For 5 years, almost every Sunday night, we brought some of the greatest DJs in the world to our airwaves. From across the street, across the continent, and across the Atlantic they came to play. Each and every one of them played their heart out and did it for free. For 5 years, we poured our time, energy, and resources into New Detroit Radio.

We started off with little expectation. We weren’t looking for money or recognition or anything more than the satisfaction of participating in the experience. We got to play every week and got to hear amazing DJs spin the heart of our common love: electronic dance music. Within that mother genre, we presented artists of many diverse sub genre’s and styles every week. We were meeting and becoming friends with fantastic people.

We continued to reinvest time and money into the station. Our production value rivaled that of commercial, well-financed internet radio stations. Our pride in the show kept our standards high and people noticed. We had gotten to a major marker in our journey: well known DJs were asking to play the show. In our minds, that was a measure of respect we had worked for and hopefully earned.

We moved into a new house and built a new studio that brought us into a whole new era. We had all of the technical needs and all of the room to enjoy the broadcast to the fullest. Our guests were comfortable and the quality of the show had never been better. Also, for the first time, we had an outdoor space that allowed us to broadcast the show under the moonlight when weather permitted. This breathed new life into the show and Harley and I looked forward to every Sunday with anticipation.

The following summer, on the night of our first outdoor broadcast, we were visited by the police and told the next complaint would result in fines and possible jail time. We were forced back indoors to wile away the summer Sunday nights without that raw energy. It put quite a strain on us. While we were enjoying an excellent guest roster, we were cursing the four walls.

At the end of the second summer forced indoors, came an event that would be a catalyst to an end. Our landlord had finally, after 3 years of promises, decided to fix the roof. With as much luck as you might expect, they picked the wettest week of 2008. Band after band of hurricane induced rain storms inundated the half-fixed roof and effectively reduced Harley’s and my bedrooms into car washes. The living room wasn’t spared and Harley and I lost a majority of our personal possessions as water poured in through the falling ceilings. Oddly enough, the studio equipment was spared completely. Not a single drop made it to the basement. Our living space was effectively destroyed.

After 5 years, we had expected something a little more. We would have hoped to have a decent quantity of loyal and consistent listeners. We had expected to make some ripples in the pond. Maybe have some people want to advertise with us. The machine that we had built was ready to take on larger things and reach a larger crowd. Unfortunately, the silence was deafening. No one was knocking on our electronic doors. Our listenership had stagnated.

So, the catalyst of a destroyed living space brought all of this to the surface and it became quite obvious we had reached an end. I moved in with the friend that had put me up while the house was falling apart. Harley found a place closer to his family. Without a common space and a easily accessible studio, we knew we couldn’t maintain the station. All of the sudden… there was no more Sunday Night Live. There was no more NDR. Again… the silence was deafening. No phone calls or emails wondering what happened. No one posting anything on message boards or contacting us in any way. 5 years later, we go out quietly.

To those who supported: we are eternally grateful.

To those who listened: scrape away any veneer and you’ll see that it was all for you.

And with all that fun shit said… this is Doc… and we are outta here…..