“Buenos Diiiiiiias, Los Annnnngeles!!” : Is It the Loyal Audience? The Popular Music? The Hilarious DJs? KLAX-FM’s Domination of the Ratings in the Country’s Biggest Market Is Attributable to All That and One Other Crucial Factor: Se Habla Espanol.

It’s 6 o’clock on a spring morning at the cramped, slightly shabby Hollywood headquarters of KLAX-FM. “La X” (pronounced eh-keece), as it’s known to listeners, is already humming with energy and the oom-pah-pah strains of the upbeat Mexican music that’s called banda.

The hub of activity is a small control room, adorned only with a utilitarian clock, two wallet-sized religious cards and a large map with U.S. Census data showing the huge Latino population clustered in Southern California. Filling the room with loud-mouthed antics is the baby-faced morning team of Juan Carlos Hidalgo and El Peladillo (a.k.a. Jesus Garcia). The twentysomething pair were teen-agers when they left Michoacan and crossed the border illegally in the mid-’80s. They started out humbly, eking out a living picking fruit before launching their improbable radio careers.

In the booming style of Robin Williams, Hidalgo bellows: “Buenos Diiiiiias, Los Annnngeles! El show mas loco de la radio en espanol . . . “

“Why is it the craziest show?” interrupts Peladillo (in rapid-fire Spanish).

” . . . and the most persecuted by . . . “ continues Hidalgo.

“By whom?” Peladillo interjects.

“By Howard Stern,” explains Hidalgo.

“ Ayyyy , Howard Stern! The monkey, the honest-to-God monkey,” shrieks Peladillo.

Hidalgo and Peladillo regularly take digs at the self-proclaimed “King of All Media” and have every right to do so. For much of the past year, the duo has hosted the most popular show in the market, besting the nationally syndicated Stern and local veterans such as Rick Dees. Their success, and the wild popularity of banda , have been critical to KLAX’s topping the ratings for the past year and a half. At first surprisingly, now tellingly, a Spanish-language station is ruling the airwaves in the pop music capital of the world.

Is it a fluke? Some argue that because there are fewer Spanish stations in the market, there is less fragmentation of the audience; and some competitors are imitating KLAX’s format in an attempt to steal listeners. Others attribute the success to a music and dance fad; the most recent ratings, while still showing KLAX on top, reflect a significant drop in overall numbers. And while KLAX management says that the station’s advertising revenue grew from $4 million in 1992 to $20 million in 1993, KLAX cannot command the same rates as its English-language counterparts. It must still fight the notion--common in all media--that the English-speaking market is where the action is.

Still, KLAX’s rise is unparalleled and continues to astound the industry. It is a ratings and financial success that has much to do with the uncommon bond between the station and the community it serves. It is also a sociological phenomenon--more evidence that the physical and cultural border established almost 150 years ago between Mexico and the United States is becoming increasingly blurred.

LIFE HASN’T ALWAYS BEEN ROSY FOR THE STATION AT 97.9 ON THE DIAL. BEFORE KLAX became a Spanish radio sensation, it was a Spanish radio flop. Formerly KSKQ, and programmed out of Miami, it drew negligible ratings in a market where the most popular stations are those featuring easy-listening rock, Top 40, talk or other formats that draw the prized demographic of 25- to 54-year-old English speakers.

The L.A. area--with 80 or so stations, 45 of them of commercial significance--is the biggest, most profitable market in the country. Because of a wealth of commuters and an aversion to public transportation, the relationship between listener and radio has blossomed, and the ethnic mix has allowed for more format experimentation. Local Spanish radio dates to 1944, when KWKW started employing a part-time Spanish format and switched over completely a few years later.

But Spanish stations have historically had little ratings success here. All of that changed in January, 1993, when KLAX appeared at the top of the ratings--the first time ever for a Spanish-language station in Los Angeles. It has stayed there ever since, through six consecutive rating periods. (Nationally, among Spanish-speaking stations, only KXTN in San Antonio has approached KLAX’s degree of success; KXTN, the only other No. 1 Spanish station in the country, first crowned the charts last year.)

