DIALATED PUPILS

This show is like finding a ten-dollar bill on the sidewalk, only more satisfying because you don't have to do any stooping. More like having a servant do it for you. It would bring me great pleasure to be just that. Your servant. At least for 2 hours, anyways. This is the show that the witches of the North, South, East, and West discuss when they meet for their Saturday lunch. You may have observed The Wicked Witch of the East, having had her usual one too many gin fizz's, confiding to the other Witches that she's a longtime Les Baxter fan. They cluck their tongues but silently they are agreeing with her, relieved to know that they're not alone. They then go their separate ways so that they can listen to my show in peace, and sober up.

Anyways they, like you, have often speculated as to the nature of the leg-work involved in bringing you the recordings heard on this show. But never, never would they believe the sort of grim machinations which routinely go on: the slimy waterfront warehouses at midnight, the plotting, the way I casually gambled my life for my 100th mambo record. Hawaiian 78's are fought over like so much jeweled statuary. A Yusef Lateef LP disappears. Sitars are strummed, or plucked, or something.

But this is unnecessary. You, the listener, really don't need to know about any of the teeth-gnashing and tawdry business that goes on behind the scenes of Dial-ated Pupils. Just rest assured that I will be there, short-of-breath, every Saturday, to triumphantly dish up 2 hours of the most obscure, unusual, exotic, and far-flung-iest sounds ever committed to record.