Cringe-worthy contemplations on the pop-country radio station that raised me.
Every coming of age needs its soundtrack, and growing up in Fargo, N.D., I had few options on the radio. All the while, I craved precious moments behind the wheel of my sister’s Honda. I felt the profound rush of personal freedom at each speeding twist of the tires. Windows down suggested volume up, and country music got the call.
And if I’m being honest, Froggy 99.9 (modern-country radio circa late 2010s) was my main soundtrack of those early high school years living in the Red River Valley, one of the flattest landscapes on earth. It supplied the country tunes I’d hum during baseball practice and the hosts I knew by name. That station was my right-hand man gunning south on Highway 81 towards Davies High School.
College led me to Minneapolis. A small city by national measure, yet one bursting with diverse culture. Since moving out, I’ve been exposed to college radio, the underground music scene, and friends from all different backgrounds. My taste and relationship to music have changed as a result. These new genres became something to seek out, as opposed to accepting whatever happens to be playing on the radio. Alongside my new streaming subscription, I was off to the races. A new chapter had begun as country radio was left in the dust.
Now I can’t even bring myself to listen to Froggy 99.9. Now I recognize the music’s comparatively shallow artistic depth. I don’t prefer formulaic corporate attempts at music creation, and lyrics of beer bottles and big trucks only broaden Nashville’s bank account.
Yet I question myself. What changed? Am I running from my roots? Or was it just inevitable?
I often wish I’d grown up on “cool” music. Many college friends spent high school listening to The Strokes, Bob Marley, Talking Heads, Tame Impala, Lana Del Rey, John Coltrane or countless exciting artists that weren’t readily accessible in my neck of the woods. Eventually, streaming services opened that door for me.
When I was 17, my dad purchased an Apple Music subscription, and the floodgates swung open. I zipped through phases of folk, electronic, seventies rock, grunge, and hip-hop. It felt like the wild west with unlimited access at my fingertips. I vividly remember the moment Mac Demarco’s indie sound graced my ear. It was strangely irregular, yet something resonated instantly. I firmly believe that streaming has leveled the playing field for personal exposure to unique music.
The years since have been indulgent. These discoveries struck me with inspiration. Who knows if I would’ve been receptive to diversified genres and artists at a young age.
Most people cringe over songs they loved at 15.
Maybe that’s part of growing up.
It’s possible that Froggy 99.9 symbolizes conflicts over how I see my hometown, since I left it behind. For young adults, small towns are often places to evacuate. Many young adults aged 20-29 exit small towns in search of education and work, and I am no exception to this trend.
Perhaps the value of Froggy 99.9 is simply in my memory of it. Nostalgia and music seem to be connected at the hip. We often associate each of life’s eras with special albums that pull us through. The innocent simplicity of my adolescent love for music, taste included, corresponds to the peaceful childhood I was fortunate to experience. I can appreciate pop country radio for that alone. Maybe I’d have turned out differently if I’d been listening to punk bands such as The Sex Pistols or Ramones back in high school. Truth is, I was clean cut, uncontroversial, and quite happy.
The Red River Valley may be flat, but the blandest of beginnings can inspire adventurous fulfilling through the rugged contours of adulthood.