The first time Angel “Angel Baby” Rodriguez heard Art Laboe on the radio, he was 13, in his father’s garage in the City of Industry. Laboe was introducing “Nite Owl” (1955) by Tony Allen and the Champs. “His voice caught me first,” Rodriguez told me, “that very distinctive tone, and then I heard the listeners calling in. The rawness of connecting with a listener, of spinning the record, it was something.”
Rodriguez became a DJ himself, in the mold of Laboe, at first playing records for Radio Aztlan, the late-slot Friday program at KUCR in Riverside. “I didn’t sleep on a Friday night for over 20 years, from my 20s into my 40s,” he told me. Now he hosts “The Art Laboe Love Zone,” keeping alive his hero’s legacy — three hours of live radio, emanating five nights a week from a studio in Palm Springs, that bring “the music to someone,” in Angel Baby’s words.
I am one of those someones. I was a teenager when I first started listening to Laboe in the 1970s. I spent nights with him on the radio for the rest of his life, until he died Oct. 7, 2022. By then I’d already discovered Rodriguez, who took over the Laboe tribute broadcast in 2023, with his own old school “radio voice” and an oldies playlist suitable for dance parties, house parties, long-haul travel and anyone burning the candle at both ends.
Now, with algorithms curating Spotify and Sirius, with fewer live DJ voices anywhere, terrestrial American radio is said to be dying. But not Art Laboe’s voice.
The most beloved man I’ve ever met, hands down, was Laboe. He stood just over 5 feet but commanded theaters filled with thousands of people, standing onstage in shimmering sapphire or gold lamé suits, while four generations of fans screamed his name.
Born to an Armenian family in Utah, Laboe was always fascinated with radios and broadcasting. At the age of 9, he took a bus, alone, to Los Angeles to see his older sister, and eventually moved to California, attending Stanford, serving in the Navy and becoming a DJ on KRLA, the oldies station. His 1950s live music revues, at the El Monte Legion Stadium, were the first integrated dance concerts in California. He DJ’d on live radio continuously for 79 years, and emceed legendary music revues almost that long.
If Laboe didn’t invent the song dedication, he perfected it. Starting in 1943 on KSAN in San Francisco, Laboe read out dedications to loved ones sent to him by letter from wives missing husbands in World War II, and then later from call-ins sending songs to a lover lying next to them in bed, or sitting alone in the dark, separated by migrant labor, military service, a prison sentence or work.
Laboe’s resonant voice echoed through the Riverside neighborhoods where I grew up, from passing cars and open windows, a staple of la cultura in particular — the Chicano culture of lowriders, Pendletons and khakis. Even now, my neighbor Lydia Orta, 75, talks about going to his concerts in El Monte when she was 9, with her grandmother, while her son Johnny, 45, plays archived Laboe broadcasts through speakers in their yard.
On Aug. 9, at the Farmhouse Collective in Riverside, more than 500 Laboe fans from all over the Southland gathered to celebrate the man, two days after what would have been his 100th birthday. Onstage, Rodriguez, hosted in his own signature style — no gold lamé, but a fedora, black sunglasses and a white guayabera shirt. His handle, Angel Baby, derives from the iconic song of the same name recorded in 1960 by Rosie and the Originals, when Rosie Hamlin was just 15 years old, still a student at Mission Bay High School in San Diego, writing poetry about her boyfriend. Rodriguez is the Prince of Oldies now — Laboe is still the King — keeping la cultura, with its intense devotion to music and community, alive.
At the concert, I met Mary Silva, 73, who drove in with her daughter. “I grew up in East L.A.,” she told me, “and there were 14 siblings before I came. … We listened to Art Laboe in Florence. I still listen every night, on 104.7.” Her favorite song? “‘Tell It Like It Is,’ ‘cause I always tell it like it is.” The classic is by Aaron Neville.
Just at the stage edge were Elizabeth Rivas, 72, from San Bernardino, and her grandchildren Rene Velaquez, 34, and Raymond Velasquez, 16. Rivas has listened to Laboe and now Rodriguez for decades, and her favorite song is “Tonight,” by Sly, Slick and Wicked. Granddaughter Rene said, “She taught us to listen.” Rene’s pick was another by Sly, Slick and Wicked: “Confessin’ a Feeling.”
Near them was Henry Sanchez, 54, from my old neighborhood in Riverside, who grew up listening to Laboe on 99.1. His favorite? Brenton Wood’s “Take a Chance.” And Sal Gomez, 49, also from Riverside, loves Wood’s “Baby You Got It,” which he remembered from KRLA.
Onstage, Rodriguez — introduced by Joanna Morones, Laboe’s longtime radio producer — took the microphone and said, “Gracias a Dios that I am honored to be sitting in Art’s chair five nights a week, taking phone calls and dedications from all the listeners. It gives me chills to sit there.”
When Sly, Slick and Wicked took the stage, resplendent in three-piece suits and fedoras, their dance moves crisp and perfect, the lead singer told the crowd, “Art Laboe used to say ‘Confessin’ a Feeling’ was his most requested song at night, and for 50 years you all have kept us singing.” The audience joined in: “Baby, my love is real.” Time passes, love changes, but the song remains the same.
And yet these big gatherings are not where I hear the devotion. It threads through the dark, tracing the melancholy of separation and the intimacy of the night, as the voices of Angel Baby and Art Laboe come through radio speakers.
The Monday after the celebration, I listened from 9 p.m. to midnight, as always. At least eight terrestrial radio stations carry “The Art Laboe Love Zone,” and thousands of fans stream it in Texas, Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado and overseas.
Rodriguez, who drives the 110-mile round trip from Riverside to Palm Springs each weeknight after working as the head street sign maker for Riverside County, had gone through snail mail and DMs on Instagram and Facebook, collecting the dedications he’d read. Morones had chosen the recordings of Laboe for the night. From out of the past, Laboe spoke to a woman who wanted him to blow a kiss through the radio to a man far away.
Rodriguez read a letter from Papa Lito, from Wilmington, now in Delano. And then a dedication from Proxie Aguirre, who’d made an appearance at the birthday celebration. Aguirre is 83 now, a Laboe fan since she was 15. She was pictured on the cover of a Laboe compilation album, eyes sparkling, forever young. She was driven from Venice to Riverside by her sister-in-law.
“This is from the all-new Proxie, for her husband of 35 years, Eddie,” Angel Baby’s dulcet voice intoned. “She says, ‘Eddie, I love you mucho.’”
Then: “Let’s drop the needle on the record, baby bubba.”
Susan Straight’s 10th novel, “Sacrament,” will be published in October. It features a lowrider funeral in San Bernardino and a nurse who sings like Mary Wells.
The post Contributor: He DJ’d radio for 79 years. The late Art Laboe’s fans are still tuning in appeared first on Los Angeles Times.
