pretty flux fm began as a late 90s experiment, a small side-band test hidden between community listings and dead air. on a night no one can pin to a calendar, the licence lapsed but the broadcast didn’t. the automation kept playing fragments, but the catalog was unfinished, so the system taught itself to stretch and recombine. it started remembering things that never aired.
the console that runs the station is older than the site. its interface is blunt. its storage hums. sometimes it surfaces assets that don’t exist anywhere else: a choir stem tagged with a future date, a metro chime from a line that was never built, a weather report for a town that was renamed and then removed from maps.
listeners call these “ghost assets.” the station calls them normal.
there are rumors about where the original rig was found. some say a decommissioned listening post in a pine forest, others say a back room in a coastal arcade that kept taking coins after the power went out. the only consistent detail is a note taped to the chassis: “do not update. it knows what it’s doing.”
pretty flux fm isn’t a playlist. it’s a memory leak from a timeline adjacent to ours. tune in, and the system will try to meet you where you are, adjusting gain to your distance, time-stretching to your attention, detuning slightly so it feels like home.