The last YTAA Show of 2024 broadcast on 12-31-2024 is up on the YTAA Mixcloud page! Please give the show a listen and share it with all of your friends. The first time you sit behind the mic and hear that low hum of the studio, you realize it’s a weird kind of experience. You’re not broadcasting a war, no, you’re not even sending out a weather report; you’re sending out your heartbeat. You’re putting yourself on the line, with nothing but an inch-thick foam divider and a sliding board full of dials between you and the abyss of total silence, the void of being utterly ignored. But that’s the thing. Even when you feel apart and separated from others, you’re not really alone.
There’s something visceral about radio. Yeah, even in 2024. It’s a love affair with anonymity after a fashion — you’re sending out these fragments of yourself, these half-thoughts, barely strung together sentences (I try, I actually am trying for something snappy and catchy), hoping someone, anyone, will hear. But even when no one’s listening, it doesn’t matter. You can say the weirdest stuff. You can be as loud as you want, or as quiet as you need to be in that moment. It’s like a secret between you and the speakers on the other side of the room. Who knows if anyone’s tuned in? Does it matter? Perhaps, it doesn’t matter. You’ve got the mic, and in this space, it’s yours even if it is only for three hours. You’re not just DJing songs; you’re performing the act of being. Becoming.
And there’s a rhythm to it, a pulse you can feel in your chest. The songs bleed into each other, and you start talking, almost without thinking, like an out-of-body experience. You riff, you ramble, you may talk about everything and nothing — akin to late-night rants, whispered secrets, some tale of life in the margins. It’s punk, it’s soul, it’s funk, it’s rock ‘n’ roll, and if you’re doing it right, it’s all on the edge of disaster, waiting to fly off the rails at any moment. And that’s the magic. You could screw it up. You probably will. But that’s what makes it real. In an increasingly overproduced, AI-scam-laden world, radio may be messy but that is what creates some of the joy in doing it.
Well, folks, here we are at the end of 2024, and I gotta say—thank you for sticking with me through the weirdness, the noise, and the absolute chaos that is Your Tuesday Afternoon Alternative. You could’ve been anywhere, listening to anything, but you chose to tune in to this mess of records, rants, and ramblings. Maybe you were searching for something new, or maybe you just wanted to escape the grind. Either way, I’m grateful for your ears, your time, and your madness. This isn’t just my show—it’s our show, so keep riding the wave, wherever it takes us in 2025.
Let’s get something straight from the jump: independent radio—college stations, community stations, those hissing, crackling signals of barely legal wattage—are more than relics. They’re lifelines, and in a world drowning in curated blandness, they’re salvation that is desperately needed. Sure, you’ve got your algorithmic playlists and big-budget streaming platforms that can spit out the sonic equivalent of a hamburger combo meal, but let me ask you this: when’s the last time one of those songs on the apps and services truly blew your mind? When’s the last time a Spotify playlist made you feel something raw, something real, something alive?
Enter the humble, often-overlooked world of independent radio. These stations don’t play by the rules and thank God for that. College and community DJs who aren’t bound by focus groups or corporate overlords telling them which ten songs to cycle endlessly. They’re the anarchists of the airwaves, throwing down pop punk at 3 a.m., jazz fusion at noon, and some spoken-word poetry over ambient noise just because they can. They’re the kid in the back of the record store who’ll tell you that the B-side of a 7” pressed in someone’s basement in 1984 will change your life—and they’re right. Forgive me if this sounds trite or self-serving, but we believe in the power of music to change your life.
This is radio as it was meant to be: unpolished, unpredictable, and unafraid to go weird. College radio, especially, is often powered by the most crucial demographic for musical discovery—students who don’t yet know the rules they’re breaking. These DJs are sometimes just learning what it means to piece together a playlist, to tell a story in 20-minute sets, to unearth that obscure track nobody else has heard of. It’s raw, and it’s beautiful because it’s real.
