In her excellent new book, Live from the Underground, Katherine Rye Jewell demonstrates how a few thousand hobbyists and self-described outsiders navigated technological changes, government (de-)regulation, and bare-knuckle political and economic battles to forge the sound of a generation. Most impressively, these cultural revolutionaries—many of them still teenagers—did it while sitting alone, often stoned, in soundproof rooms. In a three-part narrative, Jewell documents the origins of college radio’s countercultural reputation, and more generally “the paradoxes of higher education’s evolving role in US political and cultural life at the end of the century” (p. 5).

Part 1 begins in the 1930s, when college radio was a purely educational endeavor, one of many New Deal innovations “to enable mass democracy, inspire an enlightened citizenry, and promote cultural pluralism” (p. 6). But Jewell’s real interest is in the 1970s, when a combination of factors—including the corporate consolidation of commercial radio and the recording industry, rising standards of professionalization on the public airwaves, and (chafing against both of them) increased autonomy for student DJs and programmers—shaped college radio into a space for “alternative” music (p. 18). “Alternative” is one of several phrases that Jewell employs both literally and figuratively across the book. Another is “left of the dial” (p. 19). In very concrete terms, college radio was an “alternative” to the repetitive playlists of pop hits on commercial radio, and Jewell spends a great deal of time following internal debates over how much eclecticism (and profanity) listeners were likely to tolerate on local college stations. Likewise, college radio was on the “left of the dial” because most stations broadcasted in the lower frequencies, and on this and other subjects including wattage, broadcast range, and licensing requirements, Jewell offers impressive technical discussions. But there is a certain coyness here that goes largely unremarked. More than anything, “alternative” and “left” were emerging as cultural markers, a highly self-conscious but vaguely defined sense of cool, anti-establishment authenticity for a generation of listeners for whom protest was more diffuse than it had been during the Vietnam era. The subsequent political dynamics are not wholly surprising, although they are a welcome contribution to the economic and cultural historiography of postindustrial America. The distinctly original and interesting concern of the book, which Jewell hints at but rarely names, is how these dynamics were shaped aurally by otherwise anonymous tastemakers who drew on reserves of stubborn disaffection, edgy entitlement, and a deep impatience with bullshit. To put it plainly: This is perhaps the most Gen X history ever written.

In parts 2 and 3, Jewell describes alternative music’s role in the political struggles of the 1980s and 1990s, when mainstream rock maintained a “rebellious image but generally mild sound” and college radio was the only place where one could find “any challenging sound or political content” (p. 181). Jewell notes that campus broadcasters were known for “supporting progressive politics, activist groups, and politically charged musicians—often anti-Reagan hardcore punks,” although she concedes that “no one model, and certainly no singular ‘sound’ or political identity, defined college radio” (pp. 180-81). Simply by foregrounding battles between ideological or cultural foes, campus broadcasters “served as sites of the complicated culture wars of the era” (p. 181) as they strove to combine musical innovation with information about “campus affairs and wider political news” (p. 184). Unfortunately, stations were also caught on the horns of the classic liberal dilemma: that of balancing individual freedoms (particularly freedoms of speech and conscience) with collective calls for social justice. In this case, how were DJs supposed to stay neutral on moral issues such as South African apartheid, the Ku Klux Klan, and anti-war demonstrations? There were predictable attempts to police content from off campus (patriots, prudes, and Tipper Gore all make appearances), but the predecessors of our own era’s “cancel culture” originated with student groups themselves. For example, in 1988 Vanderbilt’s radio station hosted a call-in radio segment with KKK members as guests, which the station manager intended as a challenge to the school’s ongoing racism (an opportunity “to ‘provide an open forum’ and raise awareness”) but which drew criticism from Vanderbilt’s Black Student Union (p. 188). There were also objections to songs like The Cure’s “Killing an Arab” (p. 182), in which protesters invoked identitarian concerns regardless of the actual content or context of the songs, anticipating subsequent waves of “political correctness.”

Jewell also discusses economic tensions between college radio stations, which depended on independent record labels for new promotional releases, and the labels themselves, which were struggling against industry consolidation and wanted more guarantees of profit for airplay. It is a mark of their success that the stations won these showdowns and rejected subscription fees. Indeed, as Jewell notes, “college radio developed real power in the music industry and grabbed national attention as the place where new artists could break through to the mainstream” (p. 140). Readers of a certain age will be delighted to come across all the acts that got their break on college radio, from R.E.M. and Tom Waits to Public Enemy and the Violent Femmes. However, while “conglomerations of ‘bored and frustrated white kids’ built stacks of records that channeled their ennui and anger into market power,” they were also flirting with the cardinal sin of youth music: selling out (p. 140). By the 1990s, Jewell writes, “as the ‘alternative’ network that had launched Nirvana became the target of corporate suits, the term [alternative] morphed into a corporate brand and radio format that muddied its meaning” (p. 305).

All the same, Jewell affirms “the reputation [that] college radio built in the 1980s and 1990s as the place where exciting new music could find an audience, cross over, and shape popular culture” (p. 364). College radio shifted from being a “symbol of the public sphere and national voice [that was] supported by higher education’s dedication to the pursuit of knowledge” to a site of “struggle over the sound of America,” with sharp generational, racial, and class divides (p. 365). Her conclusion is both comprehensive and timely. With the United States engulfed in constant culture wars, understanding the influential power of prominent media helps us reflect on the sources of our beliefs, not only about politics but also about beauty and belonging. In that sense, as Jewell states early in the book, “college radio’s contested landscape reveals competing visions for how to open the public square and realize the promises of a democratic society” (p. 11).

Live from the Underground should appeal to academic historians, general readers, and music lovers alike. Readers will enjoy the transcribed playlists that Jewell includes under chapter headings, and some may compare the record collection on the cover with their own. To truly appreciate the texture of Jewell’s argument, however, the best idea might be to wait until dark and cue up Dire Straits, The Smiths, or Gloria Gaynor in the background.