIVE |
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45 percent of the daily talk radio audience is between 35 and
New York's WFAN Sports Talk Radio is the largest station in the country, with $42.3 million in commercial revenue. |
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Portland's Gabfest: Jacor's all-star lineup at KEWS AM 620 includes big guns Rush Limbaugh (top) and Dr. Laura, the No. 1 and 2 radio hosts in the nation, and Bill Gallagher (bottom), who was once Portland's No. 1 local host. That honor now goes to KXL's new talk jock, Lars Larson (below). |
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Stock prices of publicly held radio companies have gone into the stratosphere, zooming up 80 percent this year versus the 28 percent increase average for most companies.
In each of the country's largest 100 markets (Portland is 24th), an average of five companies rope in 92 percent of the advertising revenue, according to BIA Research Inc.
Talk radio traditionally appeals to the over-40 crowd. Just as the 20-something baby boomers of the '70s (craving Lynyrd Skynyrd and Fleetwood Mac) catapulted album-rock stations to the forefront, America's aging market force now wants less rock and more talk. |
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Lars Larson's long strange trip to the airwaves started early. Voted Most Improved Speaker at Tillamook High in 1975, Larson anchored the news at Eugene's KVAL-TV in 1983, then moved to KPTV in 1985. A professed workaholic, Larson took time from his recent honeymoon to host his KXL show from New York City. |
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The most criticized person on talk radio is Bill Clinton.
Talk radio stations grew from 1,000 nationwide in 1994 to 1,250 in 1997.
72 percent of talk radio listeners voted in the 1996 elections, and 44 percent describe themselves as "independent" rather than Democrat (21 percent) or Republican (25 percent).
"You just get homogeneous radio with big companies like Jacor. All the decisions are made somewhere else."--Lars Larson |
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KXL general manager Tim McNamara says Jacor has tried --unsucessfully-- to raid his news staff. |
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Cover Story |
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Last week in New Orleans, in the closing hours of the National Association of Broadcasters' annual convention, radio executives learned that CBS Radio--the biggest radio firm in the country--had plunked down $1.6 billion for American Radio Systems Corp. The 91-station purchase included five Portland stations and represented one more step in the dramatic consolidation now occurring in the radio industry. Thousands of miles away, Lester Smith gulped. Smith, who is coming to Portland from Seattle to speak at this weekend's convention of the Oregon Association of Broadcasters, is the 78-year-old owner of this city's remaining big independent--KXL 750 AM--and he's worried. Smith thinks merger mania is bad news for Portland. He says that consolidation is driven by Wall Street investors more interested in producing profits than producing good radio. In the past year, says Smith, representatives from Kentucky-based Jacor Communications Inc., the third-largest radio conglomerate in the country, which already owns four Portland stations, tried to buy KXL--seven times. "We're not selling out to Jacor," he says definitively. "There's still room, in my opinion, for a radio station that's not based on stock price, but on serving the community." Jacor has accepted the fact that it can't buy KXL--so it has decided to go on the attack. Last spring the company lured away KXL's popular afternoon host, Bill Gallagher, and then nabbed the Rush Limbaugh show. Smith, however, has a not-so-secret weapon up his sleeve: A relentless news hound who looks like a cross between Dan Rather and Yogi Bear. A local yokel who grew up in Tillamook. A TV anchor for the 10 o'clock news whose ego is nearly as big as his mouth. "Don't ask Lars what time it is," KPTV cameraman Gordon Coffin cautions, "because he'll tell you how to build a clock." Lars Larson is more than Smith's personal bulwark against Jacor Communications. The 38-year-old chatterbox is the local gunslinger hired to defend the town from radio varmints invading from back East. You don't need a high-powered NASA radio telescope to understand what's going on with Portland's radio waves. Just look at the numbers. Two years ago, eight companies owned Portland's top radio stations. Today, three firms control the Portland market: Philadelphia-based Entercom Inc., New York City-based Westinghouse Electric/CBS, and Kentucky-based Jacor Communications Inc. The shrinking bandwidth of Portland radio ownership reflects a national trend. Like every other business these days--from banking to aerospace to health