Santa Carla Radio Promo '25

Vincent P

[FX: Ocean waves roll in, carnival organ hums, thunder cracks, faint laughter under fog]NARRATOR (Vincent Price tone):“It’s that time again, my creatures of the night.KPCR’s annual Halloween special has returned.The boardwalk is alive.The fog is thick.And the signal—ah yes, the signal—is screaming through the static once more.”[FX: Motorcycle rev, woman screams, echoing sax riff, carnival crowd fades into wind]“This year, we present The Lost Boys: Santa Carla Radio —a full-day takeover from 7 A.M. to midnight.The undead return to the airwaves for a night of Goth, post-punk,and blood-red beats that never die.”“7 to 9 A.M. This is Skalloween with Middagh Goodwin.9 to 11 A.M. Santa Carla Radio with David & Michael.11 to Noon We Are In Hell with Chelsea Gods.Noon to 2 Sleep All Day, Party All Night with Jeff.2 to 4 Wax and Wane with Gianna.6 to 8 Darque Party 1987 live from Chromatic Coffee.8 to 9 El Diablo Dance with Matt Muñoz.9 to 10 Negative Vibrations with Ian.10 to Midnight I Want You to Know ‘Halloween’.”[FX: Whisper: “Sleep all day… party all night…” layered under wind]“Tune in if you dare — All halloween day!101.9 FM Santa Carla, 92.9 FM Los Gatos, 91.1 FM Portland. KPCR… from the flames of hell… straight to your radio.”

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So, my nocturnal companions, before the sun dares stain the horizon, we begin our descent into the strange and the spirited.At the ungodly hour of seven to nine A.M., Middagh Goodwin emerges from his shadowed vault, dragging behind him a crypt brimming with horns. He calls this fiendish spectacle This is Skalloween—a resurrection of rhythm and the bounciest grave you’ll ever fall into.Imagine, if you can, the unholy union of a trombone section and the undead sharing a breakfast burrito at dawn. The result, dear listener, is pure ska necromancy.Middagh Goodwin conducts the horns of the damned with ghostly precision, his soul aflame, his fedora haunted by secrets best left unspoken.This is Skalloween—where even the dead can’t resist the upstroke.

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And then, my fiends… the true horror seeps in.From 9 to 11 A.M., our familiar lost boys — David and Michael — rise again for Santa Carla Radio.Two hours of 1987 Goth and Alt anthems… bands with more eyeliner than sense, and hearts as black as midnight.Ah, what’s that? A scream? Fear not — it’s only young Laddie… he frightens so easily before noon.Just remember, if you find anything wriggling on your plate… they’re only worms, Michael.These boys spin vinyl that sleeps in coffins… and their voices echo longer than your hangover.

Vincent P

By eleven o’clock, if you’ve survived the anthems, a darker specter takes the wheel. Chelsea Gods emerges—no seatbelts, no mercy, only horror. The hour is called We Are in Hell, and it is well named. Here, political horror and real-world nightmares intertwine, revealing that the vilest monsters do not hide beneath beds—they haunt the corridors of power. The White House ghouls still roam, their pale hands clutching at the pulse of the living, their shadows stretching far beyond the Potomac. Their appetites, as always, are endless. Welcome, my fiends, to We Are in Hell. [FX: Ocean waves roll in,wolf howls inthe distance, faint laughter under fog]

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When the clock tolls twelve, the mortal sun may reign above… yet here, upon Pirate Cat Radio, the shadows remain sovereign. The hour belongs to Sleep All Day, Party All Night, Never Grow Old, Never Die — a most exquisite paradox of the living and the damned. Your host, the enigmatic DJ Jeff, curates a requiem of eternity: spectral melodies, forbidden remixes, and songs too stubborn to perish. Each note rises from its vinyl tomb to waltz once more beneath the crimson glare of the sun.And should your record collection predate your landlord, take solace, dear listener… for you are among immortals. Here, even the music itself… refuses the grave.” [FX: Ocean waves roll in, carnival organ hums, thunder cracks, faint laughter under fog]

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From two until four, the fog drifts in from the restless sea… and with it, the beguiling Gianna takes her place at the helm. Her broadcast, Wax and Wane, is a séance of sound—an invocation of the true post-punk spirits. The ethereal lament of the Cocteau Twins, the haunting elegance of Siouxsie, and the shimmering darkness that clings to every trembling note. The undertow here in Santa Carla is treacherous, my dear listener… so hold fast, lest the tide pull you beneath its melancholy waves forever. It’s a playlist with fangs. One slip and you’re spiral-dancing into the twilight, unsure if you’re waking up or winding down. Maybe both. I always mix that up, was it dark before the Twins or after? It really doesn’t matter.

