KJ6ER

Lyrics by Dave Owen G3LRC

There’s copper in the catalogue
There’s magic in the claims
There’s boxes printed out in plastic
Wearing fancy names
But somewhere in an open field
Beneath a great blue sky
A little wire and engineering
Can show us what and why

Greg went back to first principles
To see what RF knew
Model it
Build it
Take it outside
And test if it comes true
Get the feed point off the dirt
Let those radials breathe
Put the power in the sky
Not warming up the leaves
No magic box
No secret sauce
No logo makes it fly
Efficiency is engineering
And physics doesn’t lie

Build it
Measure it
Change it
Try
Raise those radials from the ground
And let the signal fly

MAKE THE ANTENNAS COME ALIVE
MAKE THE ANTENNAS COME ALIVE
Raise those radials
Let RF fly
Turn every watt into miles of sky
MAKE THE ANTENNAS COME ALIVE
MAKE THE ANTENNAS COME ALIVE
Build it right
Then take it outside
WE PAINT THE MAP
WE PAINT THE MAP
Make the antennas come alive

Some bring miles of copper
Some bring poles up to the moon
Some bring boxes printed overnight
And promise DX soon
A transformer in a plastic box
A fishing pole up high
Add a clever name and twenty claims
And watch the price tag fly
But watts don’t read the brochure
And RF cannot see
The photograph
The fancy graph
Or your delivery fee
Where did the power go?
That’s the question we should ask
Into the earth?
Into some heat?
Or out across the map?

Model it
Measure it
Question why
You can’t print efficiency
On the side of something shiny

MAKE THE ANTENNAS COME ALIVE
MAKE THE ANTENNAS COME ALIVE
Raise those radials
Let RF fly
Turn every watt into miles of sky
MAKE THE ANTENNAS COME ALIVE
MAKE THE ANTENNAS COME ALIVE
Build it right
Then take it outside
WE PAINT THE MAP
WE PAINT THE MAP
Make the antennas come alive

A hundred feet of copper
Doesn’t prove a thing is great
A fishing pole can touch the clouds
And still not change its fate
A printed box looks lovely
And the logo may be grand
But Maxwell never checked the brand
Before he made his stand
So save the magic adjectives
And show us what you’ve found
How much power reached the sky?
How much just warmed the ground?
Measure it
Compare it
Let the evidence decide
Then pack the thing
And take it out
And put it on the air outside

And here’s the bit
That matters most
There’s no lock upon the door
No price upon the knowledge
No secret anymore
Download the plans
Cut the wire
Build one for yourself
Then show another amateur
And pass along the help
That’s radio
Not what you own
Not what you spend
It’s what you learn
It’s what you test
It’s what you freely send
One good idea
Set free
And suddenly
We paint the map

K J 6 E R
He did the maths
He built the wire
K J 6 E R
No magic box
No advertising choir
K J 6 E R
He took it outside
And made it sing
Then gave the plans away
For everyone to build the thing

That’s amateur radio
Curiosity
Experiment
A signal and a spark
Build it
Break it
Build it better
Build it
Break it
Build it better
Then take it to the park
Not buying answers from a box
Because the advert says it’s great
Let the ionosphere decide
If you got what you paid

MAKE THE ANTENNAS COME ALIVE
MAKE THE ANTENNAS COME ALIVE
Raise those radials
Let RF fly
Turn every watt into miles of sky
MAKE THE ANTENNAS COME ALIVE
MAKE THE ANTENNAS COME ALIVE
MAKE THE ANTENNAS COME ALIVE
MAKE THE ANTENNAS COME ALIVE
No magic box
No secret inside
Build it yourself
Then take it outside
WE PAINT THE MAP
WE PAINT THE MAP
From mountain tops
To the countryside
WE PAINT THE MAP
WE PAINT THE MAP
The plans are free
The air is free
That’s what radio ought to be
BUILD IT
TEST IT
SHARE IT
TAKE IT OUTSIDE
Forget the brochure
Forget the hype
Let the signal tell you
If you got it right
WE PAINT THE MAP
WE PAINT THE MAP
MAKE THE ANTENNAS COME ALIVE

K J 6 E R
One good idea
Given away
One more signal
On the air today
We paint the map
Make the antennas come alive.

