A Closer Listen
Those of a certain age remember when television stations used to sign off for the night. A cheerful TV announcer would share the station identification and a pleasant goodbye, music would play (most often the national anthem) and the station would either display a static image or simply go dark. If this were the only station broadcasting, the person watching would turn off the set, and watch as the lights condensed to a dot before a final pop. Then it was time – really time – to go to bed.
Few such stations remain, as the world has shifted to 24/7 access. Michael Branch (Speed of Life) recalls, “There was something magical about it. I (felt) as if I was floating outside of or removed from any notion of time.” In the digital era, it’s hard to imagine hours in which no moving images are available to view, as if nothing of any consequence is unfolding.
This set of imaginary sign-off music may evoke nostalgia in older listeners and seem like sci-fi to younger listeners. The clever “Television Set” CD packaging adds to the allure. “KKZ96 (Wonder People”) begins with piano and ethereal chords, as if the mind is soaring into the imagination. As drums are folded in, one thinks of Little Nemo’s Adventures in Slumberland. The mind is left to wonder what events might be unfolding in the in-between time, unrecognized, unreported and most importantly, unbroadcast. And who are the wonder people? Are they a separate race of people active only in the invisible hours, or the images that we miss?
The beatless “KCBS (Electric Lights)” dances like its namesake, without the use of percussion. The chords ebb and flow in hypnotic fashion, capturing Branch’s sense of magic. At the time, television was relatively young, and grandparents could remember when they were able to scrape enough money together for their first set: the TV itself was a wonder, a gift. Almost any broadcast seemed magical, as opposed to today, when thousands of options are available yet few possess that early allure.
“KHQ6 (Visitor)” has the feel of an early black-and-white film about invaders from Mars, or from the deep, or from the Antarctic. Something otherworldly is already here, and the race is on to get other people to acknowledge their existence. It’s late at night, and Branch’s parents have gone to bed and may or may not know their son is watching; despite the fact that he has seen wonders, he cannot wake them up for fear of being punished. The next piece continues to play upon such fears, albeit gently; the chiming tones both settle and alert, an electronic pulse developing like the lights of a quietly descending spaceship, then fading slowly like a phantasm.
The finale, “WTVF,” bridges the gap between the sign-off and the sign-in, hours later; guitar chords are laid atop a mysterious drone as the synthesizers vibrate, the fifteen-minute length creating a trance-like effect. Then at the very end, voices buried in static. The precocious child drifts off to sleep with one salient question on his mind: What’s on TV tomorrow? (Richard Allen)
Sat Jul 04 00:01:51 GMT 2026