“I held onto this station through the worst times possible,” says Raul Alarcon Jr., a 38-year-old Cuban-born American who, with his father and father-in-law, bought the station for $15 million in 1988. Their company--Spanish Broadcasting System--also owns two stations in New York, two in Miami and one in Key Largo. “The ratings were horrible. We tried everything. We played all the top Hispanic artists (such as Julio Iglesias, Roberto Carlos and Ana Gabriel) and just could not make it happen. I kept saying: ‘What is it that I’m missing here?’ ”

Alarcon credits Alfredo Alonso, then publisher of a Spanish radio trade publication, with the simple solution. “He called me one day and said: ‘You have to go regional Mexican with the station.’ I didn’t know anything about that. So he put me in touch with Alfredo Rodriguez.”

Rodriguez was then program director at KWKW-AM, a rival that was playing Mexican regional music and was among the most popular local Spanish stations. Ready for a new challenge, Rodriguez came on board as general manager in June, 1992. Instead of relying on data from one of the many industry research firms, he talked to people in restaurants, dance clubs and neighborhood bars.

“I’ve always been an adventurer,” says Rodriguez, 48, a native of Hermosillo who’s been in L.A. nearly 15 years. “And I know my people.” He found that despite the eight Spanish-language stations in Los Angeles, people of Mexican descent felt there wasn’t a station that catered specifically to them.

According to the latest U.S. Census, there are 3.3 million Latinos in L.A. County, most of Mexican origin--the largest population of Mexican-born residents outside of Mexico City. The border has always been a free-trade zone for culture and that certainly applied to banda . The music originated during the second half of the 19th-Century, when German immigrants brought the brass band to the border area. Updated with electronic instruments, banda surged to new heights of popularity in Mexico in the late ‘80s, and Rodriguez believed that its appeal would cross the border. Along with an emphasis on the music, Rodriguez visualized a station with a commitment to improving the image of Mexicans and instilling cultural pride. Crucially, he also hired away Hidalgo and Garcia from a San Francisco station.

“What he did basically was slant it in a very youthful, hip way,” owner Alarcon said during a recent visit to Los Angeles. “He took a format traditionally looked upon as sleepy and revitalized it.”

KSKQ became KLAX in August, 1992. When the January, 1993, ratings came out, industry insiders were baffled by KLAX’s top position. Some joked that KLAX was a service of Los Angeles International Airport. Some stations charged Arbitron with erroneous reporting. Among those were Spanish-language rivals and classic rocker KLSX-FM, offering its similar call letters and neighboring dial position as evidence. Howard Stern, whose show is carried on KLSX, ranted about how his audience had been mistakenly attributed to “some Mexican station.”

Arbitron painstakingly checked its data and confirmed KLAX’s victory. After their second ratings win, Rodriguez, Hidalgo and Peladillo sent Stern a funeral wreath with a note reading: “Thanks for helping us remain No. 1.”

MARIA AND RIGOBERTO ROJAS OF SOUTH LOS ANGELES SIT EXPECTANTLY IN KLAX’s cramped lobby, accompanied by their son, daughter and two nephews--all young teens. “We wanted to get to know the announcers,” says Rigoberto, adding almost apologetically: “We wanted to ask for a CD if possible.”

“This is the only radio station we’ve ever visited,” adds Maria. “We came by once before. Now the kids wanted to come too.” They are greeted solicitously and shown the control rooms by Carlos Velasco, a deejay at KLAX’s sister AM station, KXED, which plays vintage Mexican music.

“I’m sorry there are no CDs available,” Velasco says politely. “Next time you come . . .” He turns to one of the boys and ruffles his hair. “In school?” The boy nods solemnly. “Very good. We want good students,” Velasco says jovially.

The family is taken to meet Peladillo. Their anticipation is palpable and the kids and Maria giggle excitedly when introduced.

“How did you picture him?” Velasco asks. “Tall? Fat? Mustachioed?”

“Like Pancho Villa,” answers Rigoberto, and everyone laughs heartily.

They are ushered into a small office to chat with their hero and emerge laden with compact discs and posters, courtesy of Peladillo.