Lyrics by Dave Owen G3LRC

Some antennas give you a low S W R
But does that mean
They are telling you the truth?
Not always
That is like asking your cheating wife
Are you happy?
And she says
YES
Because she is happy
With another man
But the POH-TAR PERFORMER
That is different
Low S W R
All truth
No lies
ALL TRUTH
NO LIES
Kilo Juliet Six Echo Romeo
He put a new idea in the air
A vertical monopole
With tuned radials elevated there
Portable
Elevated
Resonant
POH-TAR PERFORMER
Get it up
Get it right
Get your R F into the sky
Tune those radials
Let them sing
Give the radio room to do its thing
ELEVATE
Get it up
Get it right
Get it up
Get it right
EV ELATION
That is the name of the game
ELEVATE YOURSELF
Your radials and your logbook
ELEVATE
Save your money
ELEVATED
Save your watts
EV ELATION
Forget the copper lots
ELEVATE YOUR LOGBOOK
Greg did not stop with one
He built the Challenger
Then came the Dominator
More ideas
More antennas
More ways to get on the air
And the POH-TAR PERFORMER
Took it to the show
Second place in Q S T
Now everybody knows
Kilo Juliet Six Echo Romeo
Put good design to work
He shared the plans
He shared the knowledge
He gave the builders what they need
No secret copper empire
Just a better way to proceed
Elevated radials
Tuned just right
More efficient radiation
More R F into the sky
More signal where it matters
More stations hearing you
And reciprocity means
You hear them better too
Hear more
Work more
More QSOs
More fun
Less time activating
More contacts in the log
Bigger signal reports
A more impressive logbook
ELEVATE
ELEVATE YOURSELF
ELEVATE YOUR RADIALS
ELEVATE
Get it up
Get it right
ELEVATED
Let that antenna bite
EV ELATION
That is the name of the game
ELEVATE YOURSELF
And let your signal do the same
ELEVATE
Save your money
ELEVATED
Save your watts
EV ELATION
Forget the copper lots
ELEVATE YOURSELF
Was the only way to make the contact
Now hear that voice
Now make that Q S O
More meaning
More purpose
More everything
More contacts
More fun
And a happy wife
HAPPY WIFE
HAPPY LIFE
You do not need the biggest station
You do not need the tallest tower
You need to understand the radio
You need to understand the power
Read the numbers
Build the wire
Raise the radials
Light the fire
Get your R F into the sky
And when they tell you
Build it bigger
Build it higher
Buy another roll of copper wire
Remember Greg
Kilo Juliet Six Echo Romeo
He showed another way
Build it smart
Elevate
And put more QSOs in your log today
ELEVATE
ELEVATE YOURSELF
ELEVATE YOUR RADIALS
ELEVATE YOUR LOGBOOK
EV ELATION
MORE QSOs
LESS TIME
BIGGER REPORTS
MORE NAMES IN THE LOG
ELEVATE
ELEVATE YOURSELF
SAVE THE MONEY
SAVE THE WATTS
SAVE THE SPACE
LOSE THE LOT
We do not need
BIG COPPER
We need
GOOD DESIGN
ELEVATE
Get it up
Get it right
ELEVATED
Make the signal stronger
EV ELATION
Let the radio fly
ELEVATE YOURSELF
Your radials
Your signal
Your logbook
ELEVATE
ELEVATED
EV ELATION
ELEVATE YOURSELF
POH-TAR
ALL TRUTH
NO LIES
Kilo Juliet Six Echo Romeo
MORE EFFICIENCY
MORE QSOs
LESS TIME
BIGGER REPORTS
HEAR MORE
WORK MORE
ELEVATE YOUR RADIALS
ELEVATE YOUR LOGBOOK
ELEVATE YOURSELF
Less copper
Less money
Less power
More radio
More voices
More QSOs
ELEVATE YOURSELF
Turn the radio on
And let it fly

Lyrics by Dave Owen G3LRC

COMMON MODE IS REAL

Yeah!
Turn the radio up!
We’re going down the feed line tonight!
⸻

I tuned my dipole
I got it just right
One point two S W R
What a beautiful sight
The rig says “perfect”
The meter says “fine”
But there’s R F on the outside
Of my co-ax line
You can tune your antenna
Till the whole thing sings
But that outside current
Can still do its thing
⸻

It ain’t a ghost
It ain’t a dream
It ain’t some fairy tale
On an R F screen
Get out your meter
Measure what you feel
Because common mode current
Is perfectly real!
⸻

COMMON MODE IS REAL!
Real! Real! Real!
COMMON MODE IS REAL!
Running down the line!
You can tune your antenna
You can make the S W R look fine
But if current’s on the outside
COMMON MODE IS REAL!
And it’s measurable every time!
⸻

I bought some ferrite
I wrapped it around
Twenty turns of magic
And I felt pretty proud
But turns don’t tell the story
And ferrite ain’t enough
You need high impedance
When the R F gets tough
What works on twenty
May fail on ten
And what looks good on paper
May not look good again
So test that choke properly
And sweep it through the range
Don’t trust one little number
When the frequency can change
⸻

Calibrate the V N A
Connect the test gear right
Measure the transfer
And watch the curve take flight
Don’t just count the turns
Don’t just guess the deal
Look at the numbers
Is the choke for real?
⸻

