During the week, he's a middle- aged social worker with a masters degree from Rutgers University-Camden who offers his support to troubled folks. But on Sunday nights from 9 to 11, he transforms into Reverend Bookburn, self-appointed enemy of all things conservative and commercial, flinger of profanity and raunch, and champion of social and political reform.
Bookburn is an aging hipster with a soft stomach, heavy black brows and a nasal voice. For the last five years, he's used his show, The Reverend Is In, to advocate abortion rights, freedom from religion, antiracism, and psychedelic music. His show tonight is entitled "Hunting With Dickless Cheney" - a rather tame choice considering past shows such as "Another Cumming of Lord Cheezus," "Holy Vagina" and "Palm and Stroke Sunday."
This is Radio Volta, a Philly Internet station where DJs and listeners have been fiercely fighting the mainstream for the last five years. And the FCC can't stop them.
***
Posters for various underground music groups and bumper stickers with anti-Bush messages almost completely obscure the small studio's pale blue walls. Bookburn -- who won't reveal his real name because of past threats he's received from angry listeners -- sits in front of an old switchboard, shuffling through the pages of handwritten notes he's covered it with.
This week's broadcast features "visits" from Lynn Cheney, Osama bin Laden and even "George W. Enron Ho Corporate Criminal Bush" himself.
"I get so lonely while my dickless husband stays holed up in his cave," intones Bookburn, channeling Mrs. Cheney in a breathy, high-pitched voice. "I discovered a very special joy. The next song is about that. It's called 'Big Black Cock.'"
Over the next two hours, Bookburn wishes listeners a happy belated Hash Wednesday in honor of the first day of Lent and plays songs entitled "George Bush Is An Islamic Fundamentalist," "The ABC's of Anarchism" and "Menstrual Institution." He makes a few movie recommendations (Rent and The Constant Gardener) and, as his grand finale, names the legislature and government of South Dakota "Asshole of the Week" to the sound of pre-recorded fart noises.
"If there are songs and stuff this good, this hilarious, if one other person hears them because of me, then I feel like it's worth it," Bookburn explains. But he admits there's also a selfish aspect to his program: "Nothing is more therapeutic than doing a show like this, and I'm fucked up enough to know."
***
While Bookburn's the most extreme example of the radical sentiment at Volta, he's not the only DJ pushing material from outside the mainstream.
"We have very few rules here," says Jim Bear, host of The Nexus, a weekly no-holds-barred music program. "One of the few rules is that you have to be doing something that isn't readily available elsewhere."
And whether that's music or talk or in Bookburn's case, some combination of the two, is up to the DJ. The shows feature hip-hop, jazz, folk, reggae and rock, alongside multiple weekly broadcasts of Democracy Now! and Free Speech News Radio.
But that isn't to say that everyone involved shares the Reverend's loathing for big government and organized religion. In fact, over the past five years, the Internet station's shoestring budget has brought people of varied political persuasions together.
"I'm definitely not an anarchist," says Bear, an easy-going computer consultant. "I really identify with and support the message that's being broadcast, but the first reason I came here was the music."
"There's been a very slow dissipation of the original core of people," he adds. "There is a significantly lower number of radical anarchists here than before, but I know that some of the current DJs definitely gravitated toward [the station's] radical roots."
These roots took hold in the summer of 2000, when the Republican National Convention came to town and a gang of independent media groups and reporters set up camp in a rented space in downtown Philly and broadcast a live audio stream. Indy reporters from around the country used the stream to send news reports back home that were then broadcast over radio outlets and other web streams.
Though many of the activists left town after the convention, the Philly Independent Media Center realized the need for progressive coverage on a daily basis, which they hoped would at least partly counteract the corporate media. They decided to continue a 24-hour streaming broadcast through their pirate radio affiliate, Radio Mutiny.
A few months later, the same group broadcast a running commentary on election night that included music, radical poetry, a debate and a new name, Radio Volta.
When Bear came on board in July 2001, Volta was broadcasting from the (K)not Squat, a communal house for activists at 48th Street and Baltimore Avenue. The DJs used Radio Mutiny's former equipment, which included an old broadcast console and assorted stereo equipment that had been purchased used, trash-picked or donated.
"The whole studio was a Frankenstein affair of soldered wires and scavenged plugs," Bear recalls. But "it worked well enough, and it was an amazing product of the resourcefulness of those involved."
Over the years, the station has slowly but surely evolved, obtaining newer computers, professional broadcasting equipment and, in April 2004, a new home about 10 blocks from Penn's campus.
A black wrought-iron gate guards the peeling, rundown building at 4134 Lancaster Avenue known as the LAVA space. The acronym stands for Lancaster Avenue Autonomous Space, and the building's three stories contain some of West Philadelphia's most defiantly freethinking individuals and grassroots organizations.
