Indie Guilt: C/D

(*first person to come on and say, "madrigals weren't 12th century doofus" is automatically disqualified as INDIE.)

You've swallowed some rather silly Internet-rumors by thinking he's black, my friend... (not that that would matter anyway, since the wigga thing is an obvious JOKE).

Jess, it only qualifies if you dug the Supremes in their Afros.....

The bit behind your ears?

i miss you di, although we never talked.... yesterday i scoured the sale bins at galaxy and picked up some elpees by death cab for cutie, beta-band, yo la tengo, fake purr and joy division for only ten bucks! while i'm complaining, i really fucken hate pretentious-ass diaries. and there's so many of them. and they're all so, so bad. everyone should just write about the class struggle and masturbation. then i'd be happy.

i need coffee.

do not act f-ing out on soap opera urges... we're cosmically spiritually intertwined, duuuude!!!!!! there is a world out there. i'm taking it on faith!!! indie rock is like high school all over again, except the football team is the guys from basement jaxx showing off how cool they are!!!!!!

i love my stripey friend rockgrrl.

yay. i've got a big crush on a rocking boi called dwayne. he's cute - everytime we meet my insides turn into quivery jelly & i become a stammering dork. today, while awake, i imagined myself given the respiratory system requiring orange paint as i was simultaneously being drowned in it!

because i am strange and just have a constant urge to spend money, i am now very poor. i miss my chuck... roxor.

Well, I, for one, have had enough. It's time to shake up the status quo and put a little fear in the heart of the Establishment. Yes, consider this an official declaration of war: Look out, Corporate America, here comes my pirate radio station!

Last Friday, Radio Free Tate, the city's first and only broadcast forum for the disenfranchised voices of the country, went on the air. Located somewhere between 89.5 and 91.3 FM, Radio Free Tate is going to let corporate America have it with both barrels: the truths they're afraid to say and the songs they're afraid to play.

I may not have the broadcast range of a big station, but I compress a whole lot of rebellion into a six-block radius. You'd better believe this mouse is going to roar.

And, unlike the rest of the world, I'm not interested in feeding my audience a steady diet of nothing. While most radio listeners are complacently soaking in the latest teeny-pop brain sedative or the semi-digested pap of the Tweedledee & Tweedledum Morning Zoo show, I'm out there telling it like it is. I'm not afraid to talk about the class war against the poor, the deplorable state of popular music, or the sham election that put Dubya into the Whitewash House. Corporate America, you'd better watch your backside, because there's a new sheriff on your radio dial!

I had no idea starting a pirate radio station would be so easy. All I needed was a microphone, a PLL transmitter, a Comet antenna, a 20-watt dummy load kit, a 6-watt amplifier, some old Minor Threat and Bad Brains records, and a self-constructed broadcast booth in my basement. It's so simple, I'm surprised more people don't do it. Then again, how many people have the guts? After all, I'm living outside the law. I know for a fact that the government and the corporate fatcats would love to shut me down. They don't want people to hear what I'm dishing out. Well, tough! I'm going to bring The Man to his knees, one song at a time.

A bunch of my friends have already said that when they're in my neighborhood, they keep their radios tuned to Radio Free Tate. You're probably thinking they're just saying that because they're my friends, but they're not. Where else are they going to hear Black Flag's "TV Party" followed by a scathing anti-PepsiCo editorial followed by Gang Of Four's "Guns Before Butter"? On K-Rock? I think not.

A desperately needed home for alternative ideas, Radio Free Tate will provide a forum for the forumless, a voice for the voiceless. I tried doing a call-in segment last Saturday, but the masses weren't quite ready for it after spending so many years imprisoned in corporate radio's shackles. (A case of Stockholm Syndrome if there ever was one.) All I got were two 12-year olds making fart noises with their hands and requests for (ugh) Ja Rule and (double ugh) Nickelback. Clearly, these people are so hooked on the Pop Narcotic, they lack the faculties to appreciate my blend of hardcore punk with take-no-prisoners commentary on Generalissimo Bush's real motivations for the so-called war on terror.

When I'm not shooting truth straight from the hip, I'm getting down. While much of the playlist is drawn from classic SoCal and D.C. punk, you'll hear everything from Roky Erickson to Neu! to Burning Spear. I throw in some old-school hip-hop, some No Wave, a little spoken word, and some free jazz. Once, I played the entire Tony Conrad box set as a big "fuck you" to all the mainstream DJs who are too chickenshit to play experimental composers. And, once in a while, I take a cue from rap pioneer DJ Cool Herc and mix it up by "scratching" my records. Try finding that on your average station!

I'd encourage all of you to tune in to Radio Free Tate. Like I said, it's somewhere between 89.5 and 91.3 on your radio dial— depending on which side of Maplewood Street you're on. Before long, you'll be able to find our listening area simply by paying attention to who suddenly goes through a political revival. They'll start using less, caring more, and voting with their hearts and minds rather than their wallets. And they'll be listening to the best mix of music you won't hear anywhere else. Find that neighborhood, and you've found Radio Free Tate.

Oh, and one more thing: Corporate America can suck it.

Brilliant.

V

As for myself, I can't, try as I may, buy into most mainsteam pop, because I know the money will just feed the perpetual shit machine, and no good music will be made.

One more thing, does indie relate to underground rap as well?

No no no no please not this can of worms

Racist!

This hurts my head.