Everyone knows the poor state of the music industry. Plummeting sales, widespread disaffection, generally lousy products. Sadly, radio— Marconi’s once world-uniting gadget— has followed the big music labels down the rat hole. From pre-programmed set lists to Clear Channel’s gluttonous consolidation, let’s face it: a trip down the FM dial is the aural equivalent of a visit to your local strip mall. Maybe on a sufficient dose of sodium pentathol, I would confess that the new Maroon 5 song is a bit catchy, or even that I admire Justin Timberlake’s dance moves. But mostly FM’s sonic fare is no more nourishing than a chalupa. And don’t even get me started on AM Radio. That horrorshow is just plain Satanic.

Even if Congress caves to industry pressure and kills internet radio, there will continue to be, for some of us, an alternative to commercial radio’s Morgan Spurlock diet for the ears, especially here in the Bay Area: the tried-and-true college radio station. Here in the city, the University of San Francisco’s KUSF is probably the best known. Stanford has one down in Palo Alto. And at least three or four junior colleges around the bay have stations, too. The only straight jazz station left in the region transmits from the College of San Mateo. (Don’t talk to me about so-called smooth jazz; the term is an oxymoron and the genre is Muzak-style pabulum.) But being a UC Berkeley alum, and admittedly biased toward all things Golden Bear, I believe the best of the bunch can be found down your dial at 90.7. That’s right: “The mighty, mighty KALX.”

For several years, I was trapped in a job in Berkeley. KALX and its stable of strange and wonderful disc jockeys sustained me. Most of the time, I actually liked the songs they played, but even if I didn’t, I was still thankful that I’d never heard them before and probably would never hear them again. Just so long as I didn’t have to hear “Dude Looks like a Lady” for the ten-thousandth time or “Like a Rock” (either on a record or a commercial) for the hundred-thousandth. And the DJs had such great call names, like “Meaty Paws” and “Cathode Ray” and “Sex for Teens.” One of my favorites called himself “Charley Varrick.” For years, I just assumed that was his real name and he couldn’t be bothered coming up with a catchy sobriquet. Then, to my delight, I found out it was actually the title of mediocre Walter Matthau movie!

KALX and other great college or community radio stations redeem radio by making it what it should be: a creative medium where real DJs play what they want. Sometimes their shows are slick, seamless and genre specific. Sometimes they’re batshit crazy, with a Finnish death metal song squeezed between the Fat Boys and something from the soundtrack of an early Ingmar Bergman film. But at least they’re original, a far cry from the repetitive, premasticated slough festering on the rest of the dial.

Wherever you are, I pray you enjoy continued access to internet radio or, in lieu of that, to a genuine radio-wave alternative like KALX. Spin down to the small digits on your dial sometime and find out.