Allowing their audience such face-to-face accessibility is one reason for the morning duo’s rise to regional renown. But most important is the fast pace of their 6 a.m.-10 a.m. program modeled after the popular “morning zoo” format common on English-language stations during the ‘80s. The balance of KLAX’s broadcast day is a more traditional mix of music, news and deejay patter, but listeners have swarmed to the silly antics, phone pranks and wacky sound effects served up by Hidalgo and Peladillo. For example, a deep-voiced announcer will intone: “KLAX, the favorite station of the White House.” Also, it is Peladillo’s habit to warble whatever--and whenever--he pleases. At the top of his lungs. And considerably off-key. After a recent on-the-air serenade, his partner remarked: “ Ayyyy! How awful you sing!”

Peladillo: “And you sound like Sinatra? Why do you make fun of my singing?”

Hidalgo: “I don’t make fun of it. It just makes me cry.”

El Peladillo was an early nickname for Cantinflas, the raggedy alter ego of the late Mexican comedian Mario Moreno. The character is similar to Charlie Chaplin’s Little Tramp, but with a crude tongue. Garcia says he idolized Cantinflas and has modeled his Peladillo after the lovable scoundrel “who talks a lot but doesn’t say anything.” But to define KLAX’s morning show as mindless jabber would seriously underestimate its content. The hosts routinely interject political and social commentary. Like everyone else connected with the station, they feel strongly about being agents for change.

“We want people to have pride in our race, so we put in some advice,” Hidalgo says. “We feel a sense of responsibility to do right. We feel awful about gangs and people shooting each other. We talk about getting a good education. We don’t do jokes that offend people. I don’t want to preach; my job is to entertain. But we talk about the governor, immigration, discrimination--everything.”

Recently, Hidalgo has launched a mock gubernatorial bid in an effort to inspire listeners to vote, and also to criticize Gov. Pete Wilson. “He’s using immigration like a political campaign for publicity,” says Hidalgo. “How can the governor talk about these people when they provide the food on his table? They’re humble, but they pay taxes like everyone else.”

Immigration is a subject these two know a little about. Garcia was twice caught trying to cross the border, he says, but he refused to return to Michoacan, where opportunity was scarce. In 1985, his third try was successful. He made his way to Santa Paula, where he picked avocados and later worked at a Thrifty drugstore while attending broadcasting school at night.

Hidalgo says he made it past the Border Patrol on his first try in 1984, smuggled inside the spare tire compartment of a station wagon. He picked strawberries before wrangling a sales job in 1987 at a Spanish radio station in Oxnard. He was also given an overnight announcing shift. During the time he was going to broadcast school, and while the morning deejay was on vacation, Hidalgo filled in and encouraged management to try the “zoo” format. Hidalgo was eventually given the morning shift. He brought on his sidekick the following year, after meeting Garcia--in his Peladillo guise--at a Halloween party. They moved to a San Francisco station and, learning of KLAX’s make-over, sent a tape of their show to Rodriguez, whom Hidalgo had once met.

Both Garcia and Hidalgo are now legal residents, both recently married and each with an infant, but they are not far from their immigrant experience. “Now we’re basking in our glory, but there were some very hard times,” says Garcia. “That’s why we can relate to our audience. We’re just like them.”

THERE’S A MAGIC NUMBER IN OUR SOCIETY, A MILESTONE WHETHER IT REFERS to loot, land or, in this case, listeners. “Nobody in Spanish radio had ever come close to the million mark before, which KLAX has surpassed,” says researcher Allen Klein, onetime consultant to the station, referring to KLAX’s cumulative listenership. That’s the estimated number of people who tune in for at least five minutes in any quarter hour between 6 a.m. and midnight. KLAX’s impressive audience size reflects the growing Latino population in L.A. County, now nearly 40%, according to Census data. By the year 2000 it is projected to approach 50%. According to Hidalgo’s estimates, considerably more than half of KLAX’s audience is bilingual . That alone distinguishes “La X” from its Spanish-language competitors, which cater primarily to Latinos who are monolingual.

