Book Review: Radio Waves: A Post-Punk Novel

I first met Shawna-Lee Perrin in late 2010 at a release party for my short-story collection, (C)rock Stories: Million-Dollar Tales of Music, Mayhem and Immaturity. She and her husband, Dave, traveled south from the Granite State to Waltham, Mass., to hear me read from my first book in the back room of the Skellig Pub (R.I.P.). We'd been Facebook friends for a few years, as we had friends in common from our respective days at Keene State College.

Back then, I wouldn't have guessed that 10 years later I'd be in a band with Shawna, and that I'd be extolling the virtues of her first book, Radio Waves: A Post-Punk Novel.

For years, our friendship remained a Facebook construct, maintained largely through commenting on each other's photos, rants and YouTube clips. I learned that we had a lot of similar musical tastes (old-time country music, some punk rock and post-punk). At some point, Shawna posted about studying creative writing through the Mountainview MFA program. As she traveled along the path to writing her first novel, we communicated here and there about her progress. I was excited for her, as I am for any friend or family member who makes the leap from "Some day I'll write a novel/record an album/fill that canvas" to "I'm actually doing it!"

While she plugged along on her novel, I was working on the road-trip memoir that I've written about here over the years. We would occasionally check in with each other to see "How's it going?" Writing is a lonely craft, so community outreach is important.

Shawna and my college chum Ken also knew each other through various channels, and at some point discussed playing music together. Since our time playing in The Toastmen at Keene State in the mid-'80s, Ken had played with at least a handful of bands in Rhode Island and New Hampshire, honing his lead-guitar chops. I don't think Ken and Shawna ever jammed.

Fast-forward to the fall of 2019. Ken and I put the word out on Facebook that we were looking for musicians to join our newly formed combo, The Slade Wiggins Band. Shawna said she and her husband, Dave, were interested. They'd played in a few bands together over the years, she on bass and him playing banjo, guitar and fiddle. For our little combo, Dave offered to play drums, something he'd picked up in recent months. Ken and I were happier than a double-neck guitar is to be strapped around Jimmy Page's shoulders.

We jammed in November of that year, and the four of us clicked pretty well, musically and socially, as Dave and Shawna are two of the nicest, most easygoing folks you'll ever meet. In between working on a few originals and a few covers (Hank Thompson, Silver Jews), Shawna and I talked about our respective books, and offered to help each other any way we could.

Before too long, Shawna put it out on Facebook that she was looking for folks to read the latest draft of what would become Radio Waves, and I happily agreed to dig in. Her story grabbed me right from the start, as it is about music that I love and people who I can relate to. I offered some constructive criticism, which she happily accepted. I also sent a draft of my road-trip memoir to her, and she provided lots of great notes on it.

Now, Radio Waves is out! I'm so excited for Shawna, because I know how hard she's worked to write her novel, and to get it published. And the book is great, even better than the draft I read a while back. Shawna has infused her lead character, Viv, with amazing passion for music. She lives for post-punk, punk and New Wave bands, from Wire and The Clash to Blondie and The Ramones. But it's Joy Division that unlocks her soul.

Let me say this: you don't need to be a total music spazz like I am to relate to Viv's story. Radio Waves is a coming-of-age story, a love story, an adventure tale, a music history lesson and so much more. Set in 1979-80 in New Hampshire and London, the novel finds Viv in her senior year in college, working at the school's radio station and contemplating whether she's ready to get married, settle down and have kids. Her fiance, Adrian, seems to have their life together planned out, even though he doesn't really know what makes Viv tick; he calls her musical tastes "weird" and "upsetting."

Viv practically lives at the radio station. She has developed her strongest friendships there and risen up the ladder from a 17-year-old trainee to co-music director. She goes inside those graffiti- and sticker-covered walls when she needs to get away from the world when it all seems to much: Adrian pressing her on their forthcoming nuptials and transition to an "adult" life; her mother bombarding her with questions about wedding minutae.

In the midst of her young-adult crisis, she meets John, who is visiting his brother Noel, a freshman at Viv's college. The brothers are from England; John and Viv make an instant connection over music and quite quickly they fall into each other's arms.

I'm not going to write anything more about this book, because I want you to go and buy it and read it. You can get it here.

Here's a little taste of Joy Division, for those of you who aren't familiar with this influential British band, which lasted for just a few years in the late '70s and early '80s.

Hunchin' with Hasil

No, no that Hazel.

This one.

I'm a little fuzzy on just when and how I found out about Hasil Adkins, the West Virginia wild man who sang songs about hot dogs, cutting the heads off his girlfriends, and doing chicken dances and "hunching," which is a word you might never have heard, but it's synonymous with what most rock singers want to do in their songs, if you catch my drift.

Norton Records issued an Adkins compilation, Out to Hunch, in 1986 but I didn't learn about it until the late '90s.

When I'm unclear about where to give credit for my musical choices, I usually dish it out to college radio. From the spring of 1995 to late 2001, I worked for Webnoize (R.I.P.). During those years, I listened a lot to MIT's radio station, WMBR, and Boston College's station, WZBC, both in the office and in my car on the way in to the office. They can share the credit (blame?).

I was happy when Webnoize West Coast correspondent Mark Lewis told me he was into Hasil Adkins as well. We talked about the crazy redneck rockabilly rebel and nobody else really knew, or cared, to join us.

By some miracle, ol' Hasil played a gig at the original House of Blues, in Harvard Square. He was on a 1999 Fat Possum tour with T-Model Ford; my buddy Jeff and I thoroughly enjoyed that show. I had no idea that Adkins was a one-man band. He ambled onto the stage, his wild mop of white hair stuffed under a floppy hat, sat behind a set of drums, got his guitar on and started wailing away simultaneously on the axe and the kit, while howling away into the microphone.

He flailed at the cymbals with his bare hands and kicked the bass drum, amazingly, in rhythm. He was missing numerous teeth and was most likely drunk. It was, as you can imagine, awesome.

Among the bands to cover Adkins' music are The Cramps and Flat Duo Jets.

I started writing this post a few weeks, but got sidetracked. I might've had a larger purpose in mind, but I think just sharing my love of Hasil Adkins with the world is enough, and will have to do. Of course, if you want to learn more, you might want to check out the movie, "My Blue Star," although I'm unsure whether it's available. Here's the trailer: