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Because here's the truth no one in the glossy media reports wants to admit. Radio isn't just dying. It is being quietly erased. Not by accident, but by neglect, consolidation, and the slow suffocation of everything that made it dangerous.

When I first cracked open a transmitter, radio was still alive in the margins. The big stations were predictable. Corporate playlists, safe talk, voices sanded down to nothing. But in between the cracks, you had people like me. Broadcasting music no algorithm would recommend. Talking about things no sponsor would touch. Reaching whoever happened to be scanning the dial at the right moment. It was messy. It was illegal. It was real.

Now the dial feels like a ghost town.

Streaming didn't just compete with radio. It replaced the idea of it. People don't tune in anymore. They select. They curate. They live inside headphones, sealed off in personalized worlds where nothing unexpected gets through unless it has been pre approved by code. You cannot hijack a playlist. You cannot interrupt a podcast with a signal from the outside. The airwaves used to be public space. Now they are just empty space.

And what is left of licensed radio is hardly better. A handful of companies own most of the stations, piping the same content across cities like it is fast food. Local DJs are gone. Weird late night shows are gone. Risk is gone. They have sanitized the medium so thoroughly that even rebellion sounds pre recorded.

That is the part that gets to me. Pirate radio was never just about breaking rules. It was about proving the rules did not have to exist. Anyone with enough nerve and a bit of technical know how could speak. Could reach people. Could create something live, unpredictable, shared. You would get callers sometimes. Total strangers. Just excited that someone was out there, broadcasting from the shadows. That connection does not exist in a comment section.

But it is harder now. Not just because of enforcement, though that is still there, but because fewer people are even listening. I can blast a signal across a neighborhood, and half the people inside it do not even own a radio. The rest are driving cars that default to apps. The audience has not just shrunk. It has vanished into other systems.

So yes, radio is dying. I hear it every night in the static between stations. In the empty frequencies no one is fighting over anymore. In the silence where there used to be voices trying to reach someone, anyone.

And still, I broadcast.

Not because I think I am saving radio. That ship is already halfway underwater. I do it because there is something stubbornly human about sending your voice into the air and not knowing who might catch it. No metrics. No tracking. No algorithm deciding if you are worth hearing.

Just signal and chance.

Maybe that is what is really dying. Not radio itself, but the idea that communication can be wild, unfiltered, and shared by accident. The idea that somewhere, someone might stumble across your voice and stop, just for a second, to listen.

If that disappears, radio will not just be dead.

It will be forgotten.

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Today, I wanted to go to the skate park and hang out, but time got away from me. The truth of the matter is that I took a nap and slept a little longer than I wanted. I put the slider buns on the cabinet for the studio in the van, then cleaned it out really well before taking it to the car wash. I spent the rest of the day tidying up loose ends.

Watch Video

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I took some video if you are interested.

Watch Video

Most of my days are spent working with signals, frequencies, and equipment, invisible systems that move information across miles in seconds. It's fascinating work, but it's also quiet work. Solitary work.

Ironically, I help enable communication while often feeling disconnected from the community around me.

That realization has been sitting with me for a while now. It's what pushed me to start thinking about public spaces, parks, open areas, places that were originally designed for people to gather but often sit half empty.

Somewhere along the way, we stopped showing up for each other in those spaces.

So this summer, I'm trying something new: concert takeovers in public spaces throughout the community.

Simple idea. Music, open air, and a reason for people to come outside and meet each other.

But starting something new has never been easy for me.

I've spent hundreds of hours on ideas before that never really took off. Projects that seemed promising but quietly disappeared. After enough of those experiences, you start carrying doubt into every new idea.

Still, the need for connection hasn't gone away.

So this summer, I'm trying again.

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Spring is coming, and I've been in isolation working for far too long. I'm ready to spread my wings, to get out, go places, meet people, and do things.

This year I want to bring people together in public spaces. Not just the usual venues, but the places that belong to everyone. I want to focalize energy and turn those spaces into gathering points for the community. For now, to get started, DPark is that spot.

The idea is simple. People coming together in the open, powered by live concerts from talent here in Denver. Raw sound, shared space, and real human presence. Unforgettable experiences created by the people who show up.

If you feel that same pull to get out into the world again, come help make it happen. Bring your energy. Bring your friends. Bring the music.

Tell help the effort, I created an email notification system that will keep us all stay informed when bands announce they are going to play at DPark. If you are about making something happen, join the network and show up.

Go here to signup

It wasn't always like this.

There was a time when people tuned into the same signal, shared the same songs, and discovered new bands together. That's the world stations like KLOKi were built for, a place where underground metal could find ears willing to listen.

But the landscape keeps shifting. Listeners drift to endless playlists and automated streams, and independent radio fights to stay heard in the noise.

So the question sits there, hanging in the airwaves.

The signal is still broadcasting.