Which is why people in the industry are worried that old-fashioned AM/FM radio may be drifting off into the ether, as it struggles to attract the young listeners who have been its bedrock for generations.
Sure, broadcast radio's been the redheaded stepchild of communications media for decades. TV, CDs, satellite, the Internet -- they were all supposed to kill it off.
Radio ad man Mark Lipsky jokes that he "keeps a black suit in my closet" for all the funeral announcements he's seen for the medium. He says radio remains strong and will adjust. It always has.
"AM/FM radio will probably command a smaller slice of the pie," says Lipsky, president and CEO of the Radio Agency. "But it's certainly not going to be replaced."
Others are less optimistic. The business is in flux. Rock music has fallen out of fashion. Format changes are common. The 12- to 24-year-olds who are the radio listeners (and employees) of the future are gravitating toward the Internet or iDevices. Three of the biggest hits of the last year -- "Call Me Maybe," "Gangnam Style" and "Harlem Shake" -- were driven by YouTube and social media. Billboard magazine, the chart bible, just added YouTube to its pop chart sources.
Clear Channel and Cumulus -- the two dominant radio broadcasters, each with hundreds of stations -- are struggling to pay off mountains of debt and have laid off thousands of workers, including many DJs.
And the heart of terrestrial radio -- its emphasis on the local -- has drifted. Hometown DJs, once the central voice of it all, increasingly find themselves marginalized in favor of syndicated voices and formulaic presentations.
That's a concern, says Lipsky. "Anybody can play Bruno Mars and Pink, but nothing's going to replace the sound of having a local jock tune you in to when (those artists are) coming to town -- things that make you part of your community."
Industry analyst Jerry Del Colliano, publisher of "Inside Music Media," says he believes the future is dim.
Radio, he warns, is no longer appealing to young people. "They don't like it, don't use it that much, don't know the stations, and at the same time the radio companies are shooting themselves in the foot by cutting back and getting rid of personalities."
He looks at the landscape and wonders about the attraction.
"If any of this is true, why would you want to be in this business?"
Ed Levine, whose Galaxy Communications owns a handful of stations in central New York State, puts it more bluntly.
"If we're not proactive, we'll be newspapers."
'God, disc jockeys, then parents'
"I'm in love with the radio on It helps me from being alone late at night ..." -- Jonathan Richman, "Roadrunner"
Andyman always wanted to be in radio.
A native of rural Ohio, he got the bug early, going to broadcasting school and working as an overnight jock at a country station. But WWCD was where he wanted to be, and he called the station incessantly, volunteering to work any shift, do any job.
"He finally wore them down," says Molly Davis, his widow.
He worked his way up from overnights and random shifts to become music director -- the person who manages the station's song selection -- and then program director, a job that oversees the station's entire on-air output, including DJs, music and commercials.