food--radio companies believe that bigger is better. The trend toward bigger radio companies escalated after the federal Telecommunications Act passed in 1996. The legislation removed the limit on the number of radio stations one company could own nationally. It also doubled the number of stations--from four to eight--that a company could own in cities the size of Portland. Jacor Communications is perhaps the least coy among radio companies about its strategy. "Our company has a philosophy," says local Jacor spokesman Clint Sly. "We have a major commitment to be a central force for consolidation in the industry." The company, which had 24 stations in 1996, currently owns 158 stations nationwide. Jacor's aggressive growth drew attention from the Department of Justice's antitrust division last year. The DOJ isn't the only one who's concerned. Radio consolidation raises a red flag for advertisers. In a cover story on radio consolidation last week, The Wall Street Journal warned that Westinghouse's control of the New York metropolitan market, for example, was dangerous: "Industry executives say that once you control about 35 percent of radio advertising in New York City, as Westinghouse does, you will be able to drive up rates." Currently, Jacor controls about 30 percent of Portland's radio advertising market. Advertisers aren't the only ones who may be hurt by the new economics of radio. Employees at local stations are also getting nervous. Consolidation allows radio companies to cut costs by firing overlapping engineers, producers and programmers at the various stations they buy up. Local programmers also stand to lose their jobs when playlists are designed at corporate headquarters. Even popular host Gallagher acknowledges that he's nervous about job security in the world of radio consolidation. "These companies can go too far when they try to get rid of overlapping." For example, Jacor scrapped Cyndi Fox and Jody Walker, two traffic reporters on KOTK (now KEWS), after buying the station earlier this year. The two were replaced by traffic reporters that serve all of Jacor's local stations. But the big losers may be radio listeners. The drawbacks for consumers are subtler in radio than in other industry consolidations. In the bank business, for example, mergers often lead to fewer branches and limited service. In radio, of course, the new owner doesn't shut off the signal. Consolidated radio companies do, however, replace local programming with less-expensive syndicated programming. "Jacor management will tell you consolidation allows them to give the consumer more choices, but really, you'll have less," a local Jacor producer who asked to remain anonymous told Willamette Week. "This is cookie-cutter programming coming from a national office." In the midst of today's merger mania sits independently owned KXL, a Portland staple since it came on the air in 1955. Though KXL's format has changed a few times in its 42-year history, the station has always been run with a decidedly parochial mission. "Radio is a local medium," says Smith, who has owned the station since it first began broadcasting. "It's where people go to find out what the weather forecast is at that exact moment. It's where they go to find out what's happening in their community. Nationally focused companies will always lose out to that." KXL's focus on local news has earned the station national recognition. Reporter Mary McDermott took home Portland radio's only national award for news at last week's NAB conference in New Orleans. Portlanders seem to appreciate such hard work. According to International Demographics Inc., a media auditor, the station has an average audience of 212,500 listeners--14.5 percent of metro area listeners, landing it in third place.KXL has led the local market for the last five years in advertising dollars, with an estimated $8 million annually. The reason for KXL's success is its format: talk radio. Tune in to KXL at any hour and you'll hear news, weather, traffic updates and talk, talk, talk. Jocks offer advice on everything from stock portfolios to computers to cars. On Sunday, KXL simulcasts KATU-TV's "Town Hall." KXL's centerpiece, however, is its Monday-through-Friday daytime broadcasts featuring local talk. The strategy is wise. Talk radio is to the broadcasting business what e-mail is to the Internet business. "Talk radio is the most listened-to format in all of radio, and it's growing fast," says Holland Cooke, a Washington, D.C.