August 29, 2003. Since 1995, fbi (Free Broadcast Inc) Radio 94.5FM has been broadcast on special occasions, in unlikely places. From an empty shop next to the Clock Hotel in Surry Hills, on milk crates in a caravan in Bondi Beach, or above a suckling pig restaurant on George Street. However, after over six years of lobbying and fundraising, the fbi Idols — Sarah Blasko, Dave McCormack, Spod, Tony Buchen, Upshot, and Front-End Loader performed to a packed foyer at the fbi headquarters. Their live cover of ‘Turn Up Your Radio’; by the Master's Apprentices was the first song to be broadcast on air and was immortalised on FBI 94.5FM Presents: Kill Your Idols (2003) a compilation of 21 songs (many of which were only demos), that encapsulated the Sydney scene at the time.

Cover of *Fbi Radio Presenets: Kill Your Idols* (2003)

Dan Zilber, Music Director 2003-14:

The Kill Your Idols one, was I think right at that peak kind of indie dance. The artwork was all done by Levens, who was a long-term announcer, DJ, at fbi. He went through multiple different shows and was here from, like, literally day one. He was on air as an 18-year-old as the drive announcer. It was him and Linda Mariano who would go on to host mornings on Triple J for years. You know, he did the artwork and, it was very much a representation of that sort of indie-dance era.

I mean you look back through the track list and some of these bands or many of them, like, don't exist. Some of them only existed kind of in that moment, and then there's others here that kind of had long term careers, you know, over years. It’s kind of confronting, like the bands that were successful and could thrive for five, maybe even ten years, just don't exist anymore.

I think that's increasingly the case. Like, we have a very short shelf life in Australia for music, and that's not always the case everywhere in the world. A lot of other places have much bigger populations, but they also cater to older listeners. But you know, something that we got to really revel in was like youth culture and youth music.

But as I've gotten older, I've thought about, well, what are the pathways for, you know, for music, to exist beyond turning 30? But I would say that one of the, one of the sort of most significant moments, maybe on any of these compilations, but certainly on the Kill Your Idols one was the, the fbi Idols. But yeah, like, I mean, that, fbi Idol song that turn up your radio, that was just, that kind of became an anthem for me.

I don't know if it's still really used at the station, like this is the first thing ever broadcast. But you know, that's what happens over time. But I do think, you know, projects like this, where we're talking about the history, I think nostalgia is also a really useful tool for the station. Like we know that it's an 18 to 25-year-old youth station, but we also know that there are significant numbers of older listeners because they want something different or they, you know, the programming appeals to them for whatever reason.

Kill Your Idols is not an isolated artefact of Sydney music history. In the back of fbi radio headquarters, lies a treasure trove of Australian music that cannot be found elsewhere. fbi has accrued an inimitable collection of over 20,000 CDs. Next to the top dance release of 2014 is a demo by an office worker in a pub rock band that only ever recorded one single. Next to that is a collection of ambient beats made by a student in their bedroom, beside the blues singer that has been gracing Sydney stages for decades. Some of the CDs were donated by record labels, others from presenters’ personal collections, or even gifted by taxi drivers and strangers off the street. Each CD has been carefully archived with often handwritten descriptions for presenters. On each spine is a red, yellow or green sticker signifying whether an act is international, Australian, or a Sydneysider.

Having played full-time on air for over twenty years, fbi is the barometer of Sydney music. Located on Botany Road, Redfern, fbi sits on the borders of the CBD, connected to the diverse communities of the inner city, the inner west, and beyond. In a town trammelled by lock-out laws and continuous crackdowns, its sustenance on donations and fundraising drives is a testament to fbi’s vitality.

Take fbi’s mixtape: Stolen Records (2004). In the 2000s, commercial radio stations frowned upon music they called ‘rap crap’ - a vague, racially driven term to designate any music that vaguely fit into the genres of Hip Hop or RnB. Yet, with fbi’s mission to pioneer emerging culture, and the subaltern voices that subsequently defined that culture, no genre could be left unplayed. Despite the inevitable changes in fbi’s programming policy, it has always been rooted in the role of radio as a form of resistance; an amplifier of marginalised voices. In light of fbi’s diverse listenership, rap has always been an integral part of this. In 2004, Dan Zilber created the Stolen Records compilation, a key leaf in fbi’s project of anti-racism — the title deliberately evoking the political impetus of the tape.

Cassandra Wilkinson, President (1997-2021)

You know, actually when you think about most important CDs or most important albums, probably one of the standout records for me was when Dan Zilber did the first Hip Hop compilation. Dan pulled together an album which showcased a whole lot of artists, like Elephant Tracks, Earthboy, and Hilltop Hoods, I mean, I can't remember exactly who was in it. It was one of those records where it, you know, it's in, it seems crazy now, but that music was not getting played on the radio.

