Goal PostsThis is a musi­cal tes­ta­ment. “Our sta­tion,” adds Ster­ling Poe, who saun­ters in with a beach tow­el jabbed into her ears, “was wenched out of Gabriel’s resur­gent dri­ve to build an empir­i­cal sound­scape which more clear­ly defines real­i­ty for him­self than any of those oth­er failed venues he has tried, and as such, works to inform and orga­nize his own schemat­ic born of expe­ri­ence, note for note, thought for thought, near and ancient, detourn­ing all media prod­ucts sold to him as the defin­ing matrix of his life, as a cit­i­zen, as a fan, as a writer and broad­cast­er, recon­struct­ing them as his own men­tal DNA.”

“Of course, this mys­ti­fied mod­el of the musi­cal life as one’s dom­i­nant expe­ri­ence is inher­ent­ly flawed, imper­fect, incom­plete. But it patch­es neat­ly into his orig­i­nal con­cept of him­self as a pas­sion­ate observ­er of his own scrap­py world trapped in unoblig­ing flesh and dis­in­ter­est­ed time, bro­kered only by those crude artis­tic ener­gies dri­ving him toward the final regur­gi­ta­tion. That’s where Fatz comes in.”

“While music and lit­er­a­ture, when inter­pret­ed joint­ly, is the pri­ma­ry force he trans­mo­gri­fies, rein­vents, infus­es with that patent­ed uncon­tain­able Fatz Bull­win­kle joy, glut­tony sus­tains the art of genre con­sump­tion and thus, still leaves some­thing unsaid, undone, unprocessed. The par­tic­u­lar task of recre­at­ing a unique and inter­est­ing jux­ta­po­si­tion of tagged influ­ences helps iden­ti­fy the rela­tion­ship, in this case, cre­at­ed between a soli­tary man and his cho­sen arts while still wear­ing the man­tle of an unre­pen­tant fan, but yearn­ing for an escape from the addic­tion, a queer prod­uct of his own inaudi­ble past cross-dis­solv­ing into the bare­ly audi­ble momen­tum of a non-spe­cif­ic future. And he choos­es to expose oth­ers to that dynam­ic cru­cible, so that the con­quer­ing, the over­com­ing, the tran­scen­dence of mid­dle and mud­dle may some­day begin…”

Planting the seeds of prosperity...

Plant­i­ng the seeds of pros­per­i­ty among the bro­ken and irra­tional…

“That’s right,” adds Fatz. “Radio Sce­newash rep­re­sents that pecu­liar, self-iden­ti­fy­ing cas­cade of crit­i­cal choic­es, ran­dom cul­ture-dri­ven influ­ences and oth­er swirling con­se­quences spir­it­ed into that cru­cible of impulse addic­tions absorbed since my own youth.”

The threat of glob­al extinc­tion com­pels the ques­tion. Who are we as Amer­i­cans? Are we sat­is­fied with our­selves and all our pos­ses­sions as oth­ers starve and die? Our inner life based most­ly on an out­er one? Our tran­sient good looks? Our pre­cious decom­pos­ing books? Are you and I as Amer­i­cans strik­ing back at some­thing so com­plex we just can’t put a name to it? Need a con­se­quen­tial edge? Already boast one? If you find your­self drawn to us, car­ry on, for you are rev­o­lu­tion­ary patri­ots, born of an age that needs you. If you are the RIAA you may try and pull the whole damned won­der­ful plug on all us pet­ty nick­el and dime broad­cast­ers out here still buy­ing and pre­serv­ing our beloved music. But we are sol­diers, sir…

…report­ing this very hour for Rev­o­lu­tion Num­ber 9, march­ing among the scorched ros­es and pan­de­mo­ni­um pos­es of both fair and foul pop­u­la­tions, among their prophets and their peace­mak­ers. Rev­o­lu­tion Num­ber 9 has arrived with brigades of burn­ing angels flam­ing the fives, giv­ing voic­es and more choic­es to the next gen­er­a­tion of cit­i­zen vibes, strong may they pound.

Icarus Tull says, “Give us your ears and your minds. In turn, we’ll even­tu­al­ly pitch you some­thing you can hit out of the park.” Crisply sin­is­ter Icarus is from Philadel­phia and likes to eat his veg­eta­bles raw and razor thin only to gnaw on dead men’s bones for hours after­wards. He is also left-hand­ed, the old­est of four broth­ers and four sis­ters, decid­ed­ly anti-rev­o­lu­tion­ary, but lurk­ing here on the swill just the same. Usu­al­ly works into the first five min­utes of an ini­tial con­ver­sa­tion with a stranger that he was cre­at­ed on the third day by R.F. Laird’s 1991 lit­er­ary sen­sa­tion The Boomer Bible.

