Backyard TV Broadcast Sends Party Into Orbit

It was a party and it was a show--but nothing seemed to go right.

In fact, technical difficulties were the norm Sunday at a back-yard party in Shadow Hills that was televised via satellite.

It was Bob and Laney Brown’s “Third Annnual but First Annual Televised Memorial Day Weekend Party Special” and the misspelled title card remained on screen for nearly five minutes before the show got rolling.

The tension in the makeshift video control room was palpable.

The six men in charge shouted orders and peered into half a dozen monitors, taking their jobs as seriously as if they had been broadcasting the Academy Awards.

Someone shouted frantically: “Do something! Say something! Get a band number!”

The comedians and rock groups, including Tower of Power, that had agreed to perform didn’t show up and many of the planned events were called off at the last minute. When the master of ceremonies introduced the party, there was no sound to go with the picture. Jokes flopped and a dog jumped on the satellite dish.

But, in a way, that was all part of the plan.

“Live TV is scary,” said organizer Steve Kochneff. “The scariness was the fun part of it.”

Kochneff and host Bob Brown raised $3,100 from “just within our own little circle” enabling them to buy two hours of satellite time and broadcast Brown’s Memorial Day party. The party immediately followed the Indianapolis 500 and was on the same channel.

“Probably four million people in Japan are kicking back with a sake and watching this,” said party-goer Daniel Hersh.

Most of the 40 people at the party didn’t seem to mind that the broadcast was rife with technical glitches. The big attraction was a 10-person band playing a range of music from ballads to country to rock.

“I think things like this, homespun video, are something that people can relate to,” said Bob Billman, a producer-director. “It’s off the cuff. You never know what’s going to happen.”

His actress-wife, Kay Billman, agreed: “I think it’s a lot of fun. . . . It’s a curiosity.”

So curious were some that they were confused.

“I still don’t quite know what to make of it,” said Barry Frannenberg, who attended the party with his wife and two daughters.

Among the revelers were “The Toemaster” who roller-discoed through much of the band’s set, a middle-aged woman in a beehive hairdo and hot pants who worked as bartender and a rock ‘n’ roll singer in a slip and leather jacket with hair that stood straight up about a foot over her head.

“I wish I’d done this for every birthday party I’ve ever had,” Frannenberg said. But would he watch the show if he were at home? Said Frannenberg: “I guess it’s better than reruns.”