When Pirates Ruled the (Air) Waves

I’m constantly being reminded of the many differences between life today and the world in which I grew up, specifically in England during the 1960s and 1970s. Take the accessibility of music, for example. Today, we live in a world where almost every musical genre imaginable is instantly accessible. Streaming platforms like Spotify, Apple Music, and YouTube host tens of millions of tracks, ranging from global chart-toppers to obscure regional styles.

Algorithms, playlists, and social media recommendations mean that listeners routinely stumble across artists and genres they’ve never heard of — sometimes from the other side of the world. TikTok trends can catapult a forgotten song from the 1980s into the charts, while online communities share and celebrate everything from Scandinavian folk metal to Japanese city pop.

Another aspect of this is that niche styles blend, mutate, and cross-pollinate in ways no one could have imagined half a century ago. Jazz has splintered into smooth, fusion, and experimental forms; country has merged with pop and rap; metal ranges from classic to symphonic to doom; and global genres — Afrobeats, K-pop, reggaeton, Latin trap, bhangra, and countless others — fill playlists alongside indie folk, lo-fi chill, ambient electronica, and hyperpop. Streaming platforms now let listeners wander freely across this vast sonic landscape, discovering subgenres as specialized as vaporwave, dark synth, or neo-soul with a single tap.

Things were very different in England at the beginning of the 1960s. Commercial radio didn’t exist at that time, and advertising on the air was strictly prohibited. Only the British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC) was legally allowed to broadcast radio in the UK.

There were three BBC radio channels in 1960: The Home Service, established in 1939, which offered news, drama, talks, current affairs, and educational programming; The Light Programme, established in 1945, which offered variety shows, comedy, dance bands, and (cautiously) popular music; and The Third Programme, established in 1946, which was a highbrow cultural channel featuring classical music, poetry readings, and serious discussion.

By the early 1960s, this trio formed a distinctly middle-aged soundscape. The BBC saw itself as a national educator rather than a jukebox. For example, The Light Programme’s musical output was dominated by dance bands and light orchestras, middle-of-the-road crooners and vocalists, musical theatre and film songs, comedy and variety shows, and… as a “tail end Charlie”… occasional “pop” coverage. In this latter case, we’re talking about shows like Family Favourites and Pick of the Pops. These featured a few current chart hits, but only for short segments, and often performed by the BBC Northern Dance Orchestra rather than the original artists.

When it came to appealing to a younger audience, what sort of music wasn’t played on the UK radio? Well, just about everything people wanted to hear, really. A few examples are rock ’n’ roll and early pop (by the early 1960s, the BBC still viewed rock ’n’ roll as a passing fad and largely ignored it), emerging styles like American Rhythm and Blues (R&B) and Soul were virtually absent, and even bands like The Beatles, Gerry and the Pacemakers, The Searchers, and The Hollies received minimal air time (you might hear them once or twice a week on the radio… if you were lucky).

As I mentioned in a couple of earlier Throwback Thursdays columns — Be Kind, Rewind: The Home Video Revolution and Student Life and Sound Systems in the Seventies — for many young people, the only real exposure to offbeat music (no “off-beat” pun intended) was the local record shop. If the owner knew you and your tastes, he might say, “Here’s a new group you might like.” Other ways in which young people discovered music were word of mouth and live gigs. Additionally, the music press — in the form of weekly magazines such as New Musical Express (NME), Melody Maker, and (later) Sounds — had a hugely influential impact.

The scene was set for the emergence of what came to be known as Pirate Radio. In 1964, Irish businessman Ronan O’Rahilly bought a ship, fitted it with a powerful transmitter, and anchored it just outside the UK’s three-mile limit. He named it Radio Caroline, allegedly after Caroline Kennedy, who was a symbol of youthful energy and rebellion.

Radio Caroline went on air in March 1964. The DJs were fresh, informal, and full of energy. They sounded nothing like the BBC’s stiff announcers. They played records by The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, The Kinks, and countless other artists that the BBC largely ignored. Within months, millions of listeners were tuning in daily, and the BBC’s monopoly was effectively broken — even though the pirates were technically illegal.