And let’s not forget the community stations—the hyper-local powerhouses keeping neighborhoods and subcultures alive. These aren’t just radio shows; they’re conversations. They’re where you tune in to hear the pulse of your city, the heartbeat of your neighbors. It’s where activists and artists collide, where voices ignored by the mainstream get a microphone. It’s radio as rebellion, as resistance, as a refuge from the overpowering heavy challenges we all face.
Here’s the thing the big media conglomerates and tech giants don’t want you to realize: not everything should be convenient. Finding great music—or a great anything—takes work. It takes passion. That’s what makes it matter. Independent radio doesn’t spoon-feed you the hits; it hands you a map, points vaguely in a direction, and says, “Go get lost.” And in that wandering, you discover magic. You stumble across a DJ spinning a 10-minute opus made by an area band or a live set from some local group that sounds like they’re playing from the edge of the world. And you want to go there so you can be part of it.
In an era where everything feels like it’s been prepackaged, sanitized, and optimized for maximum engagement, independent radio stands as a glorious middle finger to the machine. It’s messy, it’s chaotic, and it’s alive in ways that nothing else in the modern media landscape can touch even thought they try to say that experimentation came from them.
What’s more, independent radio matters because it’s often the training ground for the voices we’ll be listening to in 10, 20, or 30 years. Think about all the media icons who got their start in college radio. Two words: Howard Stern. Ever heard of Rick Rubin? He was just some punk kid spinning records at NYU before founding Def Jam. Or Ira Glass, who honed his storytelling chops on the airwaves before becoming public radio’s golden boy. The indie stations are incubators for talent because they’re places where experimentation isn’t just allowed—it’s expected.
And don’t let anyone tell you radio is dead. Sure, the format’s shifted, and the big commercial stations are shells of their former selves, but indie radio persists because it’s adaptable. College stations now stream online, bringing their wild, untamed ethos to a global audience. Community stations podcast their shows, extending their reach far beyond the low-powered transmitter on the roof.
But more than that, indie radio matters because it’s personal. It’s not just about the music—it’s about the human connection. There’s something deeply comforting about hearing another person on the other end of the signal, someone who isn’t trying to sell you something, someone who’s just as excited about this obscure Brazilian psych-rock track as you are now that you’ve heard it. It’s a reminder that music isn’t just content—it’s communion.
And yeah, maybe it’s a little romantic to wax poetic about this scrappy corner of the media world. Maybe it’s easier to dismiss it as nostalgia for a pre-streaming era. But dismissing indie radio is to dismiss the very soul of music, the thing that makes it matter in the first place. It’s the idea that art doesn’t have to be perfect, that it doesn’t have to be profitable, that it can just be.
So the next time you’re scrolling through an endless stream of playlists that all sound the same, do yourself a favor: tune in to the static. Find the frequency where some over-caffeinated college kid is ranting about a new band you’ve never heard of, or where a local DJ is spinning records in a tiny room plastered with band posters and graffiti. Listen with your whole heart, and remember what it feels like to discover.
Because independent radio isn’t just a medium—it’s a movement. And in a world that desperately wants you to settle for the lowest common denominator, it’s the one place still daring to reach higher.
Nineteen years feels like a long time to do anything. Why do a radio show when no one may be listening?
Let me tell you, being a radio DJ isn’t just a gig; it’s a cosmic voyage into the heart of musical expression and requires more endurance than you think. Just the other day, someone came up to me with ‘Hey, you’re that weird DJ guy!’ To which I answered, ‘Yup.’ And then they said, “Why do a show when you know no one is listening!” And, I stopped short, wondered about whether they were right, and then came to the conclusion that as long as one person finds comfort, as long as one person finds a song that speaks to them – then it matters. We are a community. We stand strong in the face of a destructive tide of avoidance and ignorance of new music. And that’s why I am who I am, standing behind the microphone every Tuesday afternoon, steering the ship that is ‘Your Tuesday Afternoon Alternative.’