COMMON MODE IS REAL!
Real! Real! Real!
COMMON MODE IS REAL!
Running down the line!
You can tune your antenna
You can make the S W R look fine
But S W R won’t tell you
Where that current goes at night!
COMMON MODE IS REAL!
And it’s measurable every time!
⸻

Yeah!
Choke that co-ax!
Turn it up!
Measure it!
⸻

“Doctor, my antenna is resonant!”
That’s nice.
“And my S W R is one to one!”
Fantastic.
“So there can’t be common mode!”
Well…
That doesn’t follow.
Nature doesn’t care
What your S meter says
Current finds a path
And the outside counts as well
It isn’t magic
It isn’t a myth
It’s volts and amps
And fields and bits…
Well…
Mostly volts and amps.
⸻

If you can measure it…
It’s real!
If you can sweep it…
It’s real!
If you can see the current…
It’s real!
If your R F gets into everything…
YOU KNOW IT’S REAL!
⸻

COMMON MODE IS REAL!
Real! Real! Real!
COMMON MODE IS REAL!
Running down the line!
Tune your antenna
Make your S W R look fine
But don’t confuse a perfect match
With everything being fine!
COMMON MODE IS REAL!
It’s current, not a ghost!
COMMON MODE IS REAL!
And the measurement tells the most!
High impedance where you need it
Test the choke across the band
If the numbers say it works…
Then we’ve got it in our hands!
⸻

Common mode…
Is…
REAL!
Co-ax…
Is…
A conductor!
S W R…
Is…
Not magic!
And if you don’t believe it…
MEASURE IT!
Guitar crash
73!

Lyrics by Dave Owen G3LRC

I set out at dawn,
With a radio and a plan,
An end-fed half-wave
And the latest wonder antenna.
The boys online had told me,
“This thing is bloody grand,
It'll work the whole of Europe
On the forty metre band.”
I had the expensive radio,
The antenna cost a bomb,
The internet had promised me
That I could do no wrong.
I found my bunker,
Within one kay,
Put the antenna in the air
And started calling CQ.

CQ BOTA,
CQ Bunkers on the Air,
CQ BOTA,
Is anybody there?
The morning turned to lunchtime,
The lunchtime turned to tea,
I called CQ BOTA
But nobody called back to me.
I checked the propagation,
I checked the solar chart,
I checked what all the experts said
About my bloody antenna's art.
They said it was fantastic,
They said it had the gain,
They said, “This little beauty
Will outperform the rest.”
So I kept on calling,
As the daylight drifted by,
CQ BOTA!
CQ BOTA!
And nobody replied.

THE BUNKER WAS CLOSED!
Well, that's what it felt like.
THE ACTIVATION FAILED!
Despite all the bloody hype.
I had the end-fed half-wave,
I had the latest gear,
I had a bunker underneath me,
But nobody could hear.
THE BUNKER WAS CLOSED!
The sun was getting low.
I called CQ BOTA
Till I had nowhere left to go.

I'd bought the clever antenna,
The one the influencers adored,
With graphs and magic numbers
And promises galore.
They said it was efficient,
They said it had the gain,
They said it would work miracles
Through sunshine, snow and rain.
It cost me quite a fortune,
It looked impressive too,
And every bloke on social media
Said, “Mate, this thing is you.”
But radio isn't Instagram,
And RF isn't hype.
You can dress an antenna beautifully...
But physics doesn't like it.

Then just before the daylight died,
I heard a distant roar.
“CQ BUNKERS ON THE AIR!”
There was a pile-up at the door.
Stations from across Europe
Were fighting for their turn,
And I could barely hear the bloke
Above the stations he'd earned.
I called him once.
He came straight back.
“Four and three,” he said to me.
I thought, “Well, that's something.”
Then I listened carefully.
“What are you running, mate?”
He said, “A FlexRadio Aurora,
And a BOTA Performer.”
I looked across the field
At that ugly little thing.
And then I checked my S-meter...
Thirty over nine!
The strongest bloody signal
On the whole of forty!

THE BUNKER WAS CLOSED!
No, it wasn't closed!
THE ACTIVATION FAILED!
Now I know why!
HE'S RUNNING AN AURORA!
HE'S RUNNING BOW-TA!
And that ugly little Performer
Is absolutely flying!

He gave me four and three,
I gave him thirty over nine.
The strongest signal on the band,
And suddenly I'm doing fine.
Forty-five stations later,
He's still not in a rush,
Thirty-five minutes on the air
And he's got the whole band crushed.
I said, “But what's your secret?
The propagation's poor!”
He said, “The Aurora doesn't care.”
Then he worked four more.
I said, “But your antenna...
It looks like nothing there.”
He said, “It's a Coyote Ugly
BOTA Performer.”
“It's not much to look at,
But it puts RF in the air.”

