The Mighty WMMR: An Oral History of Philadelphia’s Rock Radio Revolution, By Erin Riley

Erin Riley, who worked at the station at its zenith, conducted interviews with those who know WMMR intimately, including on- and off-air staff, local musicians, journalists, photographers, concert promoters, and others involved with the station over its almost 60 years in Philadelphia. Her new book tells the story of radio through the rise of one iconic station, focusing primarily on 1968 to 1991. Riley, music director from 1983 to 1991, wove together 60 individual interviews to answer the question of how WMMR became dominant, and why its format has lasted in an ever-changing industry.

Left turns meet instinct

The text zig-zags, much like The Marconi Experiment, the first toe WMMR stuck into progressive rock. Hosted by Dave Herman from 8pm to midnight, The Marconi Experiment took a sharp left turn from the station’s middle-of-the-road format on April 29, 1968.

“They were just playing all these Vikki Carr and Sergio Mendez records,” Herman recalled. “I came in that afternoon and brought a few records from home. It hadn’t dawned on anybody that there was no record library.”

Imagine the confusion of someone listening that night, as the mellow familiarity of Sinatra and Company melted into “Flying” by the Beatles, the first song Herman aired. The fresh, album-oriented sound spoke directly to a legion of Baby Boomers just waiting for music they could relate to. FM was new, cassette tapes were cutting edge, and portable music meant a transistor radio.

Program director Jerry Stevens (1969-75 and 77-78) hired on instinct. “He looked for people who would work for pennies. If they were smart, if they were into music, he wanted them,” recalled Steve Martorano, who hosted mornings with Anita Gevinson.

When greed killed radio

In 1986, WMMR became the most listened-to album rock station in America, and for a brief moment in summer 1985, even bested the ratings of market-behemoth KYW Newsradio. Talking with people who were there, Riley traces the station’s rise and evolution: “The through line was the connection between the station and the city, the community between the station, the artists, and the listener.”

She explains the impact of corporate takeover and ownership consolidation, thanks to the Telecommunications Act of 1996, which overrode the longstanding “Rule of Seven” which limited station ownership to seven outlets nationally. Suddenly, entrepreneurs could snatch up as many as eight stations in a single market. In its aftermath, more than 2000 radio stations were sold, weakening community connections and homogenizing offerings. According to Riley, “The internet didn’t kill radio. Greed did.”

Pioneering DJs

Mainly, Riley dwells on happier, zanier times, much of it off-air. As when late-night DJ Michael Tearson was fired in 1976 for chopping down a door (with, he maintained, good reason). Later rehired as a consultant, Tearson went on in 1981 to barricade himself in a studio, to force management to let him play whatever he wanted. The stunt led to WMMR’s first airplay of The Hooters, who became a mainstay.

The late Ed Sciaky could also spot talent about to break out. According to program director (1980-83) Charlie Kendall, “Sciaky was great at spotting artists that had potential. Especially ones that lived somewhere in the region that could sleep on his couch because they didn’t have enough money to rent a hotel room. Between Billy Joel, [Bruce] Springsteen, and Warren Zevon ... Ed was there first. He believed first, committed to them, and did what he did.”

A community of listeners

WMMR did more to showcase new artists than play their records. With Sigma Sound Studios in the 1970s, they initiated live concerts for radio. Callers to the station were randomly given tickets in 1971 and 72 to see the not-yet-famous Bonnie Raitt and the Flying Burrito Brothers.

Artists sometimes dropped in. One night, Monty Python swung by the Wellington Building on Rittenhouse Square, WMMR’s home from 1962-92. In 1976, it was Stevie Wonder who came by to thank the station for playing Songs in the Key of Life.

Lyn Kratz, who hosted overnights from 1975-79 and 1984-96, explained how WMMR made listening social. “It wasn’t just us going in there and playing music we liked and talking about what we wanted to talk about. It was taking phones and finding out what the listeners cared about.” In 1979, Kratz hosted an 8am happy hour for her audience, whose shifts were opposite to the mainstream; 800 people showed up at the Warwick Hotel. She also produced an album of local musicians, with proceeds funding a Settlement Music School scholarship.

Ask the people what they like

Riley was just 23 when she was hired by Kendall who, with George Hawras (program director from 1983-85) set the stage for ratings dominance. “If you don’t understand the heritage of a station, you can do all the wrong things,” Kendall said. “The people who are a part of the history and the heritage are magic ... It’s all about the magic and the viral effect of people who are excelling at what they do.” It took him two years to find John DeBella, who transformed mornings into a broadcast theater of the mind.

Rather than relying on outside research, Hawras established an internal operation, and introduced computerized music scheduling. “Our playlist was curated especially for our listeners,” he explained. “We were doing something nobody’s ever done in a market with an album rock station. We actually asked the people what they liked and then we gave it to them.” Hawras was also responsible for the iconic logo designed by Scott Ross, described by former afternoon drive host Joe Bonadonna as “a pot-smoking monkey hanging off of City Hall.”

The power of radio

Simply, WMMR’s success is the connection it forged with listeners, musicians, and the wider community. It was billboards with Philadelphia’s version of King Kong, DeBella’s Morning Zoo format and Louie Louie Parade (1985-1988), Tearson’s Gorilla Theater (early 1980s), Cyndy Drue’s local music showcase Street Beat (1986-1996), and Pierre Robert’s guerilla coverage of the transatlantic Live Aid concert (1985), despite competitor WYSP having the broadcast rights.

Robert, who passed away suddenly in 2025, spent 44 years at WMMR. Among the things for which he’s fondly remembered is his annual Thanksgiving program, in which he welcomed everyone home, checked in with listeners cooking dinner, and played multiple versions of Arlo Guthrie’s interminably long Alice’s Restaurant. The shock of Robert’s passing revealed the depth of feeling for him and WMMR across the community, setting off several days of on-air remembrance by current and former station staff, musicians, and friends.

When interviewed in 2024, Robert told Riley, “Maybe somebody’s having a rough day; maybe I can play a song or send something out to them and lift them up or give them hope to carry on another day. That’s the power of radio.”

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