brekky shift,
"the center of psychedelphia"
5-7pm, every Monday only on WKDU 91.7FM
PLAYLISTS!!

You listen in Fishtown because it is shit to stroke your beard to. You listen, because you don't want your rock and roll anaesthetized. The Sonics probably changed your life. You listen, because you know that is Jim Jarmusch on the cover of Bravery, Repitition + Noise. There is no way to throw a varnish, or polish on what is supposed to be about bloody, sweaty, beer drenched caveman howls. Drones and fuzzy blissful meditations, basic and primal, stimulating you in the most fundamental ways. You listen, because you can tell when the band actually means it. You listen, because you know all the opening bands, and you have a friend that kinda-sorta-knows 'em. You listen because at the Black Lips show, you thought about what it would be like to shower in your own piss. Caveman crowd mentality? The catcalls are still resonating somewhere. You listen in your dorm room at Penn, because you need a slummin' style to rip off... and you're curious about what a real college station is supposed to sound like. Usurp reeeal gently there, guys.

You know it when you hear it, listening all day over in West Philly waiting for freelance work. You listen after work with your dandy South Philly fop friends. It never took so long to take 12 Steps Down. You take drugs to make music to take drugs to. You listen over in Center City at UArts because it is just great sound to do coke to. You're celebrating your fellowship grant, but it can only buy you so much. You listen even when the band is laughing at you silently, while they play the same riff for 5 minutes over and over while you're still slam dancing, swaying, or self-consciously looking on at the people around you. You didn't even notice, you're trying to figure out what year vintage guitar that guy on stage is playing. You listen because in the middle of the set you leave to get another beer and unapologetically push your way back into the crowd, relaxing into the same spot. You're too hard to suffer from those hard stares and short disapproving sighs; you're in the murder capital, baby. At the Pissed Jeans show you luckily escaped with only beer stains. You didn't bleed, rip your clothing, get vomited on, or kicked in the teeth despite the foreboding expectation earlier that night. You listen, because for you, getting kicked in the teeth connotes a romping good time... until you wake to the ache. Who heard of an emergency room anyways? Just squeeze a pint of spilled beer from your clothing. You listen because we don't censor Pissed Jeans, we leave that to the New York Times.

You listen because you don't even give a fuck... about giving a fuck. You flick cigarettes at your silhouette to watch the burst of ash. You listen because you drunkenly scuffed up the brand new shoes of a NoLibs yuppie, who did nothing to appease you. You listen because your shoes are dirtied from crowd hopping beer guzzlers. You listen, because you cringe when you notice a mythical hipster on the street, who you figured could only exist in American Apparrel ads. Like, no way. Say, aren't most mythical creatures winged? Mythical creatues like the loch ness monster, pod people, creepy spirits, bigfoot, or some kind of gryphon-like thing straight out of World Of Warcraft. You listen because when the opening band has a fucking fog machine, you can still see the stage from the upstairs bar at Brenda's, murmuring sarcastically to your buddies. You listen, because you only buy the record at the merch stand. This way, there is no buffer. No intermediate interests to take a piece of the pie from the artists. You listen, because at the show the stage isn't much taller than your knee. The band isn't playing for you, they are with you. You listen because you support the bands, that "second leg" of the tour means you succeeded. You listen because deep down you only give one fuck: about music. Psychedelphian or Philadelphian? Admitting it is the first step in being uncool. You listen... because you are in the richest most vibrant music communities in the goddamn world.

You have your finger on the pulse of the city but still can't figure out how the world looks any different from the frames of those gaudy sunglasses.

215 in 2008, or what?

hi.my.name.is.sunjay,.this.is.my.radio.show.
(this.was.my.mission.statement)

keep listening folks,

-Sunjay

wkdu-gm@wkdu.org
<3 myspace.com/wkdu

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