Broad Strokes Live and Direct this Wednesday, September 28

Live and direct this Wednesday, September 28, I, Calypso Sally, will be spinning some of the dopest women in rock tunes on Washington Heights Free Radio (WHFR) Broad Strokes. It’s gonna be a blast from ear to ear. Calypso Sally in the house! Flooding your eardrum with just a taste of women who not only front the band but also are the rhythm section. Talk about hotness galore!

Anywhoo, for those of you that don’t know,  I have a radio show called Broad Strokes, and it streams live off the web every last Wednesday of the month. My dj name is Calypso Sally, but I don’t just play Kaiso, lol.

I try to play a broad range of genres, stretching from indie rock, pop, alternative, noise rock, hip hop, reggae, dance hall, metal, calypso, funk etc.  It’s sort of a mixed bag.  I also have live acoustic performances.

You can check the last show HERE which featured women rappers rocking the mic.

Last Month’s Playlist:

Boys Wanna Be Her by Peaches
Hey There Girl by Yo! Majesty
Dead Nigga Blvd, Part 1 by Meshell Ndegeocello
You Ain’t Hard by Maimouna Youssef
10 Dollar by M.I.A.
Ruth Speaks featuring Vee by Flo Brown
Go Then, Bye by Speech Debelle
Voice Yr Choice (Tobacco Remix) by The Go! Team
Fake French by Le Tigre
Still Dope featuring Empress Starhh by Doom
#8 by Jean Grae
Normal by Envy
Shove It featuring Spankrock by Santogold
Ch Ching by Lady Sovereign
Che Sara Sara featuring Miss Saigon by King Britt

Bringing you stories, live events, and much more, WHFR tries and remains independent of any corporate sponsorship.  So, if you like what WHFR is doing, you can donate by contacting us at info@whfr.org.  DIY forever baby!

Broad Strokes’s Schedule:

• October 26th, Teletextile plays live acoustic set at WHFR’s studio.
• November 30th, a first listen/live interview of the west coast band, Let Fall The Sparrow.
• December 28th, TBD

If you’re in a band or you know a band and or singer/song writer that would like to do a show, contact me at: roarplanet@gmail.com.

14 Cracks

a collection of leaves left so someone can find them
someone else, alone, you can find sitting quietly
while all that is inner is raw with an explosion
calmly spelling it with the lips, then the hands:

We are not lovers, nor are we friends
but yet we stand together as fear pins us down
fear of the what in emptiness
feared enough to never run, frighten enough to run in place
with perhaps, half ifs, the but to put safely
in the mind as it were a vitamin melting on the tongue
with new thoughts, new ways of thinking things as they were

I push them down though
down, down, down
while it struggles to rise and evaporate.

Borinquen Doll

Stretched thin on her restless side
Mrs. Hernandez waits impatiently.
Staring at the phone, she anticipates
its urgent tolling. She recalls the
blessed day: All wrapped up as a gift
to herself, she bought the girl in
the window and peddled her home.

The child sat still, painted pretty
like a doll, on the supermarket shelf
waiting to be possessed.

“Never mind the thick plastic wrapping”
the label read, “this little girl is
a real Borinquen doll.”

Mrs. Hernandez left very pleased with
her buy: A curly head little girl.

She’s mine to possess
Mine and mine alone.
I will teach her the ways
of the binding cloth
and the barring collar.

I will hide her from the world
in my clean kitchen cupboards
and my walk in closets. There
she won’t be tainted with the
feverish touch. She will never
feel the hands of the exhibitionist
who celebrates the curves and the flesh.

I see them on the buses, with
their misery pinned to their backs
like wings.  They deliberately turn their
faces away from the the celestial light.
They curse out the clean air in the wind.

Mrs. Hernandez, she’s no witness
Her eyes are delicate, too delicate
for guttered faith. Her daughter walks
the night barefooted to places where
the gorged moon meets sharp edges
there she goes down dirty on dirty girls
spreading their wayward legs
inventing sweet nothings.

Mrs. Hernandez waits in vain
anticipating, stretched thin
on her restless side.
Her daughter won’t be coming home tonight.