And KLAX officials love to tout the wide spectrum of ages represented in their audience, an uncommon phenomenon among L.A. stations. The percentage of listeners in various age ranges reveals a close reflection of the U.S. Census Bureau’s local demographic breakdown. For example, the median age among Latinos here is 25 (31 for Anglos) and, Klein says, the largest percentage of KLAX listeners falls into the 25-34 group. Asked if an English station will ever be No. 1 in L.A. again, Klein responds: “It’s going to be very tough.”

While the station’s ratings for the first quarter of this year slipped considerably, to the second-lowest showing of its 18-month reign, station officials attribute the downturn to fallout from the January earthquake. April’s trends, according to Arbitron, again show KLAX on an upward swing. Most industry watchers, even rivals, predict KLAX’s continued success.

“It’ll be a function of competition,” says Richard Heftel, general manager of KTNQ-KLVE, L.A.’s former Spanish radio leaders. “You’ve got dozens of (English-language) stations chasing two-thirds of the population and a handful of Spanish stations chasing (the other third). If there’s a proliferation of Spanish stations, then there will be fragmentation. And that would make it easier for an English station to be No. 1.” But for now, he doesn’t see that happening.

Heftel points to research showing that Latinos turn to radio primarily for news about their community and to preserve cultural ties. And KLAX has given Spanish-language radio a newfound legitimacy. Though three other Spanish stations entered the local Top 10 during the ‘80s, none had ever approached the status of KLAX.

“What’s going on at this station is a social revolution,” says KLAX sales manager Jack McVeigh. “This is Little Mexico now. They’re going back to their heritage and pride in their culture and customs as a family unit. And KLAX is their station. Wherever we go, they want to go. There were 10,000 people at the Tianguis (grocery store) in El Monte on Super Bowl Sunday to hear live music and meet their favorite announcers.”

McVeigh, a self-described “gringo” (most of the sales staff is not Latino), was raised in El Paso. His grandfather owned Spanish stations in Juarez and Tijuana. A broadcaster for more than 30 years, McVeigh came to Los Angeles in the mid-’80s and spent six years at Spanish stations before joining KLAX in 1992. “We’ve gotten Spanish radio to a new level,” he says. “Now, most blue-chip advertising clients in L.A. and nationwide recognize KLAX for what it is.”

KLAX research indicates that L.A. and Orange County Latinos spend about $45 billion annually on consumer goods. In recent years, advertisers have increasingly pursued that market. According to McVeigh, KLAX had about 150 advertisers in 1992 and currently has a roster of about 1,000 clients ranging from Anheuser-Busch, Nissan, McDonald’s, Coca-Cola, Pepsi-Cola, Miller beer, Lucky supermarkets and Thrifty drugstores, to smaller retailers and neighborhood stores.

Ad rates are directly tied to ratings. But despite ratings, it has long been an industry given that time on Spanish stations is much cheaper than on English-speaking stations. The rationale: There are more English-speaking consumers, and they have more discretionary income.

KLAX has not yet achieved equality, ranking 10th in local advertising revenue. One of the market leaders for the past several years has been easy-listening KOST-FM, whose rates range from $700 to $1,500 per 60-second spot. KLAX is closing in on those figures, McVeigh says, charging anywhere from $700-$1,200 per minute. However, KLAX still lags way behind rock station KLOS-FM, which commands $1,800-$2,000 per minute and ranked 16th in the most recent ratings. “We’re just looking for parity,” McVeigh says. “We’re not there yet. But we have closed the gap.”

MARTA DOMINGUEZ, 22, AND Imelda Flores, 19, are at KLAX on a mission for their Inglewood-based banda club, Invacion Musical. They have come to promote a dance to raise funeral expenses for a murdered club member.

The circumstances surrounding the death are unclear--or else the young women don’t want to discuss them with a stranger. But they are committed to helping their late friend’s mother in Zacatecas even though they have never met her.

“We think of ourselves not as a club but as a family,” says Dominguez, cradling her 2-month-old daughter. “Juan Carlos and Peladillo have announced it when they have the opportunity. This is the only station that would help like this. All they tell you is they don’t want any flyers with guns or showing violence. They’re helping people put away their guns.”

The poignancy of this station credo in relation to their murdered friend does not escape the pair.

“We’re grateful,” says Flores. “(Station personnel) didn’t know him, but they’re helping him, showing that we Latinos are all together in this.”

