by Mikalee Dahle, Outpost Contributor
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In this package: Guitarist
dreams of music publishing
business. On the Web: KWNZ |
"Check one. Check one. Testing. Hi, I'm Matt Million, and you're not. Is this thing on?
"Testing."
He has the tone of a promotional announcer on late-night television selling Ginzu knives. But instead of selling knives, he' s speaking directly into my hand-held tape recorder, seemingly selling himself. Many people that I've encountered break out into a cold sweat when faced with the idea of being taped. I should have guessed that this would be no big deal for Matt Million.
Actually, his name is Matt Smith. His on-air persona, his alter-ego, is Matt Million-or Matt Harrison-depending on which radio station he is working for at the time. But for now, he is working for the local Top-40 station, Reno's 97.3 KWNZ, doing the midday air shift from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. weekdays. And as I watch him in the studio where he works, shuffling compact discs with one hand, inserting them and starting music with the other, it seems as if this is the job he was born to do.
"I like the energy. I like the theater of the mind. As far as the on-air and creative aspects, I'm very much in love with the business," Smith says of his work.
The control room of KWNZ is bright and modern, almost resembling the lobby of a doctor's office. A silk plant hangs from a high vaulted ceiling--a plant, Smith later tells, that still holds an empty beer can from the days of a controversial former air personality.
Despite the welcoming appearance of the room, technology is apparent everywhere. A computer monitor sits directly to his left, the screen painted in bright colors, a tangible reflection of the great strides made by radio in the past decade. In front of Smith is a panel straight out of Mission Control. It is almost 4 feet wide with red and yellow illuminated switches and about 20 levers. A reel-to-reel is at his right side, and below that rests a black rectangular box on which lights are flashing in sequence, indicating that listeners are desperately attempting to make contact.
And Smith seems comfortable with it all. His father is Steve Smith, one-half of Reno's most successful morning team, Smith and Armer from 105. 7, KOZZ. Because of this, Matt Smith has spent most of his life in a radio station.
"I remember being impressed with all the gadgets," Smith recalls, telling of his first experiences in a radio station at 6. "I remember thinking it was cool because I could listen to my tapes with these headphones that were bigger than my head."
But he says he never saw himself pursuing a career in radio--until one fateful summer,when a 16-year-old Smith entered the studio of K-ONE to experience his first 20 seconds of fame.
"I swore the first time I was on the air," Smith says, grinning as if he had just placed a whoopee cushion on his teacher's chair. "It was a satellite station, and my job was to run the board until the two-minute break in the hour. Then, I got to play commercials and do a live-read public service announcement. So I turned on the microphone and basically answered the phone.Well, I didn't really answer the phone, but I said 'K-ONE and KOZZ want to remind you to fight the fear with facts..."' He trails off, almost looking surprised that he remembers the exact wording of this commercial. But it becomes evident why he remembers the exact wording with the next sentence.
"I realized that KOZZ was basically a competing station, so I said the f-word. And then, hearing that I said the f-word, I said the s-h-word," Smith says.
With this, I looked at him with shock. "And yet, you're here now," I say. "It must not have hurt your career that much."
"No, it really didn't. In fact, five years later I was working at Major Video, and Dangerboy from KWNZ was doing a live remote from one of our locations. So I went down,basically to brown nose my way in. And the next thing I knew, I was working on the air from 2 a.m. to 5:30 a.m."
Jay Cooper is Dangerboy, the person Smith credits with opening the door to the current world in which Smith is thriving. "I talk to so many kids and adults alike every day," Cooper said. "When Matt came up to me, wearing his Major Video uniform, I first thought this was just another kid wanting fame and fortune. But I saw something in Matt that day--call it drive or motivation--that really made me want to encourage him to come to work with us. And I'm glad I did."
Suddenly seeming irritated with the flashing lights to his right, Smith--or Million, as he is at the moment--reaches over and answers the station's line to the outside world. "Hi, K-Wins," he says.
"Can I request a song?" asks a listener, who sounds all of 6 years old.
"Sure," Smith grins at the microphone, rolls his eyes at me, and anticipates the response.
"Baby Got Back by Sir Mix-A-Lot?" she asks.
"We'll be sure to get that one on for you," he assures, hanging up with a cheerful
"Goodbye!" He may not like all the songs his station plays, but he knows how to please his listeners.
Smith seems to embody the overnight success theme encountered by.many who venture into a radio station pursuing the elusive job. After graduating from high school in Hayward, Calif., he moved to Reno and found work at a fast-food restaurant. He then worked in a movie theater. Later, he worked his way up to supervisor at Major Video. And practically overnight, he was a disc jockey.
In 1994, he walked into KWNZ for the first time. "My first air shift on KWNZ was much better than my prevlous expenence," he laughs. "l was pretty sure that I wouldn't swear this time. I remember my voice trembling. I remember my hands trembling. The hardest thing to master that night was trying to sound like I wasn't someone who had no clue what I was doing. I wanted to sound like a seasoned pro. But they knew...they knew."
Even as he says this, he's pushing buttons, making a transition from a commercial to a public service announcement to a sweeper (the buffer between commercials and songs) to music.
Now, it is clear he is the seasoned pro that he wished to be that night. Now, he has the confidence that once alluded him.
After being hired at KWNZ, he worked a variety of on-air shifts: 2 to 5:30 a.m., midnight to 5:30 a.m, middays, nights, and even as a morning show producer. And with all of this experience behind him, he found himself a marketable commodity.
