acoustic to electric, the members dropped the âBluesâ from their name and began attracting a following around town. Soon his growing commitment to the new project edged into Wolfâs all-night radio turf. Sam Kopper related, âIt was early December that Peter said he couldnât do a show five days a week anymore because [the J. Geils Band] was gigging all the time. He said he would do some kind of shift when he could.â
Up to this point, the occasional missed shifts were covered by Wolfâs crew, as Master Blaster revealed: âIt was always his show, I was just hanging out. [But] sometimes when heâd go to a rehearsal or something, Iâd have to do the show myself. I didnât really know what I was doing; it was flying by the seat of your pants, but it was cool.â Steve Segal remembered, âWhen the band finally started to make it, Peter would miss his show, like, three or four times a week. Heâd put the Master Blaster, the black jumpsuit guy, on instead. âHeyâ [imitating the sidekick], âitâs Master Blaster, gonna give it to you faster. All you young white girls, you ought to come on down!ââ Segal chuckled at the memory: âI heard this [on the air] coming back from a jazz show in Newport and I was, like, âNo, no, no!â So, thatâs when we had to give Peter the option: you can either do overnights or you can become a rock star, but itâs got to be your choice.â
At this moment, in another example of perfect timing, Milford, Massachusetts, native Charles Laquidara arrived back in Boston after a long voyage of self-discovery that had taken him to the Rhode Island School of Design and out to Southern California, where he studied performing arts at the historic Pasadena Playhouse. After an intense period of taking acting classes, reading for auditions, acting in shows, and even writing and directing his own play, he graduated with a bachelor of theater arts degree in 1963. However, like most of the male members of his class, he now worried about being drafted. While that threat loomed, Laquidaraâs primary focus became a search for employment. In 1967, he auditioned for director David Fleischer in the lead role for The Boston Strangler but, as an unfamiliar face, lost that part to Tony Curtis (an event Laquidara would rue publicly on the air for his entire radio career). However, the frustrated actor did manage to find some work, a fortuitous path as it turned out, from an unexpected quarter: the basement of the Pasadena Presbyterian Church.
New recruits: J.J. Jackson and Charles Laquidara on Cambridge Common, 1969. Photo by Sam Kopper.
Laquidara found out about the opportunity from his buddy Dave Pierce, another starving graduate who wanted more than anything to be a rock and roll disc jockey. He had settled for spinning classical records on the local radio station KPPC-FM , owned by the Presbyterian church, which programmed the music when it wasnât broadcasting Sunday services or midweek devotionals. Pierce, who knew very little about the genre, nevertheless took the gig and would listen to his favorite R & B records off the air while he spun the long symphonic pieces on the radio. He invited Laquidara, who knew slightly more about classical music, down to the station to help him out. âDave Pierce taught me how to do radio, how to run the board, and he got me a job,â Laquidara remembered. âI couldnât pronounce the names of the composers, so I had to be tutored.â While the two gradually got a handle on how to suavely pronounce Shostakovich and Prokofiev like the pros, they managed to survive at KPPC while their station went through some rocky management changes, passing from a classical format to jazz, and then finally morphing into the second underground rock station in the country in 1967.
A year later, now a rock radio veteran with experience under his belt, Charles Laquidara had to
Up to this point, the occasional missed shifts were covered by Wolfâs crew, as Master Blaster revealed: âIt was always his show, I was just hanging out. [But] sometimes when heâd go to a rehearsal or something, Iâd have to do the show myself. I didnât really know what I was doing; it was flying by the seat of your pants, but it was cool.â Steve Segal remembered, âWhen the band finally started to make it, Peter would miss his show, like, three or four times a week. Heâd put the Master Blaster, the black jumpsuit guy, on instead. âHeyâ [imitating the sidekick], âitâs Master Blaster, gonna give it to you faster. All you young white girls, you ought to come on down!ââ Segal chuckled at the memory: âI heard this [on the air] coming back from a jazz show in Newport and I was, like, âNo, no, no!â So, thatâs when we had to give Peter the option: you can either do overnights or you can become a rock star, but itâs got to be your choice.â
At this moment, in another example of perfect timing, Milford, Massachusetts, native Charles Laquidara arrived back in Boston after a long voyage of self-discovery that had taken him to the Rhode Island School of Design and out to Southern California, where he studied performing arts at the historic Pasadena Playhouse. After an intense period of taking acting classes, reading for auditions, acting in shows, and even writing and directing his own play, he graduated with a bachelor of theater arts degree in 1963. However, like most of the male members of his class, he now worried about being drafted. While that threat loomed, Laquidaraâs primary focus became a search for employment. In 1967, he auditioned for director David Fleischer in the lead role for The Boston Strangler but, as an unfamiliar face, lost that part to Tony Curtis (an event Laquidara would rue publicly on the air for his entire radio career). However, the frustrated actor did manage to find some work, a fortuitous path as it turned out, from an unexpected quarter: the basement of the Pasadena Presbyterian Church.
New recruits: J.J. Jackson and Charles Laquidara on Cambridge Common, 1969. Photo by Sam Kopper.
Laquidara found out about the opportunity from his buddy Dave Pierce, another starving graduate who wanted more than anything to be a rock and roll disc jockey. He had settled for spinning classical records on the local radio station KPPC-FM , owned by the Presbyterian church, which programmed the music when it wasnât broadcasting Sunday services or midweek devotionals. Pierce, who knew very little about the genre, nevertheless took the gig and would listen to his favorite R & B records off the air while he spun the long symphonic pieces on the radio. He invited Laquidara, who knew slightly more about classical music, down to the station to help him out. âDave Pierce taught me how to do radio, how to run the board, and he got me a job,â Laquidara remembered. âI couldnât pronounce the names of the composers, so I had to be tutored.â While the two gradually got a handle on how to suavely pronounce Shostakovich and Prokofiev like the pros, they managed to survive at KPPC while their station went through some rocky management changes, passing from a classical format to jazz, and then finally morphing into the second underground rock station in the country in 1967.
A year later, now a rock radio veteran with experience under his belt, Charles Laquidara had to
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