HE GAVE ME FOUR AND THREE!
I GAVE HIM THIRTY OVER NINE!
HE HAD THE AURORA!
I HAD THE END-FED!
HE HAD THE PERFORMER!
I HAD THE BROCHURE!
HE HAD THE CONTACTS!
I HAD THE PROPAGATION CHART!
HE HAD THE PHYSICS!
I HAD THE MARKETING!

And suddenly it hit me,
Standing in that field:
The antenna doesn't care
What the marketing revealed.
The radio doesn't read
What some influencer wrote.
The signal doesn't care
How much the bloody antenna cost.
The electrons don't read Facebook,
The photons don't read X,
And Maxwell never once cared
About your product specs.
There's no secret sauce,
No magic in the air,
Just a good bit of RF
And an antenna that gets it there.

THE BUNKER WAS CLOSED!

THE BUNKER WAS CLOSED!
NO! IT WASN'T CLOSED!
THE ACTIVATION FAILED!
BUT NOW I'M SAVED!
AURORA!
BOW-TA!
COYOTE UGLY!
BOW-TA!
THIRTY OVER NINE!
THE STRONGEST ON THE BAND!
FORTY-FIVE STATIONS!
THIRTY-FIVE MINUTES!
AND HE'S NOT EVEN RUSHING!

I called from dawn...
Till dusk...
CQ BOTA...
CQ BOTA...
Nothing but crickets...
And a disappointing S-meter.
Then I heard that pile-up...
And I heard that signal...
Four and three...
Then thirty over nine...

Now I know the truth,
And it wasn't hard to find:
You can't negotiate with physics,
And you can't market your way around it.
So tomorrow I'll be back there,
With my battery and my whip,
And a Coyote Ugly Performer
That looks like absolute...
...well...
You know.
But if it works the stations,
I don't care what it looks like.
Let the influencers keep talking,
Let the marketing roll.
I'll take the ugly antenna
That actually does the job.

CQ BOTA,
CQ Bunkers on the Air,
CQ BOTA,
Is anybody there?
The morning turned to lunchtime,
The lunchtime turned to tea,
I called CQ BOTA
But nobody called back to me.
I checked the propagation,
I checked the solar chart,
I checked what all the experts said
About my bloody antenna's art.
They said it was fantastic,
They said it had the gain,
They said, “This little beauty

Lyrics by Dave Owen G3LRC

Some antennas give you a low S W R
But does that mean
They are telling you the truth?
Not always
That is like asking your cheating wife
Are you happy?
And she says
YES
Because she is happy
With another man
But the POH TAR Performer
That is different
Low S W R
All truth
No lies
ALL TRUTH
NO LIES

ELEVATE
Get it up
Get it right
ELEVATED
Let that antenna bite
ELEVATION
That is the name of the game
ELEVATE YOURSELF
And let your signal do the same
ELEVATE
SAVE YOUR MONEY
ELEVATED
SAVE YOUR WATTS
ELEVATION
FORGET THE COPPER LOTS
ELEVATE YOURSELF

Lyrics by Dave Owen G3LRC

Hello from Darbados
Gee 3 L R C on the mic
They say that Forty’s dying,
The Sun is going down,
F O F two says seven megs
Won’t bring it back to town.
So turn that hundred watts up,
And blame it on the sky,
But you cannot buy refraction,
No matter how you try.

Watts are expensive, angles are free,
Don’t burn watts, work the geometry.
The locals may go quiet,
Then Europe takes the call,
Forty didn’t die,
The crowd just moved, that’s all.

End-fed half-wave hanging,
Transformer running hot,
A hundred watts went in the wire,
But useful watts? Maybe not.
Whisper kept the numbers,
R B N heard them all,
Billions of transmissions say
Forty never died at all.

Watts are expensive, angles are free,
Don’t burn watts, work the geometry.
France and Spain are calling,
Sweden hears it all,
Forty didn’t die,
The crowd just moved, that’s all.

F O F two says
Straight up won’t go.
It never said
There’s nowhere else to go.
High when high is working,
Low when low should be,
Give the signal choices,
Let physics set it free.

Watts are expensive, angles are free,
Don’t burn watts, work the geometry.
Hunters round the world now
Are answering the call,
Forty didn’t die,
The crowd just moved, that’s all.
Watts are expensive, angles are free,
Solar minimum
Ain’t the end of H F for me.

You cannot buy refraction.
You cannot bribe the Sun.
Forty didn’t die.
The crowd just moved.
That’s all.

Lyrics by Dave Owen G3LRC

Well I packed my rig and my dipole too,
Heading to the rally, nothing could subdue.
But when I walked in, hit my nose like a wall,
Oh brother, this scent could stop a QSL call!