Ironically, he was lured away from KWNZ to a station he was very familiar with--KOZZ, where his dad did the morning show. He says he was hesitant to accept the offer because of his father's position there, but the promise of more money and a more stable station in the Reno market made it an enticing offer. He accepted, and in an effort to disassociate himself with his KWNZ personality and with his father, he became Matt Harrison(But challenges met him at KOZZ that weren't anticipated, despite all of his efforts) "What bugged me was being known only because I was Steve Smith's son. It was kind of like Steve Young trying to get out from under Joe Montana's shadow. I wanted to develop my own identity as Matt Harrison, rather than being known as Smith in the Morning's son."
Events like the KOZZ Christmas party didn't help Smith's cause. "I was given the Nepotism Award that night," he says, shaking his head and smiling. "Even though my dad had no say in my being hired, I was still the brunt of many jokes around the station "
These jokes seemed to fuel a fire within Smith. "Now that I am at KWNZ doing middays, my dad's and my air shifts overlap by 15 minutes. Even though it is the last 15 minutes of his show and the first 15 of mine, I want to beat the pants offof him--in a friendly kind of way. I want to beat him at his own game, even though he has 20 years of experience and I only have three."
But Smith has done in three years what many in the industry won't do in a lifetime. "I've been very scared on the radio before," he recalls, referring to a promotional stunt designed to raise money for a children's charity through KOZZ. "I was buried in a 5,000 pound block of ice.
They basically had me in a very small, confined space in the middle of all of this ice. I couldn't even sit up. I was fine with that, until this lady plugged in an espresso cart and blew the circuit that our wiring was on. It blew everything, including the ventilation system and the lights. I had air to breathe, but it was beginning to get stuffy. And then I had to do a break on the radio. I was petrified, and yet I had to act like I had no cares in the world so people would come out and see me. The whole time, I kept thinking, 'Please, somebody, God, get me out of here!"'
In February of this year, he found himself retracing his steps. He walked into the KWNZ studio, met with the program director, and was immediately hired as the midday air talent and production director. Once again, he was Matt Million, and his existence at KWNZ now seems much more placid than it was at KOZZ. No outlandish stunts...just flirting. He admits that his method of relating to the target female audience is to act as if he is trying to get a date with a listener. "It's part of the job. It's not like I'm flirting with any intention behind it, I'm just trying to relate to the women who are listening. Relating is really the key. No one wants to hear about how I just dropped off my Jaguar to have the latest and best sound system installed. They want to hear about my Pinto, and how I got a flat tire on the way to work. That's when they can say, 'Hey, that happened to me.' That's when they relate.
His air shift is now over, and Bill Shakespeare--whose birth name is William Shakespeare--enters the studio to relieve him. Our next stop is the parking lot, where Smith shows me his prized possession: His 1995 red Jeep Wrangler. So much for the Pinto. Hanging from the rearview mirror is a pair of red fuzzy handcuffs and a plastic face that resembles a troll doll. When I inquire about the significance, Smith tells me that this is the head of a Hawaiian God whose sole purpose is to protect cars. Why the importance of his car, I ask. "Because if I didn't have a place to live, this would be my house," he responds, alluding to the unstable nature of his business.
But he also admits to a less practical and more endearing reason for the prominence of his car in his life. At the close of almost every day, when his work is done and he prepares to go home for the night, he four-wheels into the hills and watches the sunset. He goes there to be alone. He goes there to reflect on the day. And he goes there to "watch life."
"The biggest challenge to this on-air thing is to set all of your emotional problems aside and act like you're the happiest clam in the world, even though your world could be crumbling around you."
Smith seems no stranger to the concept of a crumbling world. When he first began working at KWNZ, he was engaged to be married. After only one year of marriage, he became a statistic.
"I'm not saying we are divorced because of radio. The hours were hectic, but we got used to it. I am saying, though, that my schedule was probably one of the thousand or so causes of the failure of our marriage."
This, of course, leaves Smith a little more free to relate to his female listeners. In fact, he recalls the most bizarre event in his career: "I was working on KOZZ. A woman called and requested a song, and basically told me that she'd do anything to hear it. She then began to moan and proceeded to try to have phone sex with me. I was recently divorced, so I wasn't about to stop her."
According to Smith, this is just one of many perks of being a member of the on-air elite. He tells of how he was once paid $100 to go to the Spice House, a local topless bar, for a remote broadcast. "I got paid to watch women dancing naked. I was supposed to get a complimentary lap dance while on the air, but that fell through," he says. Another perk: He is one of the few employees at KWNZ who knows how to drive the Vintage 1950 fire truck, the station's promotional vehicle. "Everyone waves when you pass by in this thing. I could be a mass murderer driving it, but everyone waves!"
He has an infectious energy about him that lights up his face when he talks. It also lights up the faces around him as he walks by We're getting ready to leave the station, and I find myself and everyone around infected by Smith's aura. He smiles, and we smile. He laughs and we laugh. It is as if we are his audience, relating to his quirks, even though he is not on the radio.
Jay Cooper--a.k.a. Dangerboy--believes that this is what makes Smith so successful. "Matt truly connects with his listeners. He's a little goofy, very fun-loving, witty, and genuine. This combination really works on the radio," he sald.
"I do have a dark side, Smith admlts. As we are walking outside, he tells me of a bad habit that he has developed. "I am notorious for destroying inanimate objects, because they can't fight back. When I've done something really stupid, I tend to take it out on the things around me, but never on the people." He then begins to recite a laundry list of the things he has destroyed:
"A pair of headphones--no, two pairs of headphones, a cart rack, a chair, the wall, a plant, my car. But I've never hurt a person."
We're outside saying goodbye, and I notice that the sun is close to the horizon. "Isn't it about time for you to go?" I ask. He nods, hops in the Jeep, and says, "Yeah, I'm off like a prom dress and rolling like a hunchback doing somersaults." Then, I realize: Matt Smith didn't just say goodbye to me, Matt Million--the disc jockey--did. But Matt Smith--the person--is heading into the hills to watch life.
posted 11/15/97 Nevada Outpost