Roxy
Monday – Friday: 1pm-5pm
Saturday: 6am-12pm
Roxy rules the overnight airwaves Monday through Friday from midnight to 6am (aka “the witching hours for rock degenerates”), plus Saturdays 5am–10am — before anyone respectable is awake. Fueled by adventure, mischief, and a healthy amount of sarcasm… sometimes she skips the sarcasm and just causes problems on purpose.
Her first album? Presidents of the United States of America — which tells you she was always destined for a slightly chaotic life soundtrack. First concert? Marilyn Manson, because nothing says “I’m built different” like starting your concert career with eyeliner smears, shock value, and mild emotional scarring. Just ask about Manson spitting on her, traumatizing.
The band that dragged her straight into rock? Guns N’ Freakin’ Roses. specifically Appetite for Destruction. “Welcome to the Jungle” didn’t just open the door — it kicked it off the hinges and invited her inside.
Ask her for one underrated rock band and she’ll laugh in your face. She refuses to choose — because picking only one is how you end up with a mutiny. She’ll champion Nothing More, Dirty Honey, Blacktop Mojo, Sleep Theory, Melrose Avenue, Ashes to Eden, Ashes to New, Point North, and whoever else she can list before someone forces her to stop. Picking a single favorite? That’s how you get cursed.
Her favorite rock anthem? She declines the question entirely. Some choices are too sacred, too vast, too playlist-shattering to pick just one.
If she could interview any legend, she’s choosing Sister Rosetta Tharpe, the original guitar goddess and criminally underrated queen of rock & roll, the original trailblazer shredding her Gibson Les Paul before it was cool (or legal in some circles). Roxy would happily spend hours talking about riffs, roots, religion, rebellion, and everything in between.
Snack time is sacred, and Roxy does it right: swirled cherry-blue raspberry slushees and warm salted pretzel bites dipped in cheese. If you hear her in a strangely good mood at 4am, assume carbs are involved. Like any true mischief maker, she runs on sugar, salt, carbs, and questionable decisions.
Off the mic, Roxy entertains herself by driving the Boss Man crazy — a full-time hobby — and moonlighting as a photographer… which conveniently gives her access to secret corners, late-night events, and blackmail-grade candids.
Her guilty pleasure artists (that aren’t even guilty): Barns Courtney, Marc Broussard, and John Moreland, because sometimes a girl needs feelings, falsettos, and soulful vocals.
If she weren’t in radio, she knows exactly what she’d be doing: being spoiled. No hesitation. No explanation needed.
Listeners love teasing her about her obsession with terrible dad jokes — the more groan-worthy, the more she loves them. Eye rolls are her love language. If you hear groaning down the hallway, Roxy is near.
Her favorite local venue is Vinyl Music Hall, where great bands, good crowds, and loud nights all collide.
And her life philosophy? Straight from Willy Wonka — the patron saint of whimsical chaos:
“We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams.”