It’s the funky, stinky, ham rally blues,
Cologne and deodorant? They’re clearly on the lose.
Sweatbands swinging, t-shirts long past due,
Every radio ham’s got the funky ham rally blues!

I asked old Joe, “Did you wash this week?”
He said, “Soap? Nah, my signal’s all you need!”
From VHF to HF, the smell travels far,
Even the XYL said, “Dear, stay in the car.”

It’s the funky, stinky, ham rally blues,
Antennas up, but noses we must choose.
We come for the gear, the chatter, the news,
But we all leave dancing with the funky ham rally blues!
Pass the Febreze, boys, make it snappy,
Before this rally turns folks unhappy.
We love our radios, our waves, our queues,
But oh that odour—give me the rescue!

It’s the funky, stinky, ham rally blues,
Next year I’ll bring masks, I’m not here to lose.
Still I’ll grin, shake hands, swap my old QSLs,
While humming the tale of the funky ham smells!

Lyrics by Dave Owen G3LRC

It was a dark and stormy night…
Deep in California,
A citizen scientist named Greg,
Had twenty-five feet of metal,
And a wire by his leg!
Thirty-three feet of counterpoise,
A nine-to-one un-un,
He threw the switch, the lightning flashed…
MASTER! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?
I’ve created something…
MA-JES-TIC!

Greg was working in his shack one night,
When his antenna gave him quite a fright.
He pulled the whip and moved the wire,
Said, “All this tuning makes me tired!”
He grabbed a choke and an un-un too,
Said, “I’ve got a better thing to do!”
He built a monster, tall and slick,
And gave it a name…
MA-JES-TIC!

MA-JES-TIC!
(IT’S A MONSTER HIT!)
MA-JES-TIC!
(DON’T TOUCH A BIT!)
Nine-to-one!
And away we go!
Eight great bands,
Let the radio glow!
MA-JES-TIC!
(NO TOUCH! NO TRICKS!)
MA-JES-TIC!
(IT’S A MONSTER HIT!)
MA-JES-TIC!
(DON’T TOUCH A BIT!)
Nine-to-one!
And away we go!
Eight great bands,
Let the radio glow!
MA-JES-TIC!
(NO TOUCH! NO TRICKS!)
MA-JES-TIC!
(FORTY THROUGH SIX!)

A vampire came knocking,
At the laboratory door,
Said, “Greg, I hear you’re losing watts,
Straight through the floor!”
Greg said, “That’s the counterpoise,
It’s lying on the ground.
Some power turns to heat,
But there’s still RF around!”
I vant to suck your…
RADIATION EFFICIENCY!
Well, you can take a little loss,
If convenience is the boss!

MA-JES-TIC!
(IT’S A MONSTER HIT!)
MA-JES-TIC!
(DON’T TOUCH A BIT!)
Nine-to-one!
And away we go!
Eight great bands,
Let the radio glow!
MA-JES-TIC!
(IT’S A MONSTER HIT!)
MA-JES-TIC!
(DON’T TOUCH A BIT!)
Nine-to-one!
And away we go!
Eight great bands,
Let the radio glow!
MA-JES-TIC!
(NO TOUCH! NO TRICKS!)
MA-JES-TIC!
(FORTY THROUGH SIX!)

Master…
The S W R is beautiful!
Excellent, Igor!
But the radiation efficiency…
Yes, Igor?
It’s positively…
FRIGHTENING!
Igor!
A good match doesn’t mean
A good radiator!
Then where did the watts go?
Into the ground…
Into the ground…
Into the ground…
Well, that’s the price
Of keeping my boots clean!

The werewolf’s on twenty,
The mummy’s on ten,
Frankenstein’s on forty,
Calling C Q again!
The ghost is on seventeen,
The vampire’s on six,
They’re changing all the bands,
Without adjusting sticks!
The ghouls are dancing,
The skeletons shake,
The whole haunted shack
Is starting to quake!
C Q! C Q!
WHO’S CALLING YOU?
K J 6 E R,
Coming through!

MA-JES-TIC!
(IT’S A MONSTER HIT!)
MA-JES-TIC!

MA-JES-TIC!
(IT’S A MONSTER HIT!)
MA-JES-TIC!
(DON’T TOUCH A BIT!)
Nine-to-one!
And away we go!
Eight great bands,
Let the radio glow!
MA-JES-TIC!
NOTHING AT ALL!

MA-JES-TIC!
(IT’S A MONSTER HIT!)
MA-JES-TIC!
(DON’T TOUCH A BIT!)
Nine-to-one!
And away we go!
Eight great bands,
Let the radio glow!
MA-JES-TIC!
Igor!
Have you checked the co-ax?
Yes, Master!
And the common-mode current?
The choke is standing guard!
And the counterpoise?
Thirty-three feet, Master!
Lying in the dirt!
And the whip?
Twenty-five feet!
Standing straight and tall!
Then what do we touch
When we change bands?
NOTHING AT ALL!

