One thing that comes easily to me is having conversations with strangers. However, after interviewing bands for a jillion years, I have to tell you that there is nothing natural about having your first chat with five or six strangers broadcast for the world to hear.

If it's a pre recorded session, you sometimes have a minute to at least introduce yourself, maybe shake a hand and ask how their day is going. If it's live, you are literally walking from one studio to another — cold, sitting down, slapping the cans on and jumping right in.

I take responsibility for the unknown outcome because I don't write any questions down. I've always felt if I was going to have lunch with a friend, I wouldn't call them the night before and discuss what we would be talking about tomorrow.

Not using the safety net of having prepared questions can be a train wreck. I'll admit I have been Abe Simpson daft about some bands before they come in to the studio, but I never rely on Wikipedia information because any jackass can contribute to someone's page. Facts, schmacts.

It doesn't take long for me to realize when I'm drowning during an interview. I am aware that I am a participant in unmitigated jive. Road-weary bands stumbling out of vans don't always make for riveting conversations. Baby bands that haven't yet had a chance to have stories to tell are a challenge.

Knowing the distinction between shy people and jerks: If you don't feel much like talking and would rather just play your music, that's fine with me. I'm nobody's shrink, and we as DJs have a finite amount of time to pull something resembling conversation out of people. When it works, it's a glorious feeling, and when it crashes and burns, I have to believe that the awkward silence, one-word answers or foul attitudes can potentially be entertaining to hear.

A live interview I did with Alt-J was particularly squirmy. Walking down the hall to meet them for the first time and go live, I was advised that I could only direct questions to one member of the band. Great. There's only two of them. I can't recall if it was Alt or J that was on a conversation strike that day.

I'm always impressed, when a band is performing a song that contains a profanity, how some are able to substitute the choice word for something quite clever. Brother Ali is one of the best at radio-friendly, on-the-spot self editing. Others hit a brick wall in this situation, and then I love when they need to have a serious discussion amongst themselves about what word to use instead of "sh*t."

When the legendary Charles Bradley was in studio the first time, he had a room full of musicians with him, maybe even a Dap-King or two. I asked Charles if he would like to introduce his band, and the look on his face was priceless: he looked around the studio and, as if for the first time, he realized there were other people playing with him. Naturally, he had no idea what their names were. This wasn't a pickup band for the night; I can only assume he had been traveling and playing with these dudes for quite some time. "Uh, that's the drummer, guitar player, et cetera," he tentatively offered. The band was sympathetic and laughed it off, understanding that if you're lucky enough to be shredding with The Screaming Eagle of Soul on stage night after night, he doesn't need to know your name.

Early on in The Current's tenure, Lou Barlow was coming in and we were informed beforehand he had requested that he would need vegan sausage and wine for the morning session. I don't think we actually provided him with Tofu Dogs, but I seem to remember someone scrambling for the hooch.

I had King Khan on live for a "chat" ( I think I said eight words in total), and if you aren't familiar with his vibe, I have one word for you: cape. It was the most out-of-control 15 minutes I've had in recent memory. It was like a hubcap rolling down a hill — no way was I going to catch up, so instead I just gave in and let it go. Not always pleasing for a program director, but for the fans of this stream-of-consciousness anarchy, it was quite a listen.

When Nick Lowe and Ian McLagan were scheduled to be on tour together, their first stop was Minneapolis, and it included a session at The Current. Minutes before the session, we had just received the unthinkable news that Ian was in the hospital struggling for his life. I was completely unhinged. I had to walk into a room to meet my idol for the first time and navigate around this sensitive situation. I shook Nick's hand introducing myself almost in tears and looked around me to fully absorb his backup band were Los Straitjackets, a group who perform wearing Mexican wrestling masks. Suddenly everything became so surreal as they stood huddled around sound-checking and thoughtfully discussing the Ian predicament Nacho Libre style; it threw things into an absurd perspective.

Boss up and do your job, Looch.

I'm sure over the years you've heard interviews on The Current that were fantastic and revealing with spot-on musicianship. I'm just as certain you have listened to some frightfully awkward exchanges that made you as the listener want to rip your own arm off and beat someone with it. Take some comfort in knowing that the DJ floundering is just as aware of their publicly documented audio flop sweat.

You can't control rock 'n' roll … and really, would you want to?