Vincent P

[FX: Ocean waves roll in, carnival organ hums, thunder cracks, faint laughter under fog] By four o’clock, the tempo quickens and the pulse of the undead begins to race.The KPCR crew bursts forth with Alive and Kicking—a tempest of rhythm and rebellion.The air crackles with adrenaline and the clang of guitars, each chord a cry of defiance against the grave.The pier itself trembles beneath their fury—like an earthquake dressed in black denim and Doc Martens.The energy soars, the hooks shimmer, but beware…for on this station, even the brightest melody bares its fangs.

Vincent P

[FX: Ocean waves roll in, carnival organ hums, thunder cracks, faint laughter under fog] As the clock strikes six, thunder rumbles over Santa Carla, and deep within his shadowed laboratory, Doctor Dilworth throws the switch.Bolts of sound arc across the night sky as Darque Party 1987 comes to life — his latest and most dangerous creation.With trembling hands and maniacal delight, the Doctor revives the ghosts of Goth and New Wave, stitching together melodies from the bones of the 1980s.Synths crackle like electricity through a corpse, drums pound like a frantic heart unwilling to stay still in its grave, and somewhere in the dark… something begins to dance.Beware, my fiends — Darque Party 1987 is alive… alive!”

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[FX: Ocean waves roll in, carnival organ hums, thunder cracks, faint laughter under fog] And then, as the clock creeps toward eight, the air grows warm… unnaturally warm.From the depths of the night, Matt Muñoz conjures El Diablo Dance—a spectral Latin mix pulsing with rhythm from the shadows and heat from the grave.Beware, my fiends, for his records summon creatures most fear to name—the Chupacabra, slinking through the dark in search of a final feast…El Cucuy, whispering from the corners of your room, eager to claim the sleepless.The percussion quickens, the horns wail like banshees under a blood moon…and if your hips do not move, take care—it may be because you’re already six feet beneath the dance floor.El Diablo Dance—where even the dead cannot resist the beat.

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And as the ninth hour tolls, the last light dies upon the boardwalk.The fog thickens, the tide falls silent, and from the darkness, Ian emerges to command Negative Vibrations.Here, the air trembles with industrial ghosts and fevered machines—each feedback loop a cry from the underworld.The sound seeps through the speakers, into your walls, beneath your skin… infecting your soul in the worst way possible.Turn the lights down low—lower still—and pray the hum you hear is only the music.For once Negative Vibrations begins… nothing human remains untouched.

Vincent P

And now, my dear, delirious listeners… the hour grows perilously late.If you still draw breath by ten o’clock, steel your nerves for the grand finale of our Halloween broadcast — I Want You to Know ‘Halloween’.The incomparable Nero Nava presides over this final descent, guiding you through the last corridor of night as the fog thickens and the boardwalk falls silent.The air crackles with haunted frequencies; each one a whisper from the other side, rattling the bones of the sleepless.Time slips, shadows breathe, and soon you’ll wonder whether you’re hearing a program… or a possession.So listen closely, my fiends…for this is I Want You to Know ‘Halloween’ — where Nero Nava commands the darkness, and the signal itself refuses to die.”

Vincent P

And so, my dear creatures of the night, as the laughter fades and the static begins to settle, our preview draws to its wicked end. But do not rest easy — for tomorrow, the signal awakens in full.Santa Carla Radio returns… KPCR’s all-Halloween-day special, rising once more from the crypt to claim the airwaves. From 7 A.M. until midnight, the boardwalk will tremble, the fog will whisper, and the lost will sing again. Tune in, if you dare — on air and online — at 101.9 FM in Santa Carla, 92.9 FM in Los Gatos, and 91.1 FM in Portland. Santa Carla Radio, [FX: Ocean waves roll in, carnival organ hums, thunder cracks, faint laughter under fog] KPCR — From the flames of hell… straight to your radio. keep your dial steady, your windows locked, and your heart prepared for what waits beyond the static. Tomorrow, my fiends… we begin.