MA-JES-TIC!
(IT’S A MONSTER HIT!)
MA-JES-TIC!

MA-JES-TIC!
(IT’S A MONSTER HIT!)
MA-JES-TIC!
(DON’T TOUCH A BIT!)
Nine-to-one!
And away we go!
Eight great bands,
Let the radio glow!
MA-JES-TIC!
(IT’S A MONSTER HIT!)
MA-JES-TIC!
(DON’T TOUCH A BIT!)
Nine-to-one!
And away we go!
Eight great bands,
Let the radio glow!
MA-JES-TIC!
(NO TOUCH! NO TRICKS!)
MA-JES-TIC!
(FORTY THROUGH SIX!)
MA-JES-TIC!
MA-JES-TIC!
MA-JES-TIC!

Greg…
I have just one question…
Yes, Count?
If your S W R is so beautiful…
Why are your watts…
DISAPPEARING?
They’re not disappearing, Count.
They’re heating the ground!
Then perhaps…
You should call it…
THE UNDERGROUND ANTENNA!
IGOR! GET HIM OUT!

MA-JES-TIC!

Lyrics by Dave Owen G3LRC

Well, down in California,
There’s a man named Greg.
Got a twenty-five-foot whip,
And a wire by his leg.
He said, ‘Boys, I got a problem…
Every time I change the band,
I’m out there in the rain again,
With a screwdriver in my hand!’
Not anymore!

Got twenty-five feet reaching for the sky,
Thirty-three feet where the earthworms lie.
Nine-to-one un-un, sitting down below,
Choke on the co-ax, now we’re ready to go!
Forty metres, twenty, seventeen too,
Fifteen, twelve and ten, got some D X to do.
Thirty and six, they’re in the mix,
Eight bands of blues and no antenna tricks!

Don’t pull that whip!
(Don’t pull that whip!)
Don’t move that wire!
(Don’t move that wire!)
Let that tuner do its thing,
And set the bands on fire!
(No touch, no fuss!)
MA-JES-TIC!
(Leave that whip alone!)
No touch, no fuss,
MA-JES-TIC!
(No touch, no fuss!)
MA-JES-TIC!
(Leave that whip alone!)
No touch, no fuss,
Let the tuner do the work!
No wet boots, no muddy shirt,
No crawling through the dirt!
MA-JES-TIC!
(Oh, what a trick!)
Eight bands of blues,
And a lazy man’s fix!

My neighbour’s got a tuner,
And a thousand-dollar rig.
But every time he changes bands,
He’s dancing round a twig!
He’s measuring his radials,
He’s checking S W R.
I’m sitting in my motor,
Working stations near and far!
Well, the S W R looks pretty…
But that don’t mean you’re loud!

Don’t touch the whip!
(Leave it alone!)
Don’t shift the wire!
(Stay at home!)
The rain is coming sideways,
But my radio’s on fire!
(No touch, no fuss!)
MA-JES-TIC!
(Leave that whip alone!)
No touch, no fuss,
MA-JES-TIC!
(No touch, no fuss!)
MA-JES-TIC!
(Leave that whip alone!)
No touch, no fuss,
Let the tuner do the work!
No wet boots, no muddy shirt,
No crawling through the dirt!
MA-JES-TIC!
(Oh, what a trick!)
Eight bands of blues,
And a lazy man’s fix!

Now Greg ain’t claiming magic,
And he ain’t selling dreams.
Some watts go warming up the ground,
That’s how the physics seems.
But when the thunder’s rumbling,
And the rain comes pouring down,
I’ll be calling C Q from my seat,
While you’re still messing round!
Who’s the man behind this thing?
K J 6 E R!
Say it again!
Kilo Juliet Six Echo Romeo!
That’s Greg Mihran, boys!

MA-JES-TIC!

Lyrics by Dave Owen G3LRC

Twenty metres… Point her at the horizon.
Turn her loose.
Two silver whips standing tall in the sun,
Bent round the corner, two become one,
One takes the fire, one follows behind,
Coupled together and perfectly timed.
Turn her to the heading, let the back door close,
Forward is the only way the R F goes,
From twenty down to ten when the higher bands call,
Built in the field, no tower at all.

But gain ain’t magic and S W R can lie,
A one-to-one reading don’t tell you what flies,
If your ferrite gets hot, that’s your watts going down,
So build that transformer right before you leave town.

Marauder, Marauder, go raid that band,
Marauder, Marauder, reach across the land,
Turn her to the D X, let the signal run,
Leave the noise behind you, point her at the sun.
Marauder, Marauder, let the R F roll,
Build her for efficiency, that’s the whole damn goal,
From twenty metres down to ten,
Marauder rides again.