One of Triple M’s main ads would say that they play “no rap crap,” and Dan Zilber championed that ‘rap crap’ kind of stuff, because fbi is fbi. It meant he was championing local. You know, so I think a big part of the transition from deriding it as Hip Hop through to people. Like it's really at the centre of music today. I think Dan personally played a really pivotal role in that.

His understanding that he could build an audience for the fbi really led to pushing the culture in that direction. You know, you can never say how big a push that was, but he was there before anybody else, and that record came at a time when no other radio station was doing compilations of local rap music.

I mean, that was a mad idea, right? But yeah, really, really powerful, important thing for fbi to do.

You know, it turned out to be part of a growing role that fbi would play in anti-racism in music and Australian culture. I think that's something that we very much owe to the more recent generation of volunteers. Yet the roots, the roots of it were there, but the current generation really made that their own mission and I think that's an incredible contribution that they've made.

Despite the formidable role fbi has maintained in Sydney culture, its financial lifeforce as a not-for-profit organisation was always inevitably tenuous. By the 2008 Global Financial Crisis, fbi’s life support of donations and fundraising — which was already piecemeal and ad hoc — was under serious threat. In the words of Dan Zilber, unlike commercial stations which relied upon broader corporate entities, fbi ran “on the smell of an oily rag and lots and lots of volunteers putting in hours.” From compilation CDs, art auctions, to the famous Ask Richard Campaign, and many live performances, through to the mass mobilisation of volunteers and supporters — fbi’s survival has been indebted to the creativity of its volunteers and presenters alike. Below, is a compilation made by Lee Tran Lam, presenter of Local Fidelity, featuring songs donated by local artists and a hand-crafted cover by Lee Tran herself. Awarded Album of the Week in May 2009, the compilation sold for ten dollars each with all the proceeds going straight to fbi.

Front and back cover of *Local Fidelity* (2008)

Stephen Goodhew, Music Director (2013-2017)

I don't know to me, and I know other people I've spoken to who are around at the same time feel the same way and that just might be a bit of bias because we were there during that time, but it felt like a bit of a golden age for fbi. You know, it was just immediately post the ‘save fbi’ campaign, there was a lot of hope and optimism about the future of the station.

It was like pre-COVID, pre-streaming. fbi was a really important way for young emerging artists to break into the music industry, and I just remember it being like, for me personally, really fun, really exciting. Every day just discovering new bands. You know, bands that were new, bands that were old, or at least, you know, at that point in my life seemed old to me, but now I look back and I'm like, oh, those were still babies.

I guess, the perspective of time. I just, I remember there being a lot of fun and energy. And yeah, everyone there was so happy and enthusiastic, it was just a really fun time.

But it was still a pretty young station, like it was, you know, six, seven years old. But, you know, I think there was this sense that, okay, like, the station almost did disappear. It was like a near-death experience, there was like a renewed appreciation for each day.

I'm just kind of maybe reading between the lines, interpreting, but, yeah, I think there was just an appreciation that this wasn't something they take for granted, that it was something special, and that it needed a lot of love and care and work to keep the gift to, and which it did.

Despite these near-death experiences, fbi, with their mission to play 50% Australian music, maintained their commitment to amplifying grassroots talent that may have been otherwise neglected by commercial radio or major labels. Music Open Day saw flocks of artists coming into the station hand-delivering demos on burnt CDs, keen for their first radio play. Some of these CDs had cover art, some were in entirely plain packaging straight from Officeworks. Others simply wrapped up their demo in the ripped-out pages of a medical textbook, or in the case of Rainbow Chan, her demo was dropped off in a hand sewn and embroidered fabric sleeve. From a father with a newborn handing in a demo to the station — who later turned out to be a member of rock band and fbi success-story Wolfmother — or music director Stephen Goodhew being live serenaded in his office, Music Open Day encouraged everyone and anyone to come in and take a shot. With the commitment of presenters, volunteers, and staff to scour the city for new releases, fbi has been responsible for the first radio plays of some of the biggest Australian exports from The Kid LAROI and Julia Jacklin, to 1300 and Nina Las Vegas, and countless invaluable independent artists. One notable story is of a 15-year-old Flume who handed in his first demo under the name ‘Harley’ to the station in 2007.

