Notes from the Boneyard – Dead Goat FM

Boneyard story about the weird radio station…Every once in a while it’s good to vanish, run-off, banish yourself to the wilderness and become a hill dweller.

Self-isolation has its merits.

Firstly, you don’t have to be whacked over the head with the pitfalls of humanity and all its trappings on a daily basis.

You can dip in-and-out when you please, and remain merely an observer, without having to live in the midst of it all.

From a bird’s eye perspective you eventually begin to see it for what it really is: A circus. A farce. An elaborate prank.

So you retreat to your shack once again.

You tune into the radio, but up there in the hills all you can find is static.

You turn the dial through a sea of white noise and crackly static.

Then you hear something.

You’re picking up a signal.

You lean your ear toward the radio and tweak the dial some more.

You’ve tuned into something. A frequency…

But what is it?

It’s playing music, if you could call it that.

It sounds more like tribal chants, drones, and animal noises.

Every so often the music lowers and the DJ host whispers something rushed and incoherent.

Then the weird music comes back.

What kind of station is this?

It’s not like anything you’ve heard before. You keep listening, for clues more than anything else, to find out what this is. It’s strangely hypnotic.

Before you know it you’ve been listening for hours and it’s the middle of the night.

What did you tune into? Was it a pirate radio station, hosted by a fellow hill dweller with nothing better to do? Was it a ghost radio station? Or did you imagine the whole thing?

Anyway. Enough about that. I’ll be playing this weekend, in Ophelia’s with some friends of mine.

We call ourselves Dead Goat, for no good reason whatsoever.

We get together every now and then.

It’s a rare occasion where we all find ourselves in the same room at the same time.But when we do, music happens.

Songs begin to form and write themselves.

It’s a frequency that we all tap into, a bit like that ghost radio show that may or may not exist.

Anyhow, I think it’s Saturday night.

Come see us if you’re around. Before we retreat back to the hills.