Eighteen-year-old Sergio Ruiz, a self-described former “ cholito ,” has dropped by the station on one of his regular visits. Slight and sweet-faced, he stands awkwardly, smiling tentatively. It’s hard to imagine him as a gangbanger.

“I come here lots of times,” he relays in an excited whisper. “The people here will actually talk to you. I’m Mexican and it’s my music. Before listening to this, I was a cholo . Then I joined a quebradita (dance) club. It’s inspired me not to go wrong. Now, I like to work, and yesterday I called a school to learn English.”

But his decision to give up gang life didn’t sit well with his buddies around Normandie Avenue and 8th Street.

“They beat me up when I left the gang,” Ruiz says. “But I wanted to get out before I got killed and, thanks to ‘La X,’ my whole thinking is different. My father is so much happier with me. I’ve changed a lot. I dress differently. I like to talk, to laugh.”

Ruiz is no anomaly. “We’ve been practically dismantling the gangs,” general manager Rodriguez says, “and getting kids to join social clubs--using every means possible. Other broadcasters don’t understand that. This is more than a radio station. It’s a positive movement toward change. God, we need that!”

The station routinely broadcasts public-service announcements about the value of staying in school and the perils of drug and alcohol use. The messages, narrated by young listeners, differ from run-of-the-mill spots found elsewhere.

A few months ago, Hidalgo was brainstorming with colleagues about what the station could do to encourage listeners and make them proud to be Latino. It was his idea to pass the mike to the audience. Fans in their teens and 20s--many of whom say they used to listen primarily to rap and dance stations--regularly visit to record short saludos.

“They need someone, something to inspire them,” says Elio Gomez, afternoon drive-time announcer and program director. “We treat them like brothers, family members, their defenders. They have a lot of respect for us, as we do for them.”

After the earthquake, dozens of banda clubs united to help people left homeless by the temblor. Station employees joined in, carting supplies to people encamped in San Fernando Valley parks.

Recently, a family turned to the morning show hosts for help in getting their father off drugs. “This man came to the station with his wife and kids,” Hidalgo recounts. “He said: ‘I have lots of problems with my family. I came to promise you that I’ll stop using drugs.’ ” The man checks in with the pair regularly to report his progress.

Nearly all of KLAX’s 40 employees possess a quasi-religious fervor about the station. Relentlessly upbeat and patient when accepting visitors, who arrive at all hours without appointments, employees willingly take the time to chat up a listener.

“They really are attempting to be brothers, hermanos de la communidad ,” says Carlos Haro, assistant dean of UCLA’s International Studies and Overseas Programs. Haro is writing about the evolution of banda and KLAX’s sociocultural impact for an academic journal. “To think that no one thought about doing that sort of thing before. How extraordinary!”

THERE’S A STORY THAT KLAX owner Raul Alarcon Jr. loves to tell.

Just before launching the new format, general manager Rodriguez was racking his brain for new, catchy call letters--essential for grabbing listeners who already had a variety of Spanish stations to choose from.

Alarcon recounts: “(Rodriguez) walks into my office and says: ‘What is the letter that anyone, even illiterate people, know how to sign? And what are the initials of the city in which we’re broadcasting?’ ”

Thus was born KLAX.

The owner continues: “I told him: ‘That’s genius! You’ve got to be kidding me. There’s no other KLAX?’ ”

But Alarcon soon learned that a TV station in Louisiana was using the call letters KLAX, and FCC regulations dictate that a station’s name must be exclusive. Alarcon called the station’s owner and asked how much he wanted for the letters.

“The guy said: ‘I know what you’re up to, you’ll take that station and it’ll go to No. 1.’ ” Alarcon recalls. “I said: ‘Mister, you’re so off base.’ But he was insistent. He wanted me to pay $100,000.”

Alarcon negotiated down to $75,000 but was chided by his attorney, who advised: “You will never make that money back.” But Alarcon said: “I gotta have those call letters.”

Alarcon was in Paris when the ratings first revealed that the station had leaped to No. 1. His office forwarded a fax from the owner of the former KLAX. It read: “You see? I told you.”