A proposal to limit community DJs on Vanderbilt's WRVU triggers an avalanche of anger—but the air may be clearing

Most any night, a Nashvillian can venture onto the neatly managed lawns of the Vanderbilt campus and hear anything from a talk by internationally renowned scholars to a Survivor alum discussing racial stereotypes. But the one facet of Vanderbilt that is most easily, most often and most widely heard outside the confines of West End/Hillsboro/Blakemore is the school's radio station, WRVU 91.1 FM. It's an institution in the local music scene. No other Vanderbilt program reflects and shapes Nashville's cultural landscape the way 91 Rock does, or involves the surrounding community to the same degree.

So many Nashvillians were shocked to hear that, as of spring semester 2010, the station would be cutting that community participation in half.

On Nov. 11, the Scene received an email sent to the station's listserv by Mikil Taylor, the Vanderbilt student who serves as WRVU general manager. The station has always occupied a unique position in Nashville radio. Its loose, noncommercial format allows it to play music that can't be heard anywhere else in Music City—anything from local punk/noise bands starved for exposure to 75-year-old blues and gospel recordings. Its staff is just as unconventional. Its hosts have ranged from Ken Berryhill, a septuagenarian country-music enthusiast, to a Spanish grad student turned honky-tonker named Cowboy Anton. Even on Vanderbilt's rarefied soil, a compelling cross-section of the city has passed through 91's doors, from rap kids to civic leaders.

Most of the time, the station has managed to fulfill its chief purpose—to provide training and enrichment for VU students—while opening the slots they don't fill to community (or "non-affiliate") DJs. Those DJs traditionally provide some of the station's best programming, such as Randy Fox's Hipbilly Jamboree honky-tonk show or Mary Mancini and Freddie O'Connell's influential public-affairs call-in Liberadio(!).

That's why it came as a loud needle scratch when Taylor's email announced that the board of Vanderbilt Student Communications—the independent body that owns WRVU and other campus media properties—had decided by a vote of 7-1 to limit the community DJs' involvement to just 25 per semester, or roughly half the current number. Whether they'd been on 91 Rock for a day or a decade, community DJs who wished to be considered for the remaining slots were instructed to apply by Dec. 4.

The announcement sent shockwaves through the WRVU community. An entry posted that day on the Scene's music blog Nashville Cream ("Number of WRVU community DJs capped at 25," Nov. 11) amped up the tremors when Taylor explained his decision by email.

"There has never been a guarantee for any community DJ's participation at WRVU, under the previous or current board rule," Taylor wrote. "The board has always made some exceptions for participation at WRVU, unlike any other Vanderbilt student media operation, to allow for some community participation. This change only puts a cap on the number of exceptions they can make."

Nevertheless, irate listeners, musicians and DJs all but drowned him out with invective, quickly pushing the ensuing thread past 100 comments. Their outrage was swift but not always deft. One commenter called Taylor a "kid on a power trip." Another referred to VSC board members simply as "fuckheads." Others called for a boycott of the station and an upcoming benefit concert at The End.

"I'm very excited to listen to more students stumbling through PSAs, mispronouncing every other word, talking too much, overplaying the latest Pitchfork sensations, and generally sucking balls," fumed a poster named Ryan. "Thanks, WRVU!"

But while some comments veered into ad hominem abuse, the emotions were real. They reflected genuine concern on the part of many in Nashville who felt the station would be irreparably harmed. Elsewhere, community DJs who did not want their names drawn into the debate (some out of fear of losing their shows) expressed their anxiety. In Twitter updates, several used the word "nauseous."

Faculty VSC board member Mark Wollaeger, an English professor who voted for the cap, braved the churning Cream comments section to defend the decision. "The primary mission of the station is to provide an opportunity for Vanderbilt students to learn how to be DJs," he wrote. "Does this mean that when push comes to shove that the training priority is more important than gaining new listeners and pleasing those already out there? To my mind, yes, absolutely."

Much of the current panic, however, involves precedent—both distant and recent. In 2003, the VSC board removed all community DJs from the station. One of those who lost his slot temporarily then was Doyle Davis, currently host of the revered D-Funk show and co-owner of Grimey's on Eighth Avenue. Back then, he says, the rationale revolved around liability.

"The board didn't know who the non-affiliated DJs were. They didn't even have names or contact info on some of them," Davis says. He notes that the information was readily available then, as now, from the show applications required of community DJs—"but that's what we were told. So we filled out applications and provided some detailed personal info like social security numbers. So I was a bit suspicious when liability issues were used again this time."