Later in 1964, Radio London (also known as “Big L” and “Wonderful Radio London”) joined the party. Broadcasting from a ship called the Galaxy, it drew inspiration from slick American “Top-40” stations. With jingles, tight formatting, and upbeat presentation, Radio London felt truly modern — fast-paced, brash, and exciting. It quickly became the most professional and popular of all the offshore stations.

Although it’s not an entirely accurate portrayal in a historical sense, the 2009 movie The Boat That Rocked — which is loosely based on Radio Caroline, Radio London, and other stations — really captures the spirit of the 1960s pirate radio stations.

Also, we should note that long before the offshore revolution, there was pre-pirate rebel Radio Luxembourg. Broadcasting from the tiny European duchy, this began English-language commercial programming as early as the 1930s. By the 1950s and early ’60s, it was one of the few places where British listeners could hear sponsored programs featuring real pop records — albeit only at night, since the medium-wave signal was weak during the day. Luxembourg’s “208” (its wavelength on the dial) became legendary among British teenagers huddled under the bedcovers with their transistor radios, straining to catch the latest Elvis or Cliff Richard song. In many ways, Luxembourg paved the way for the pirate era by demonstrating the massive appetite of young people for non-BBC popular music.

By the time the UK government cracked down on pirate stations in 1967, the BBC was compelled to reassess its entire approach to broadcasting. For decades, it had enjoyed a comfortable monopoly, but the offshore rebels had exposed just how out of touch the corporation had become with younger listeners.

The public’s appetite for pop music and lively DJs couldn’t simply be switched off when the pirates went quiet, so the BBC scrambled to reorganize its networks. On September 30, 1967, it launched Radio 1, aimed squarely at the youth audience the pirates had cultivated, while rebranding its existing services as Radio 2, Radio 3, and Radio 4. In effect, the BBC absorbed the spirit of the pirates even as it replaced them — bringing pop music ashore and into the mainstream for the first time.

Among all the voices who emerged from the pirate era, none proved more enduring or influential than John Peel. Born John Parker Ravenscroft, he joined Radio London in early 1967, presenting a late-night show called The Perfumed Garden. Peel’s program was introspective and eclectic — it sounded unlike anything else on the airwaves, and it won him a loyal following among listeners who sensed they were hearing something genuinely new.

When the government pulled the plug on the pirates later that year, Peel was one of the few DJs invited to join the newly formed BBC Radio 1. At the BBC, Peel carried the spirit of the pirates into the establishment and quietly reshaped British broadcasting. His late-night shows gave airtime to music that no one else would touch — first progressive rock, then punk, reggae, indie, and electronic sounds.

From the very start of his BBC career in 1967, Peel’s programs were scheduled in the evening or late-night hours, typically between 10 p.m. and midnight (sometimes later). As a student in the latter half of the 1970s, I recall lying in bed, drifting off to sleep while listening to John Peel’s show.

Do you remember my column on the Fruits and Vegetables of the Season? I concluded that column by saying:

On the one hand, it’s nice to be able to get whatever you want whenever you want it. On the other hand, there is something to be said for the way things used to be. For example, when you haven’t had even a hint of a whiff of a sniff of a strawberry for six or seven months from October through April, then nothing tastes quite as good as the first strawberries of the season in May.

Well, now I’ve reminded myself of the heady days of pirate radio, I realize that — once again — I’m sitting on the horns of a dilemma (and that’s not a comfortable feeling, let me tell you). On the one hand, it’s wonderful to be able to gain instant access to almost any music on the planet. On the other hand, there is something to be said for the way things used to be. Nothing quite compares to the thrill of hearing a pirate DJ playing a new, never-before-heard single for the very first time — a song you had to tune in at just the right time and hold your breath to hear.

I’ll end this column as usual by asking: How about you? If you’re of my generation, has this triggered any memories you’d care to share? And if you hail from more recent times, has anything here made you realize just how lucky you are to bask in the glow of today’s astonishing technologies?

As always, I welcome your captivating comments, querulous questions, and sagacious suggestions, all of which you can share on Hackster's "Throwback Thursdays" Discord channel. I look forward to seeing you there.

P.S. Don't forget that you can peruse and ponder all of my earlier Throwback Thursdays columns.

P.P.S. Please feel free to email me at max@clivemaxfield.com if you have any questions about this column or if you have any requests or suggestions for future articles.