Forty-nine to one, fifty-six if you choose,
But every little fraction of a D B you lose,
Lives inside the ferrite, the wire and the heat,
And watts that warm a box don’t get out on the street.
Choose the core for the frequency, power and load,
Keep the winding clean on the high-Z road,
Short connections, good copper, don’t build by myth,
Measure what you made, don’t just pray for a Smith.

A low S W R is only half of the tale,
The meter can smile while efficiency fails,
So choke off the coax, keep the common-mode low,
And make every watt find somewhere useful to go.

Marauder, Marauder, go raid that band,
Marauder, Marauder, reach across the land,
Turn her to the D X, let the signal run,
Leave the noise behind you, point her at the sun.
Marauder, Marauder, let the R F roll,
Build her for efficiency, that’s the whole damn goal,
From twenty metres down to ten,
Marauder rides again.

Don’t worship the match,
Don’t worship the meter,
Cold ferrite and field strength
Make a better believer.
Gain has a direction,
Loss has somewhere to hide,
So measure at the input,
Then measure the other side.
A reflector behind her,
The world out in front,
She ain’t spraying watts everywhere,
She’s sending where you want.

Two elements…
One direction…
Low loss…
Good rejection…
And if the transformer starts cooking…
That ain’t propagation!

Marauder, Marauder, go raid that band,
Marauder, Marauder, reach across the land,
Turn her to the D X, let the signal run,
Leave the noise behind you, point her at the sun.
Marauder, Marauder, let the R F roll,
Every watt that reaches wire is another towards the goal,
Twenty, seventeen, fifteen, twelve and ten,
Marauder rides again.
Marauder!
Point her where you’re going.
Marauder!
Know where your watts have been.
Marauder!
Build it, test it, turn it…
And raid that band again.
Raid that band…
Raid that band…
Marauder rides again.
But there’s just one question…
Is it Coyote Ugly?

Lyrics by Dave Owen G3LRC

N PLUS ONE
The Icom Seven One One Zero Song

How many radios is too many?
N plus one.
Obviously.

Thirteen years have come and gone,
The seven one zero has soldiered on,
A radio loved by one and all,
That sloping little legend stood tall.
But now there’s a new kid through the door,
With tricks that we have never seen before,
A colour screen and a waterfall show,
And a name that we somehow need to know.

You said, “I don’t need another rig.”
That lasted less than half a gig.
You looked at your shelf and said, “I’ve won.”
Then Icom said…
“Seven one one zero.”

How many radios is too many?
N plus one!
How many radios is too many?
There is no correct answer, none!
HF and six metres, four metres too,
Two metres and seventy centimetres coming through,
One hundred watts when the HF is on,
Fifty watts upstairs…
And another shelf has gone!
Seven one one zero!
Seven one one zero!
You never really have enough,
So buy another one!

It’s got a touchscreen, yes indeed,
A proper colour screen for all your needs,
A real-time waterfall dancing across the glass,
While your credit card wonders what just happened to its past.
There’s Wi-Fi, Bluetooth, GPS,
Well, GNSS if we’re being precise, I guess,
USB-C for the modern age,
And D-Star lurking somewhere on the page.

There’s CW decoding while you sit and stare,
A voice recorder waiting there,
An SD card and controls that glow,
And dualwatch telling you where to go.

How many radios is too many?
N plus one!
How many radios is too many?
You thought you’d finally won!
HF with VHF, UHF in the mix,
Digital wizardry and waterfall tricks,
Mobile in the morning, shack at night,
Seven one one zero thinks that’s all right!
Seven one one zero!
Seven one one zero!
Put another shelf above the shelf,
We’re only having fun!

Now…
Can someone please explain the naming system?
Seven one zero.
Seven one one zero.
Why not just call it something simple?
Like…
Ford Escort.
Honda Civic.
Something normal.
You walk into a shop and say:
“I’ll have the blue Ford Escort.”
Everybody understands.
Try that with Icom…
“I’ll have the seven one one zero.”
“Sorry, which one?”
“The seven one one zero.”
“The seven one zero?”
“No!”
“The seven three oh oh?”
“NO!”

Martin Lynch has been waiting for this day,
The old seven one zero can finally fade away,
Thirteen years is quite a run,
But apparently Icom thought…
“We can make another one.”
So here comes the seven one one zero,
Looking like a radio from the future,
Doing everything except making tea,
And quite frankly…
Give it time. Just wait and see.

There’s only one small question in my head…
Why don’t they just call it
FORD ESCORT?

How many radios is too many?
N plus one!
How many radios is too many?
The answer never comes!
A seven oh five,
A seven three oh oh,
A nine seven oh oh sitting in a row,
A little handheld hidden in a drawer…
And now you’ve got a
SEVEN ONE ONE ZERO!