If I were to condense 19 years of my life into a single, rhythmic heartbeat, it would be the pulsating cadence of a radio wave, broadcasting stories, music, and dreams to an invisible audience. My journey through college radio has been a dance with the ether, a passionate affair with sound, and a canvas for my creative expression. I invite you to join me on a nostalgic journey through the tapestry of my radio experience.
The Birth of an Odyssey
As the crackling needle touched vinyl for the first time in 1983, I found myself immersed in a world that was both electrifying and liberating. I began doing radio to work on improving my stutter but I also wanted to know more about music. I wanted to comb through the vinyl collection and find records that I had read about but never had the chance to hear. I was hungry for music old and new. College radio at the University of Minnesota was not just a hobby; it was a calling. Like music journalist David Marsh dissecting the nuances of rock lyrics, I dissected the frequencies and wavelengths that carried the voices of generations before me while anxiously awaiting the new music that was to come.
My first show, Radio Artifacts, was from 1983 to 1984 where I truly learned about indie music, Minnesota-based bands, and in so many ways the future of music through bands like R.E.M., Hüsker Dü, The Smiths, U2, The Replacements, The Cure, The Connells, and The Clash. From 1984 to 1988, a new show focused on alternative and college music and the art of music making, the poorly named ‘Art for Artsake’ that was both a play on my first name and — at least to me — a reflection of the mission of the show. During graduate school from 1988 to 1993, I was involved with Bowling Green State Universities’ WBGU where I had a succession of shows whose names were lost to reflections and glimpses of memory. After grad school, I dabbled in radio at WMUB in Oxford, Ohio from 1995 to 2000. For four years I had an itch I could not scratch.
The love of indie and alternative music was something that stayed with me even without a show. But eventually, that itch became unbearable and I started a show “The School of Rock with Dr. J” in 2004 at The University of Dayton’s WUDR. Modeled in some ways on the Jack Black movie — yeah I know: Cue the eye roll. TSOR was an almost didactic approach, I played music that mattered to me and explored current indie, local, and Dayton music. I explored how current unknown and undiscovered music was connected to the music of the past. Several shows explored how The Byrds – The Flying Burrito Brothers – The Eagles – Jason and the Scorchers – Cowpunk – Uncle Tupelo – Son Volt and Wilco were all connected. The airwaves were my playground from which I discovered the richness of independent, alternative, and college music.
During these various shows, I interviewed indie artists and underground bands. College radio was not just about the music; it was about the stories behind the notes. The vibrant community of DJs, producers, and listeners was a testament to the power of shared passion. Just like Dave Marsh in his work united rock aficionados, we united lovers of alternative sounds, forging connections beyond the frequencies.
Nineteen years is a long time to do anything, and within the span of my radio experiences, I have witnessed the tectonic shifts in the audio and radio landscape. College radio stations evolved from humble FM stations to digital juggernauts streaming across the globe. Writers and journalists have chronicled the evolution of rock music, and I chronicled the evolution of radio itself in the changes in my own practice. The use of digital tools has made so much of the “doing of radio” the clicks of buttons and the dragging of files. Many tasks that once involved carts and tape or vinyl were replaced with CDs which in turn were replaced themselves with digital files. The advent of the internet brought a new dawn, expanding our reach but also challenging our authenticity. Is radio still real in the digital age? In an era of Spotify, does radio still matter when you can listen to what you want, when you want, and do it all in the palm of your hand? Why do a radio show when no one might be listening?
The Sonic Shaman
You see, being a radio DJ is more than just “spinning tracks,” It’s more than just “playing music.” It is far more than just clicking a button and dragging a cursor across the soft glow of a computer screen. It’s about conjuring emotions and weaving stories through sound. When I join with the airwaves and internet signals, I am driven by faith in the power of new music. The beauty and the lifeblood of local music call to me. Maybe all of this is some strange and unchangeable part of being a “music evangelist.” Perhaps one becomes a sonic shaman of sorts, guiding listeners through the labyrinthine tapestry of music. Every tune I play carries a piece of my soul, and when those frequencies hit your ears, they transcend mere notes and rhythms. It’s a trip through time and space seeking the person who feels alone with a simple message that they are not disconnected, they matter and the community is better for their contributions.
