The Other Side Of The Radio

Chris Rice pictures himself on the far side of the broadcast, unsure why anyone would tune in to a voice that isn't any holier than the listener's. The song's central move is to collapse that distance: he imagines a student at homework, a driver with the windows down on the freeway, hands drumming the wheel, and finds his own sense of proportion in their ordinary joy. The chorus gathers strangers into one room — a million people mouthing the same words, someone puzzling over a line, someone else perhaps praying for the first time — and treats that possibility as sufficient reason to keep writing and singing. The second verse turns the dial toward encouragement: turn it up, sing loud, catch some good news, laugh with the DJ, and recognize that a small broadcast can still alter somebody's world. What keeps the song from floating off is its modesty. Rice never claims the microphone makes him better; he claims it makes him connected, and the repeated image of a listener's smile is what he measures his work by.