In case you’re not a regular reader of The Observer, a plug for this week’s, where “Beaker Street’s” passing is recognized.
If The Observer was the maudlin sort, we’d say that last Sunday, while you were busy gorging yourself on seven-layer dip and watching the Super Bowl, was the day the music died. But Don McLean and his good ol’ boys drinkin’ whiskey and rye have no place in this story. Rather, we’ll simply say that, when the clock struck midnight Sunday night, one of the few remaining sovereign states of radio disappeared from the map: Clyde Clifford’s “Beaker Street” went dark.
In the show’s final five hours, Clifford played The Beatles at their most lysergic; a nine-minute, moog-laden Yes cover of Simon & Garfunkel’s “America” and the Barbara Raney and Deepwater Horizon folk-romp “Cindy’s Crying.” Songs faded out into brief dead space, rather than transitioning neatly into what followed. Between tracks, Clifford talked in the platonic ideal of mellow-DJ-voice, while the background hummed with bleeps and blips and the sorts of sounds fitting to soundtrack drug trips — in space. At one point, Clifford said he was trying to fill the show “according to some of the vibes that’ve been floating around here.”