The Rebel Cry
Lester Bangs, one of the quintessential American rock critics, taught us that music is the language of rebellion. And that’s precisely what I aim to channel with ‘Your Tuesday Afternoon Alternative.’ It’s a rebellion against the mundane, against the homogenized playlists of corporate radio. in my vision of myself, I am like the underground guerrilla fighter, battling the forces of mediocrity with a vinyl arsenal of sonic revolutionaries. Each song I play is a battle cry, a defiant scream against the mainstream. Or at least, that is probably what I really want to believe because, you know, 19 years is a long time.
The Community Connection
Radio is a lifeline to the community, a bridge between disparate souls. ‘Your Tuesday Afternoon Alternative’ is not just a show; it’s a lifeline for misfits, dreamers, and music lovers who still hang tight to the idea that music matters. I’m not just playing records; I’m forging connections. I’m the curator of a sonic underground, bringing people together through the magic of music. When that listener calls in to request a song, it’s more than a request; it’s a statement that says, “I’m part of this, too.” Those moments of connection are more important now than ever before. We need that musical validation: “Look, we are here and the music that speaks to us matters.”
The Quest for Obscurity
Lester Bangs was all about the obscure, the unknown, the raw. I share that passion. My show isn’t about chart-toppers or Billboard hits; it’s about the hidden gems, the indie bands struggling for recognition, the perfect voice that chills us while holding us close and telling us that everything is going to be alright. YTAA is about the beautiful unknowns, the forgotten tracks that deserve a second chance, and the great new songs that need to be heard. I think of myself as a musical archaeologist, digging through archives, near and far, and unearthing sonic treasures. It’s about unearthing the lost voices and forgotten riffs that deserve a place in the sun.
The Journey Continues
So why am I a radio DJ with ‘Your Tuesday Afternoon Alternative’? Why continue to be a DJ even if no one is listening? Because it’s not just a job; it’s a calling, a mission, a cosmic journey through the soundscape of the human experience. It’s a rebellion, a lifeline, and a quest for the obscure. It’s about community, connection, and the never-ending search for that perfect riff, that perfect groove, that unbelievable hit of the drum, that chilling voice that makes you catch your breath. It’s about the song that you cannot forget, no matter how hard you may try. It’s about the perfect lyric that shows you that you are not alone in feeling the way that you do.
Today, as I look back on 19 years of college/indie/alternative radio with YTAA, I see the echoes of countless voices, the resonance of music that touched souls, and the indelible mark it left on my life. David Marsh once wrote, “Rock and roll is an attitude, it’s not a musical form of a strict sort. It’s a way of doing things, of approaching things.” College radio, in my world, was — and is — that attitude – a way of doing things that transcended the mere act of broadcasting. So, yeah, it’s more than pushing a button and just playing a song. I would like to believe that it matters, and if it has meant something to just one person somewhere, anywhere then it was absolutely worth it for me.
Hopefully, this essay has helped chronicle my lifelong journey with college/indie radio – a journey that echoed the rhythms of my heart, shaped my identity, and allowed me to be a storyteller in a world of sound. Just as the radio DJs, Music writers, and journalists of the past contributed words that continue to resonate with music enthusiasts, the memories and experiences of 19 years on the airwaves/internet will forever resonate within me, a testament to the enduring power of radio and the magic of its transmission through time and space.
In the spirit of Lester Bangs, I’ll keep cranking up the volume, diving deep into the musical abyss, and taking you along for the ride. Because ‘Your Tuesday Afternoon Alternative’ is not just a show; it’s an alternative reality, a refuge for the sonic explorers, and a testament to the power of music to change our lives. So, tune in, turn it up, and let’s keep this cosmic journey rolling for as long as we are able to do so.
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