-based radio analyst. "At a time when everyone is hyping the World Wide Web, it's actually an early 20th-century technology--radio--that's providing the most popular interactive media and drawing in the converts." The numbers prove Cooke's point.In 1983 there were only 53 full-time talk radio stations in the country. Today there are more than 1,000. One out of every 10 radio stations in the country is now full-time talk format. It's a profitable business. "Nothing gets a response like an ad on talk radio," says Bradley Johnson, West Coast editor of Advertising Age. Talk radio--as opposed to background-oriented music radio--ropes in listeners who actively listen. "Advertisers love the prospect of that," Johnson says. "It's hard to listen to talk radio in the background. It's easy to listen to music in the background. Advertisers don't like to be in the background." "We do look at talk radio more," says George Saddler, a marketer for Les Schwab Tires in Portland. "Talk listeners are more loyal. They don't dial-jump." Jacor wants more of those local advertising dollars. So after being rebuffed by Smith, the company changed tactics: Instead of buying KXL, it just raided the club house. In May, the company lured Portland's No. 1 talk personality, Bill Gallagher, away from KXL, offering him a reported $225,000 over two years. Jacor put the longtime talk show personality on KEX for seven weeks, then shifted him to Jacor's other AM signal, KEWS. In June, Jacor spent $50 million to buy the company that syndicates Rush Limbaugh. Jacor promptly moved the nation's most popular host away from KXL to KEWS. "[KXL] lost seven of their best hours to us," says Sly. Jacor is promoting its assault with a Limbaugh advertising campaign that includes TV spots, bus ads and a giant balloon replica of the right-wing host, which has been spotted at Pioneer Courthouse Square and Elmer's Pancake & Steak House. The balloon was last seen obstructing a KXL billboard on Southwest Macadam Avenue. "The economies of scale that come from consolidation," Sly boasts, "make it difficult for small independents like KXL to control their own destiny." Lars Larson takes a gulp of Arizona Ice Tea. He bought three 16-ouncers on his way over to the studio. "This is Lars Larson and we're talking with Maggie Miller, a Multnomah County parole officer," he says, standing up behind the mike in KXL's broadcasting booth in Southwest Portland. As he talks, his left leg bounces up and down lightly like a high-school boy in seventh-period French class. "Hi Maggie." "Hello Lars." "Now Maggie, this guy was supposedly under the supervision of county parole officers. My tax money was going to keep an eye on him. And he was running a meth lab out of his home. While he was on parole. Explain that to me, Maggie." "Well, there are several categories of parole, and..." "His neighbors knew about it, and they called the cops. This is a guy who never checked in with his parole officer. A county judge had already given him two warnings. Why not check up on this guy?" Just a typical day for Larson--one that begins at 6 am when he departs his floating home on the Columbia River and drives to his daily workout at the River Place Athletic Club. Well, kind of a workout. His jog at River Front Park is marked by frequent stops along the way to catch his breath. Back at the club he does a few sit ups, some random weight lifting and finishes with a collapse in the steam room. Most of his morning energy is dedicated to reading newspapers. By 8 am he has already read The Oregonian, The New York Times and The Wall Street Journal, and he's got an opinion on most of the editorials. Larson, in fact, has an opinion on everything--from school funding to the local tax structure to jaywalking. By 9 he's at his small desk at Channel 12, his other job, surfing his favorite news groups on the computer and noting any outrageous examples of human or bureaucratic stupidity that he can use on his radio show. Incompetence drives Larson crazy. (In fact, his favorite book is The Death of Common Sense by Philip K. Howard.) He quickly stops in the on-air studio to make a brief appearance on "Good Day Oregon," Channel 12's morning news show. After an impressive and completely unrehearsed discussion of the morning's headlines, he walks off the studio and places a call to KXL to shore up last-minute details about guests for the radio show. Larson hops into his bright red Jeep Explorer to make the 11 am staff meeting at KXL, stopping for bento on the way. Larson's radio show kicks off at 12:05. On any given day, his three-hour program is a grab bag of commentary on local headlines, strange tidbits from the national newswire and interviews with everyone from Oregon senators to book-hawking authors. If there is any connecting thread, it is Larson's aptitude for drawing out the conflict in every issue. Whether it's gun ownership, feminism or a movie review, Larson turns everything into a debate. But rather than a moderator, Larson is an active player. His weapons are the sweeping analogy, the probing question, the ready arsenal of factoids and his booming baritone. Even when he's off the air (for weather and traffic reports), Larson keeps his focus. The only time he seems to relax is when his new spouse, Tina (they were married in Vegas in June), shows up shortly after