Seven!
One!
One!
Zero!
Seven!
One!
One!
Zero!
Say it slowly…
Say it with feeling…
Say it like you’ve just spent
Too much money!
SEVEN ONE ONE ZERO!

How many radios is too many?
N plus one!
Nobody knows, so buy one!
The seven one zero has had its day,
The seven one one zero is here to play,
It’s got more tricks than a magician’s son,
And your wife has just asked…
“Is that another one?”
SEVEN ONE ONE ZERO!
SEVEN ONE ONE ZERO!
The only number that matters
When the shopping has begun!
SEVEN ONE ONE ZERO!
SEVEN ONE ONE ZERO!
You can never have too many radios…
There is always…
ONE MORE TO COME!

How many radios is too many?
N plus one.
Obviously.
And I still think they should have called it…
Ford Escort.

Lyrics by Dave Owen G3LRC

A telescopic whip beneath the sky,
A little radio, a callsign, and a reason why,
The world is waiting somewhere out there,
A voice on the air, travelling everywhere.
From a woodland path to a summit high,
We send our voices through the open sky,
A battery, a radio, a set of headphones on,
And suddenly we’re somewhere beyond.

When the noise falls away,
There’s someone calling from far away,
A few small words, a simple sound,
And suddenly the world comes round.

We’re sending a signal in the dark,
A tiny spark, a beating heart,
Across the hills, across the sea,
Someone out there is listening to me.
From fifty watts to a whisper low,
We never quite know where the signal will go,
But that’s the magic, that’s the art,
We’re sending a signal in the dark.

We chase the bands, we chase the sun,
We find a frequency and then we’re off and running,
We learn the language of the sky,
And wonder where the next reply will fly.
A distant voice from another land,
A fading signal barely in our hands,
Then suddenly the noise clears away,
And someone says, “You’re five and nine today.”

And for a moment we’re not alone,
The whole wide world becomes our home,
A radio, an antenna, and a key,
That’s all it takes to set us free.

We’re sending a signal in the dark,
A tiny spark, a beating heart,
Across the hills, across the sea,
Someone out there is listening to me.
From fifty watts to a whisper low,
We never quite know where the signal will go,
But that’s the magic, that’s the art,
We’re sending a signal in the dark.

There’s science in the airwaves,
There’s history in every call,
There’s something rather wonderful
In making something small.
And when the power disappears,
When everything else goes quiet,
A battery, a radio, a wire,
Can still connect us through the night.

We’re sending a signal in the dark,
A tiny spark, a beating heart,
Across the hills, across the sea,
From here to somewhere far away,
A stranger answers back today.
And that’s why we come back to the start,
With radios, antennas and open hearts,
Because somewhere beyond the noise and dark,
There’s always someone listening for our spark.

This is G3LRC calling,
Is anybody there?
The band is open,
The sky is clear.
CQ… CQ…

Lyrics by Dave Owen G3LRC

‘Three sides.’
‘Two directions.’
‘One very dangerous man called Greg.’

THRUST! THRUST! THRUSTER!
Turn that wire into a monster!
THRUST! THRUST! THRUSTER!
Greg’s triangular thunder!
Twenty down to six!
Get your linked wires fixed!
THRUST! THRUST! THRUSTER!
LET THAT LOOP KICK IN!

Fred’s got a wire up a tree,
Says, ‘That’s good enough for me!’
Greg says, ‘Fred, you’re missing the plot,
I’ll show you what a triangle’s got!’
A whip, some wire, a four-to-one,
Two favoured ways to have some fun!
A full-wave loop, a clever design,
With radiation patterns looking fine!

THRUST! THRUST! THRUSTER!
Turn that wire into a monster!
THRUST! THRUST! THRUSTER!
Greg’s triangular thunder!

One side up, one side down,
A sloping wire across the ground!
Change the links, extend the whip,
Pick your band and let it rip!
Bidirectional, front and back,
Point that loop along the track!
Low noise pickup, that’s the claim,
Now test the signals, that’s the game!

‘What’s the S W R, Greg?’
‘Which band, you muppet?’
‘Is it magic?’
‘No, it’s physics!’
‘Does it need adjusting?’
‘OF COURSE IT BLOODY DOES!’

No fairy dust, no miracle cure,
Just clever thinking, tested for sure.
From K J 6 E R comes the plan,
Free to build for every ham!

THRUST! THRUST! THRUSTER!
Turn that wire into a monster!
THRUST! THRUST! THRUSTER!
Greg’s triangular thunder!
Twenty down to six!
Get your linked wires fixed!
THRUST! THRUST! THRUSTER!
LET THAT LOOP KICK IN!
‘Greg… why a triangle?’
‘Because two sides wouldn’t make a bloody loop!’