- California
Let’s start this column with a pop quiz: Which of the following news stories embodies San Francisco and California in their present forms?
(A) The in-home assault and beating of Paul Pelosi, husband of the House Speaker—emblematic of San Francisco and California in that Mr. Pelosi, despite living in a luxurious mansion in an exclusive neighborhood where properties can sell for eight figures, becomes yet another crime statistic (per this summertime poll of nearly 1,700 San Franciscans, nearly half of respondents said they were victims of theft in the past five years, while roughly a quarter were physically attacked or threatened).
Or
(B) Elon Musk, now that his takeover of San Francisco–based Twitter is complete, altering the social media site as he does battle with its workforce—emblematic of San Francisco and California in that a micromanager like Musk will find it challenging to change Twitter’s countercultural ethos; while the uncertainty of Twitter’s future typifies the uncertain future of the downtowns in California’s major cities in the post-pandemic age of remote work.
And the answer is:
(C) Neither.
That’s because I have a third story in mind—of all things, a San Francisco radio station’s recent decision to change its programming format.
That would be KGO (810 on your AM dial), for the past eight decades a news-and-talk fixture of the San Francisco Bay Area until it switched to a round-the-clock sports gambling format in early October (it now goes by the handle “810 The Spread”).
Why this story as an example of the Golden State zeitgeist?
First, it’s a reminder that San Francisco, as one of America’s tech hubs, isn’t immune to the winds of change—and that includes modern media. Although roughly 60 million Americans in a given week turn to “amplitude modulation” for news and entertainment, approximately eight in ten Americans get their news from digital devices. Advantage: Twitter and Tik-Tok and other streaming platforms. Disadvantage: traditional media outlets.
It’s also a reminder that present-day California is not to be mistaken for its chronicled past. What comes to mind in associating AM radio and California? Try, 1973’s American Graffiti, George Lucas’s coming-of-age story of life in 1962 in the Central Valley city of Modesto, cruising the streets after dark and listening to rock-and-roll on car radios (here’s a scene with the late, great Wolfman Jack).
Second, as is true of many a business decision in California that wasn’t necessarily rooted in common sense (the list of failed Bay Area startups is long), consider the wisdom of going “all in” on sports gambling, in San Francisco, at this moment.
Two measures on California’s November ballot, one seeking to establish online and mobile sports wagering in America’s most populous state (Proposition 27) and the other permitting in-person sports gambling at California’s race tracks and tribal casinos (Proposition 26), both seem destined to fail.
Another curious facet of the KGO format switch: betting on a growing number of San Francisco Bay Area residents with their ears glued to the radio—and money to burn on sports wagers. The Bay Area witnessed the largest drop in median household earnings between 2019 and 2021 among America’s most populated regions (annual median income fell 4.6% to $116,005, or a loss of over $5,500 a year).
Then again, those locals might devote what spare money they have to the purchase of an electric vehicle now that California’s “inflation relief” checks are arriving in the mail (up to $1,000 per household, depending on income bracket). And if more Californians invest in EVs? Maybe more bad news for the future of terrestrial radio given that electromagnetic frequencies generated by EV motors interfere with AM radio signals (one reason why higher-end EVs aren’t equipped with AM receivers).
Still, that hasn’t prevented California from hurtling into a non–fossil fuel future, though green mandates sometimes make for politically odd bedfellows in the Golden State. Take, for example, the kerfuffle over this year’s Proposition 30, which would impose an added 1.75% income tax on Californians earning over $2 million a year, with a “Clean Cars and Clean Air Trust Fund” providing rebates and other incentives for zero-emission-vehicle programs.
Proposition 30’s main underwriter is San Francisco–based Lyft, as California-based ride-share companies face a state-imposed deadline of 2030 for having 90% of their fleets driving electric vehicles. The politically odd bedfellows? Lyft, which went to court two years ago in hopes of overturning a California law that opened the door to unionizing gig-economy drivers, finds itself on the same side of the ballot argument as the notoriously pro-union California Democratic Party. But that’s little odder than the opposition side: California’s most prominent Democrat, the usually pro-tax governor Gavin Newsom, agreeing with the anti-tax California Chamber of Commerce that Proposition 30 is bad news.
For Newsom (ironically, himself a Tesla aficionado), the Proposition 30 fight is personal—at least, he’s made it so by starring in television ads labeling the measure “one company’s cynical scheme to grab a huge taxpayer-funded subsidy” and “a Trojan horse that puts corporate welfare above the fiscal welfare of our entire state.”
Then again, California’s governor showing any visible interest in his state’s politics comes as a welcome relief after a spring and summer in which he lashed at the immorality (in his opinion) of America’s red-state approaches to abortion rights, school reading curricula, and the wokeness of Disney’s Florida workforce.
Seeing as he’s seeking a second term (Californians last rejected a freshman governor 80 years ago) in a state in which Democrats hold a two-to-one edge in voter registration and facing a Republican state senator short on money and name recognition, how engaged is Newsom in California politics this fall?
The answer: not as much you might expect (this past weekend saw Newsom campaigning in New Mexico on behalf of that state’s Democratic governor, Michelle Lujan Grisham).
But that doesn’t mean Newsom is absent from California’s airwaves. Turn on your local television and there’s a good chance that you’ll see California’s governor starring in a political ad asking for your vote. Nothing unusual there. However, it’s not a recitation of first-term accomplishments or what a second Newsom term might bode for California. Nor is the governor asking Californians to vote for him, personally. Rather, it’s Newsom warning Californians that their values are under siege (yes, Donald Trump’s name appears on the screen), thus the need to cast a ballot.
If that sounds familiar, it should. Newsom employed the same strategy in last year’s failed recall effort—in the process, and with the aid of some famous political surrogates, successfully turning the special election into a referendum on Trump and MAGA-style politics. Rather than giving California voters fresh material this fall, much less a rationale for why he deserves another four years in Sacramento, the governor instead is offering warmed-over leftovers from last year.
In Newsom’s defense, one could argue that what isn’t broke doesn’t need fixing. He survived last fall’s recall attempt, with nearly 62% of Californians voting to keep him in office; last week’s Public Policy Institute of California poll showed Newsom with a healthy 19-point lead (55% support among likely voters).
Still, one senses that Californians could benefit from a more spirited contest at the top of the ballot and a genuine policy debate.
The odds of that happening anytime soon in the Golden State? Maybe terrestrial radio knows the answer.
