I don't understand why Salon would want to promote such a radio station. I can read paeans to cultural mediocrity in every corporate-run media outlet under the sun. Does Salon exist to write about the same crap as everyone else, but with more sass and a guilt complex? How about an article about some of the excellent independent or college-associated radio stations that can be found throughout the country? Independent journalism should know its friends, and robot DJs controlled by Infinity Broadcasting aren't among them.

If this writer was kidding: she's brilliant.

If she was serious; I would have loved to have been at the pitch meeting for the piece. This is the "Big Lie" marketing vehicle honed to perfection.

The marketing task is: how do we leverage market research and empty air into a profit? The answer is of course as old as the hills. Make it about sex. That's easy to say. Hard to do. There is no sex here. So we better create some. She did it.

Either way---writing so good that it's kind of frightening.

I find it revealing that as of 48 hours after this piece was posted, none of the Editor's Choice letters reflects the strongly voiced opinion that Salon essentially had no business running the article to start with.

What gives, eds?

When we moved to Vancouver -- two years ago today, in fact -- Jack was the sound of the city. From the very first day, we newcomers couldn't miss it: every car, every store, every restaurant, everywhere you went -- everybody listened to Jack. The kids loved it. The grandparents loved it. It was so raw and funky. There was absolutely something for everyone. And on any given Jack-listening day, I could count on hearing one or two songs I'd never heard before, which would send me scrambling to iTunes to catch them for my own before they got away.

And, I swear I remember this (though somebody will surely correct me if I'm wrong): Jack used to have live DJs. The Voice of Jack did station promos and those funny segues; but there were real local people doing the heavy lifting, making the show work. One got the impression these boys and girls really *did* play pretty much what they wanted, which is what made the whole thing sound so alive.

Then, sometime later in 2004, there came the announcement in the paper that Infinity was changing the format and rolling it out to other cities. The live DJs were fired. The playlist grew far more narrow, and less off-the-wall. (The old Jack would have played Billy Joel only rarely, and even then with its tongue firmly in cheek.) Within a few months, the sound of Jack, which has been as ubiquitous and permeating in the Vancouver atmosphere as the rain, was heard far less often as the hip and trendy let go and moved on.

Y'all got what was left once the format had been thoroughly passed through the corporate digestive tract. It's still, y'no, nice -- better than top 40 on most days, but definitely less interesting than what's on my iPod.

Thanks for covering this. It's actually the first time in the two years since emigrating that I've felt nostalgic remembering something good here that's been and gone. I guess that means that I'm officially not a newcomer any more.

Here in radio-wasteland, ie Sacramento, Jack is omnipresent, and I hate him.

I don't want my radio to be a computer. I don't want radio to be my ipod. I want radio to be radio, even with the ads, with live people who talk & occasionally annoy you but maybe turn you on to some good new music, or some corny old music that you didn't know about. Radio has to be about people at some basic level. It should be able to connect with you. Jack should be your worst enemy.

I shudder to think that there are people out there who AREN'T making an effort to find better radio, who are dancing along with Jack instead of shouting "WTF?"

Jack doesn't wear Obsession. He wears Old-Spice & pomade. He's clammy, he wears jogging suits and it's the stack of pornos by his side in that tiny little room that's inspiring his sexy little playlist. Jack is desperate. Jack is lonely. Jack is a goddamn joke.

Radio doesn't deserve the kind of scorn that Jack amounts to.