Life is dan­ger­ous. Life is sacred. But it’s a polit­i­cal world. The Radio Sce­newash Net­work is a piece of his­to­ry, a per­son­al sound­scape. But it is just one man’s past. Trust no one. Trust your­self. Do what you do, know why you’re doing it, because you’re the [only] one, the one who must pay the price of rel­e­vance with your own words, actions, cal­cu­la­tions, and drifting…for we are wit­ness­es, ear close to the tracks where igno­rance and virtue suck on the same straw, wit­ness­es to the knowl­edge that with­in the cal­cu­lus of blind luck and invet­er­ate loss­es, GOD (What­ev­er and When­ev­er) rules with a flam­ing scep­tre!
But Fatz insists on ham­mer­ing home the point. “Amer­i­ca is clear­ly bro­ken, but she deserves a con­sci­en­tious mend­ing, not immi­nent destruc­tion, as some would have it. It’s time to under­stand that Amer­i­ca and the west is under seige by an impe­ri­al­is­tic cult held togeth­er by many deceivers, great and small. Blam­ing Amer­i­ca for the whole plan­et’s sins real or imag­ined solves noth­ing while ignor­ing her very real ene­mies from with­in and with­out, very deter­mined ene­mies bask­ing in their own sins and evil inten­tions. Fur­ther up this long road lead­ing to utopi­an bliss you can bet the next boss won’t be as good to you as this old boss has been. Look around the globe, MAN. Study the sit­u­a­tion with­out blind­ers, right-wing or left. Fact is, we must each do all we can with­in our own per­son­al orbits to tame this unquench­able beast now prey­ing upon both the strong and the weak among us or that same beast will devour us with­out apol­o­gy. By stream­ing a few hours from the Radio Sce­newash “no holds barred” broad­cast, you open a sanc­tu­ary for that new poly-Amer­i­can poly-uni­ver­sal patri­ot, that indige­nous patri­ot who knows the dif­fer­ence between zero and noth­ing, myth and mis­fit, wor­thy noise and worth­less glo­ry. It is our belief that a “healthy” Amer­i­can­ism is yet our best bet to thwart the ever-threat­en­ing glob­al holo­caust pre­dict­ed by many cul­tures from the past.

“Our air­waves are price­less trea­sure worth pry­ing free from the cor­po­rate invaders’ tight­ly gloved fists. We, the so-called mushy mid­dle class­es always in flux must now become increas­ing­ly rad­i­cal­ized as com­pas­sion­ate but respon­si­ble cen­trists who dare voice our repug­nance for the pros and semi-pros fuel­ing the well-estab­lished fight­er jets of the Left and Right arro­gant class­es, that is to say, the estab­lished polit­i­cal class­es, who rape and pil­lage the earth, its peo­ple, its hopes and in the bar­gain, con­t­a­m­i­nate the only gen­uine path into the future.”

“We can brace for the next aggres­sive wave of gonzoid Amer­i­can pol­i­tics to be con­duct­ed, or we can wave good­bye to the oppor­tu­ni­ty. It’s always time to GET INFORMED about the world you desire even as it is con­strained with­in the world you fear. As a prac­ti­cal mat­ter, read more about the Inter­net broad­cast­er’s strug­gle here. While some may despise our mix­ing the myr­i­ad of musi­cal gen­res we will broad­cast, oth­ers may loathe the emer­gence of pol­i­tics in one form or anoth­er in “near­ly” every song, but we have no choice. Life is dan­ger­ous. Life is sacred. But it’s a polit­i­cal world. The Radio Sce­newash Net­work is a piece of his­to­ry, a per­son­al sound­scape. But it is just one man’s past. Trust no one. Trust your­self. Do what you do, know why you’re doing it, because you’re the [only] one, the one who must pay the price of rel­e­vance with your own words, actions, cal­cu­la­tions, and drifting…for we are wit­ness­es, ear close to the tracks where igno­rance and virtue suck on the same straw, wit­ness­es to the knowl­edge that with­in the cal­cu­lus of blind luck and invet­er­ate loss­es, GOD (What­ev­er and When­ev­er) rules with a flam­ing scep­tre! I am but a straw man.

Gabriel_Thy

Gabriel Thy

Yet was­n’t it Jim Car­roll who remarked that “rock-n-roll is the pied piper lead­ing to the apoc­a­lypse…”?

“When Gabriel was a strap­ping lad flock­ing among oth­er strap­ping lads and bold­er, old­er women, he front­ed an imag­i­nary punk band called G.O.D. — a band that tore up the mole hills and mon­key halls he found him­self serv­ing with­out regard to syco­phancy or pride, an activ­i­ty which repeat­ed­ly got him banned from both the DC under- and over-worlds in the race to con­for­mi­ty that always leaves its mark on the fore­head. Hence the evo­lu­tion of my idea of the rad­i­cal mid­dle, the pro­gres­sive cen­trist, dis­card­ing both the left and the right as whol­ly deval­ued cur­ren­cy. The rem­nants and resid­u­als of Gath­er Or Divide still inform our fight­ing spir­it (nee Thomas Paine’s Com­mon Sense and Age of Rea­son). This radio sta­tion and web site exem­pli­fy the notion that all spec­tac­u­lar ambi­tions get what they deserve once flipped, com­plete with ugly but fas­ci­nat­ing bat­tle scars to prove one’s par­tic­i­pa­tion in the only his­to­ry that tru­ly counts—your own. Right? You’ve got fig­ure it out your­self, but the dou­ble-edged blade sev­er­ing the past from the future has nev­er been sta­t­ic in swing, and now that it’s aimed sharply at you, the audi­ence, take in a mighty ear­ful and then shoot us a terse mes­sage to let us know how you’re doing…

We sup­port the con­cept and the prac­tice of Crit­i­cal Com­mons.

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