Lee Tran Lam, journalist and host of Local Fidelity (2007-2023):

When I interviewed Flume for the 10th birthday, he says he remembers being in his car with his dad. He had sent his demo to fbi and they were going to the beach and he heard his song ‘Come’ on fbi. He was 11 when fbi went to air full-time and he said he remembered fbi go to air in 2003, which is pretty cool.

It was then at the first SMAC (Sydney Music, Arts and Culture) awards, Flume won, maybe one or two awards and I think maybe he was touring, and he did, like, a digital video chat kind of like, thank you speech, and he said, you know, this time last year I was like working at the local newsagent and the Hard Rock Cafe. I think that might’ve been the first award he’d won. And then he won like heaps and heaps.

And actually, his first gig was at the fbi social in 2011, which was the venue we had at King's Cross Hotel. It might've been the Northern Lights competition and he was one of the finalists. He said it was the first gig he had ever played, and it was his he said it was a day of firsts because someone came up to him and said, “hey I'm a fan of your music”, and he's like, “oh, that's the first time that ever happened to me.”

I mean, how many other radio stations will literally play music by someone who's unsigned, who's a teenager. There's so many examples of bands we played when they were teenagers, whether it was Bridezilla or Flume or the Kid LAROI. You know, I went back over the years, I've gone back and looked at the music that we played and some of these, you know, we played someone who was 16 and they were really promising and then they went on and did something else. Like it's, you know what I mean? Like, I'm still glad we played them. Doesn't make it any less relevant.

However, despite a population of over five million people sprawling across over hundreds of kilometres, until the mid-2010s Sydney’s music scene was enclosed to the inner city and its adjoining suburbs. This geographic limitation has historically excluded Sydney’s most diverse communities. This couldn’t be more apparent than with the mainstream conflation (both among the media and governing bodies) of Western Sydney Hip Hop culture and the postcode wars and gang violence — most potently yet uncritically symbolised in the Mount Druitt drill group Onefour (who received their first radio plays on fbi). Yet, despite this blatant prejudiced homogenisation of the city’s most diverse communities, since 2017, artists across Greater Sydney have carved out a space for a music scene on their own terms through music open days run by fbi in collaboration with Campbelltown Arts Centre and Blacktown Arts Centre. Rebecca Hatch was one of the standout stars from the 2017 ‘Trax’ open day at Blacktown Arts Centre, with her independently released single ‘Leeway.’

John-Ernest Dinamarca, volunteer (2015-2017) and project manager of fbi outreach programs with Campbelltown Arts Centre and Blacktown Arts Centre.

So with the kind of the Campbelltown music open day, there wasn't really I guess like a focus on Hip Hop per se. I think that there were a lot of artists that were kind of coming up in kind of Southwestern Sydney that attended music open day and similar initiatives, but that particular music open day was more just about opening up the scene and opening up the music industry.

To people in Southwest Sydney, it was about kind of breaking down barriers and breaking down, I guess, the kind of the assumption that in order to, to kind of get your foot in the door, you have to like move into the inner west, or you have to relocate. It was like a recognition that, you know, like Western Sydney had a lot to offer. I, at the time I was beginning to get involved with Blacktown Arts Centre as well.

And I felt like that there was this second and third generation of people of colour, particularly from kind of Southeast Asian and Polynesian backgrounds that were beginning to take up space and kind of occupy cultural spaces in a way that just never happened when I was a kid. They were telling their own stories in a very unique way.

And a lot of them were using the kind of the language and the sounds of Hip Hop in order to tell their kind of unique stories. So, I think that there was, I guess, like a recognition that it was important to tap into Western Sydney and that there were a lot of stories that we're missing out on by not kind of bridging those gaps between, I guess different parts of different parts of Sydney.

Like growing up in Blacktown, I grew up around Hip Hop. Hip Hop and R&B were like the two big sounds growing up. It was very strange for a Filipino guy in his teens to be listening to things like Sonic Youth or the Dillinger Escape Plan or something. It was such an outlier growing up. I think it's less of the case now. Cause I feel like it's a bit more like people, are a lot more eclectic in their tastes now and it's not so kind of hinged on any particular subcultures. But yeah, I think that there's always been a love for Hip Hop particularly in Blacktown.

The fbi music library is an icon of the station. While the age of the CD may be long gone, it is crucial to fbi platforming the diverse sounds of Sydney. In this way, the library is synonymous with fbi, not only aurally, but visually — the backdrop to many a photo op. It may no longer be growing how it once did, as the world of radio continues to transform, after almost 30 years since the first test broadcast, fbi continues to be a laboratory for the best independent artists to make their mark on so-called Sydney.

The Sound of Sydney: AN ORAL HISTORY OF FBI’S CD LIBRARY