In the Mountain's commercials and promo spots, the station is portrayed as nothing less than a transcendent, primitive, spiritual force -- not some tawdry way to deliver customers to advertisers. And while that may be a stretch, as the only commercial rock station to take a sincere interest in music over demographics, the Mountain has done something that non-believers thought impossible: It's kicked ass. Much of the station's success, and its good ratings, can be tagged to afternoon DJ Pete MacKay, who mans the drive-time shift and spins amazingly diverse, music-loving sets that vary wildly from day to day and hour to hour. Like most Mountain DJs, MacKay knows his stuff, from the Fab Four to the Four Tops, Marvin Gaye to Bob Marley, Elvis Presley to Elvis Costello. Witty and urbane, MacKay has an on-air persona that's casual, and his selections are accessible. More adventurous listeners will appreciate his trips to the archives, when he pulls deep album cuts and obscure singles. Tune in and turn on; you won't want to drop out.
Someone on the planet may know more about rock and roll than Raechel Donahue, but it's doubtful. Because her husband, the late Tom Donahue, gave birth to the FM-radio revolution in the '60s in San Francisco, she's been on the front lines of the movement since before the beginning. And her presence on the staff of L.A.'s KROQ in the '80s, when it was establishing the blueprint for modern rock broadcasting, gives her firsthand knowledge of another important period in pop-music history. She shares this collected wisdom weeknights on the Mountain, transcending nostalgia to make the songs she plays seem as vibrant as they did on the day they were made.
Someone on the planet may know more about rock and roll than Raechel Donahue, but it's doubtful. Because her husband, the late Tom Donahue, gave birth to the FM-radio revolution in the '60s in San Francisco, she's been on the front lines of the movement since before the beginning. And her presence on the staff of L.A.'s KROQ in the '80s, when it was establishing the blueprint for modern rock broadcasting, gives her firsthand knowledge of another important period in pop-music history. She shares this collected wisdom weeknights on the Mountain, transcending nostalgia to make the songs she plays seem as vibrant as they did on the day they were made.


Subjects of stories with something to hide had better hope they don't receive a phone call from David Migoya, because he's the journalistic equivalent of a stalker, pursuing every stray fact until he makes it his own. His reports about the meatpacking industry have been some of the most comprehensive -- and disturbing -- to have appeared about any subject in years, and they seemed particularly prescient when the mad-cow scare broke a few months later. He's equally strong when it comes to long-term projects and breaking news. Migoya's byline spells trouble -- but in a good way.
Subjects of stories with something to hide had better hope they don't receive a phone call from David Migoya, because he's the journalistic equivalent of a stalker, pursuing every stray fact until he makes it his own. His reports about the meatpacking industry have been some of the most comprehensive -- and disturbing -- to have appeared about any subject in years, and they seemed particularly prescient when the mad-cow scare broke a few months later. He's equally strong when it comes to long-term projects and breaking news. Migoya's byline spells trouble -- but in a good way.
The transfer of Dick Kreck, Bill Husted's longtime cohort, to a relatively low-profile gig covering local TV and radio, means the Post's two-headed gossip monster is down one cranium, and that's a shame. Fortunately, Husted should be able to keep Denver in dish all by himself. He's a professional eavesdropper from the old school: snippy, bitchy and in love with celebrity and sensation. Nobody in town does superficiality like big Bill -- and in this day and age, such silliness is more important than ever.
The transfer of Dick Kreck, Bill Husted's longtime cohort, to a relatively low-profile gig covering local TV and radio, means the Post's two-headed gossip monster is down one cranium, and that's a shame. Fortunately, Husted should be able to keep Denver in dish all by himself. He's a professional eavesdropper from the old school: snippy, bitchy and in love with celebrity and sensation. Nobody in town does superficiality like big Bill -- and in this day and age, such silliness is more important than ever.


Conservatives may despise Mike Littwin, but they continue to read him -- a tribute not to his politics, but to his writing. Littwin's able to combine thoughtfulness with humor under the most unlikely of circumstances, and he's a fine observer. That's why he's become the Rocky's go-to guy, jetting off to parts unknown whenever the need arises. He sees the world in a fresh way and is able to translate his vision into print.
Conservatives may despise Mike Littwin, but they continue to read him -- a tribute not to his politics, but to his writing. Littwin's able to combine thoughtfulness with humor under the most unlikely of circumstances, and he's a fine observer. That's why he's become the Rocky's go-to guy, jetting off to parts unknown whenever the need arises. He sees the world in a fresh way and is able to translate his vision into print.


The joint operating agreement's most amusing development? A great Sunday comics section. See ya in the funny pages.

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