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Well, Originally the name came from a declaration by Frank Zappa, on the back cover of Uncle Meat. It was the ugliest radio in the factory where I was working at the time. I dragged it everywhere I went and was in love with the way it could play two cassette tapes simultaneously. Music just seemed so much less limited when you could combine seemingly disparate elements together into a exciting new composition.
But it was a hazardous and hostile work place, so after a short time the little radio took quite a beating and as was often the case in that factory, there were a lot of radios floating around that belonged to no one or nobody could remember who brought them in the first place. These communal radios drifted around the plant and started to camouflage themselves into the background, thanks to airborne pollutants and the daily grime of the sweatshop. They had a beat up appearance and often had cassette doors broken off, wire hangers for antennas or were duct-taped back into working order. Often they looked like the factory machine they were resting on or were in the middle of some bizarre process of merging with the grime, dust and wiring, in a barnacle-like fashion. You didn’t see them, but rather heard them playing past the point of distortion in a vain attempt to be heard over the pounding and screeching of the machinery. Every work station had it’s own radio, each on a different channel. On the night shift the factory became an industrial symphony, tuning up for the opening of the gates of hell.
Sure wish I’d taped it.






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