Though the building doesn't look out of place among the crime-ridden area's abandoned stores and dirty sidewalks, some of the radical ideas developed inside it certainly are. The space is collectively owned by community activists, many of whom are bent on changing the world. Donations and fundraising cover the costs, which run about $600 per month, and this sharing of expenses keeps the eight groups housed in the LAVA alive.
The building includes a radical library, a soup kitchen called "Food Not Bombs," and office space for a local AIDS coalition and the Philadelphia Green Party. On the top floor, one room houses a bimonthly anarchist newspaper, and three rooms make up Radio Volta and its affiliate organization, the Philly IMC.
Bookburn enjoys the connected feeling he gets from sharing the building with kindred spirits. Though he and others at Volta refuse to label themselves as anarchists, the sentiment is often there.
***
"I don't want to water the show down to reach Joe and Joanne Sixpack," Bookburn says. So far, he hasn't had to. Luckily for the good reverend, Volta reaches listeners solely through the Internet, which excuses the station from FCC regulations.
However, other national legislation has nearly obliterated the small station. In 2002, government officials proposed an anti-Napster law that would require Internet stations to pay high copyright fees.
"The party was about to be over, and we were in our final days," Bookburn recalls. In response to the proposed piece of legislation, which would have allowed only monopolies to survive, the reverend broadcast a three-part special called "Screw the Entertainment Industry."
Then, a strange twist took place. North Carolina Senator Jesse Helms -- the same man who Bookburn describes as "a Christian supremacist" and "the ultimate misogynist, racist, homophobe" -- began to oppose the bill. Loudly. Miraculously, the bill was defeated, and Volta narrowly escaped a potential crisis. One might even call it a miracle.
As Bookburn tells part of this story, reggae music oozes from underneath the cheap wooden door that separates Volta's orange-walled hang-out room from its studio counterpart. Selecta Sensitar is broadcasting his show, On the Frontline, which features reggae and dancehall music along with "revolutionary news." Earlier that afternoon, Bill W's jam and jazz show aired, along with an underground hip-hop program called The Formula.
DJ Cindy Wuollet is the point person at Volta for new music. On Kinetic Cuts, she frequently broadcasts on-air interviews with local singers and songwriters on her Wednesday-night show, explaining that meeting local musicians is "one of my loves."
She says the diverse programming Volta airs "really empowers people to do their own thing, which I think is very important in media."
But this variety is also the source of additional challenges. With shows covering everything from folk songs and jazz to radical news and talk, there is no one demographic tuning in to radiovolta.org.
"We tend to have certain clusters of listeners around programs," Bear explains. And with only 40 hours of live programming each week, "it's difficult to maintain a core of listeners."
Then, there are the technical difficulties. The station relies on old computers and used broadcasting equipment to send its radical offerings out into the world, so even when everything's running properly, disaster can strike at any time. "We live in a constant state of being one technical problem away from being off the air," Bear says.
Despite these issues, the DJs at Volta realize the significance of their work. The station is the first and last stop for much of the music they're playing. Philadelphia radio has no more room for new FM stations, and especially not for FM stations that feature underground music and political commentary. Nonetheless, the station has gained a loyal following.
Tom Detrik tunes in almost every Wednesday night. He's been listening to Kinetic Cuts -- a program that features folk, rock, country and anything else Cindy feels like playing-for about a year now.
"I like how much she supports local and independent artists," he explains.
"Cindy has very eclectic tastes," says Rebecca Vlam, who's been listening to the show since November. "She plays a lot of good, different, excellent music you don't hear on radio stations anymore."
For others, it's less about the music and more about the talk.
"It's not censored, that's my favorite thing," says Tara Dalora, a South Jersey resident who describes herself as "very liberal" and catches broadcasts of The Reverend Is In on Sunday nights. "It's sometimes over-the-top and vulgar, but in a good way."
To Bear, the station fills a necessary niche in the radio world.
"I don't think it will ever blow up and reach a broad, popular audience, but I don't think that's why it's here to begin with," Bear says. "Outsider status seems to fit us best."
Maybe that's why the DJs have no plans to discontinue their shows.
"I'd like to keep doing The Nexus, or something like it, as long as I can," Bear says. "It continues to open my eyes to new music and the ideas that inspire it. It has also become two of my favorite hours of the week."
Still, the DJs know there will always be obstacles to overcome. "Everything's a challenge at Volta," Bear says, placing money and resources at the top of the list.
The station is run entirely by volunteers, and with DJs joining up and leaving frequently, there are often holes left in the schedule.
"You can't predict problems for a non-profit," Bookburn says. "Someday there might be a law that says you can't broadcast unless you have your thumb in your ass, and then we'd all have to make sure that when we're broadcasting we had our thumbs up our asses and that we have some way of documenting that."
But until that happens, the Volta volunteers will keep the station alive, watching it continue to grow and evolve.
"I see us getting more on the map," Wuollet says, "but it's a slow process."
"Regardless of who is involved, Radio Volta will continue," Bear adds.
