The Pole

I'm a tough man to please when it comes to most mass media. I like to think of my tastes more as refined and less as picky. For example, I don't watch local news, preferring to subscribe to tidbits of pertinent information harvested from Digg or Reddit. Likewise, I don't often listen to local radio. I have a great appreciation for sites like Pandora that allow you to control what you listen to while still keeping it fresh. That said, I was recently in a cab headed to the ballpark as a stretch of songs by such favorites as TV On The Radio, MGMT and The Killers assaulted my ear holes with their rock.

I asked the cabbie which frequency we were enjoying and, come to find out, it was a local indie station celebrating it's one year anniversary. What ho! A local station that's tolerable? Surely you jest, good sir. Later that weekend, I fixed my car (a different story entirely) and celebrated by cold flossing that whip all over this fine city jamming to a rare mix of indie sounds.

I live in a part of town that does not necessitate daily driving, so I remained content listening to the Adam Carolla Podcast each morning and a mix of fresh jams from Pandora at work. Despite not listening on the daily, I made sure to spread the word about this fabulous station to my commuting friends confident that I was doing my part to popularize the best radio in Denver.

Last Friday night, we had a party. As I mingled amongst friends, I caught a snatch of conversation from my good buddy Hammer.

"...the best radio station for sure. 101.5 dude, I swear."

"I know, man! They play the best rock in town," I eagerly enthused.

"Totally, dude. Fucking Whitesnake and GNR... classic."

At this point, I became vexed. Surely the same folks who saw fit to pump us urbanites full of Modest Mouse were playing some sort of horrible prank. A one year anniversary joke to force listeners to hear this garbage before switching back to their regularly scheduled programming.

"That's not what they usually play..." I started to suggest.

"Why wouldn't they play that," offered Hammer, "the station is called The Pole. Their shtick is playing stripper music. Have you actually heard it?"

The answer was no. I hadn't listened in a while and was unaware of the change in content.

The Pole? Why, Denver? Are we not sophisticated enough as a city to make room for just one station that doesn't vibrate the air with waves of diarrhea blackened by Satan's asshole? By my count, we have 107.5 on top of Autotuned Lil'Whoever, 93.3 for the Spreadheads, 105.1 (which, admittedly, does play quality oldies) for the old timers and a million God forsaken country stations that don't deserve the time of day. Evidently one modern station for we of good taste was too tall an order.

Coming from a small town, I am used to digging deep to find quality entertainment. I'd always hoped that when I finally moved to "The Big City" I'd be able to abandon my scouring and embrace the top notch entertainment that flowed forth like Key Light from a frat house keg. Well, I've been here for two years and the keg is floating. My fleeting time with pre-Pole 101.5 represents the final sputtering of foam from the filthy tap.