I'm Back!

Preteen boys are designed to discover sports and girls. My addiction was the soft breath of a diamond tipped needle laid to rest on the severed edges of black vinyl. Born to Rock. But for this Montana bread hell raiser it wouldn't be the mastering of strings, picks, sticks and stage presence. The performance of a lifetime: Radio

I sold my soul and hit the road. If carefully crafting a Radio studio capable of Broadcasting nearly two blocks from a poster laced bedroom counts as a career; then I've been here for 38 years.

Not just a jock. Being "Arroe" was permission enough to untangle the handwritten liner cards and four songs in a row without talk. The 70's bumped while the 90's thumped. The 80's introduced CD's while the new millennium welded the door closed forever on hundreds of thousands of brilliant Radio shows.

Then came the internet. I could say, play and make waves without over touted Radio research shutting me off. Ten taps onto the keyboard leaping toward a computer screen connected my passion for Rock Radio to Russia, Sweden, The Netherlands, UK, South Korea, Canada and more. Within minutes ten more taps adds to instant hits with numbers in the high thirty and forty thousand range.

February 4, 2013 I return to Radio. Except this time the total focus falls into the core of the diamond tipped needle. If but for one second I can convince your IPod carrying ass to hit replay my job is done. Relationship with music and those who make it is nearly extinct. I'm the bastard that's about to give you a little more cutting edge in your search for why you were planted on this planet.

Memories begin with music. But you don't know the stars effing the ears that brought you here. That's nothing more than legal prostitution. If you aren't puking Rock when I'm done then blame your lack of music love on Radio's construction of destruction. More to come