the show starts with a brown-bag lunch packed with Ho-Hos, lemonade, potato chips and Dagwood-style sandwiches. She climbs into his lap for several minutes and they coo like seventh-graders during a news break. When the mike goes back on, Larson doesn't skip a beat, moving back to his favorite subject: slipshod government. "Maggie, I still don't get it. Why didn't you just do a surprise visit on this guy? It's incredible that he was running a meth lab." "Larson is too caustic," says Jacor's Sly. Oregonian media columnist Pete Schulberg has criticized Larson, saying the TV news anchor is jeopardizing his own credibility by doubling as a radio host. In radio land, however, rating numbers are the only thing that matters. And Larson's show seems to be working. Arbitron, the widely used radio rating system, bodes well for Larson. KXL's ratings during the morning and afternoon slot for the three-month period before Larson began broadcasting (the spot previously held by Bill Gallagher) were at 6.3--that is, 6.3 percent of the metro-area residents who were listening to radio were tuned in to KXL. The ratings for August, after Larson had been on the air for three months, were 6.8. If that number holds for the entire quarter, KXL general manager Tim McNamara says he will be able to bump ad rates by at least 10 percent. The 38-year-old Larson might seem to be an unlikely candidate for the role of David against Jacor's big-business Goliath. Not only does Larson profess to be a Republican (he'll go to the mat arguing against an increase in the business income tax), he's also a bit goofy. His bright red tie--on a white shirt--sports American flags. In the newsroom at KPTV he gazes up at the TV monitor, playing along with Jeopardy. But he's been training for this job all his life. Larson grew up fast. His mother died in a car crash when he was 10 years old, and his father was an alcoholic. Larson took care of his younger sister, bought the groceries and had to raise bail on several occasions to yank his father out of jail for drunk-driving charges. "I don't know if I trust all that psychological mumbo jumbo," Larson says, "but they say children of alcoholics are always trying to make things better--take on a lot of responsibility to cover up for everything that's going wrong. I think I might have done a lot of that growing up." By the time Larson graduated from Tillamook High School in 1977, he had already put in two years as a radio DJ at the local station, KTIL. Larson's high-school debate teacher had recommended him to the station. "I spent all of my time at the radio station," Larson says. Appropriately enough, Larson is back in the booth. Last year, his investigative TV news magazine, "Northwest Reports," was canceled. Although he was still anchoring the 10 o'clock news, he wanted another challenge. When KXL (which had used Larson to fill in for Gallagher during vacations) came knocking, he jumped. Larson seems to have the weight of the world on his shoulders again--or at least the weight of independent radio's future in Portland. Larson relishes the role. In the unstable world of radio, it's impossible to predict KXL's future. It is a safe bet, however, that Larson will give Jacor a run for its money. "They have all those syndicated products brought in by some exec in Cleveland or whatever," Larson says. "They save costs that way because they don't have to hire local talent in all their stations across the country. They see that as a financial asset," he says, "and it is. But for the community it's not such a good thing." Larson says the danger of big radio conglomerates is that they have invested so much money in their businesses that they're afraid to take risks. "They go with what's safe," Larson says. "You just get homogeneous radio with big companies like Jacor. All the decisions are made somewhere else." Last spring, Larson says, Sly offered him a spot with KEX. "They called me on the phone over at KPTV, turns out they were outside in the parking lot. I went down and sat with him in his BMW and I just told them I didn't trust them." Mistrusting "out of state" businesses can be nothing more than a knee-jerk reaction to outsiders. And dismissing "big business" simply because it's big can be naive as well. But there's something undeniably disturbing about media consolidation. Eliminating the number of radio station owners cuts against the belief that democracy is best served by access to a broad spectrum of viewpoints. The future or radio, according to Thom Moon, a researcher at industry trade journal Duncan's American Radio, is that "a few big behomoths will control most of radio. It's like the food chain. A small fish eats up one fish and then a bigger fish eats up that fish and so on." "They used to call it collusion," McNamara complains. "Now it's called synergy and vertical marketing." |
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