Glowing clouds converge over J.R. Howard and mysterious hooded figures have been spotted on the manor lawn.
These are certainly dark times. Amid war, global warming, and a pandemic, we can all agree that life truly feels bleak these days. This wave of pessimism has engulfed yet another celebrated and time-honored beacon of sunniness and optimism: college radio.
K Palatine Hill, Lewis & Clark’s beloved radio station, has gone underground. They have not lost their license nor banned all mainstream artists from their airwaves (they are still playing enough Phoebe Bridgers, Mitski and Dominic Fike to appease their loyal fans), but they have actually moved underground. Like, they are literally in the basement.
Amid this transition, longtime KPH listeners and new fans alike have noticed a distinct change in their programing.
With the release of the spring lineup of radio shows, listeners have noted new or altered offerings among fan favorites. The time-honored true crime shows and punk programs have been interspersed with titles such as “Oratio for the Old Ones,” “I beg of thee to free me,” “rrHiLaye” and “you WILL listen.”
Loyal KPH listeners who have tuned in during these segments report back having heard wildly unconventional musical selections. Some of the stanger gengres included rhythmic chanting, ear-splitting hums and 1980s ska. I decided to investigate the shift in programming for myself.
When I tuned in to Monday night’s “Sane Radio,” the folk and punk I normally enjoy had been replaced by a continuous and frightening muttering about the “unknowable evils of the pocket dimension which exists behind one’s eyes.” I awoke two hours later covered in red liquid that, while it was not mine, appeared to be blood.
As speculation on campus reaches fever pitch, not unlike the undulating howls now present on an unnamed segment (2:09 a.m. on Wednesdays and Sundays), rumors fly about the unexpected revamp of this LC institution.
While conducting research for this article, The Backdoor’s reporters uncovered evidence that the basement KPH has been moved to was once a bomb shelter built by a particularly Cold-War-obsessed professor of International Affairs in 1995, who went missing along with several Religious Studies majors two years later.
Due to COVID-19 restrictions, as well as being unable to locate the entrance without experiencing memory loss and persistent feelings of doom, The Backdoor has been unable to explore these claims at the location of the basement itself.
An anonymous source, however, has been leaving “dead-drop” notes around campus describing the situation behind the microphone.
As a part of their cooperation with the article, the source wishes to clarify that they are not maintaining anonymity for their protection, but in reflection of KPH’s new belief in “the unimportance of identity as we transition to a post-Capitalist, post apocalyptic world set to fall into the abyss of our own making.”
If the source is to be believed, KPH members are using their new headquarters to begin a catalog of all human knowledge in preparation for the end times.
Radio show hosts have been isolated for the past eight weeks meditating and fasting to perform what is rumored to be called the “Ritual.”
Despite several hours of research, the only material our reporters could find describing it is utterly incoherent and full of spelling mistakes that we have yet to decipher.
According to one source from the Office of Student Employment, a subset of Human Resources, the members of KPH have applied to have their official titles changed to the “immortal guardians of humanity’s knowledge.”
Regardless, the campus and the world seem to be coping with these times in odd ways. Strange, unknowable beings are slowly consuming radio slots as more and more hosts undergo their transformation.
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