In “Democracy,” the struggle for black voter registration in Mississippi is re-evoked in all its horror through first-person accounts from people who were there. As one European paper put it at the time, a Mississippi Negro’s life was not worth “a whistle.” Even now, hearing the stories, it is hard to make sense of what was happening in this country mere decades ago. “It don’t make no sense” one woman says at the end, looking back. And somehow it just doesn’t, even with the benefit of time. “Democracy” presents the stories, the paradoxes-- the sense of terror—while avoiding easy pronouncements.

The tape from the old movies is just great. Through his enquiry, Eric Nuzum brings dignity, and most surprisingly, depth to a movie genre that is mostly made known to us in the form of Troy McClure vehicles on The Simpsons. How wonderful-- to avoid all the temptation of producing a mocking kitschy documentary, and actually leave us off on a note of genuine yearning, for “ a time that never really existed.” I can imagine this story airing on a news-magazine show (where the subject is youth, youth culture, youth then and now)—any place where a little levity is in order.

What is sadly missing from much of what passes for war reportage and commentary is context. Anchormen have big floor maps where Uzbekistan lights up with the tap of a pointer, but what this kind of weather report journalism does not afford us is deeper perspective into the ideas and motives behind war. “War and Conflict” attempts to go past the play-by-play score-keeping to supply some analysis, and it tries to do so in a democratic manner. By speaking with many thinkers and journalists who espouse many different philosophies, “War and Conflict” asks whether the “War on Terror” is, among other things, an idealistic war of liberation, a war for oil, a war of civilizations, a show of power in the Middle East, a blue print for further wars, or a war of revenge. We are supplied with diverse insights that penetrate beyond the clichés and inflated language of a lot of war-speak, and Christopher Lydon does a good job of giving everyone their say while keeping things moving along.

Rather than neatly packaging everything up into a simple and clear picture, the show leaves us feeling like we do not know very much at all. One even feels that the people talking are wrestling with the subject; they are wrestling with their own role in it. It is not a manner of speech that we have come to identify as “expert-talk,” but it is a more compelling way to discuss the war, and it does not shy away from the obvious emotional level of the subject. I think “War and Conflict” would be an excellent, even necessary, part of any station’s war coverage.

This is one of those stories that is so perfectly suited to radio, by which I mean it couldn’t as easily exist as a magazine article… nor do you feel like it’s a frustrated short film that begs for visuals. The story is best told on the radio, and the reason for this is that it is about a mysterious voice. After all the decades of obsession about images of Bigfoot, a tape of its voice feels so out of left field, so counter-intuitive... in the most pleasing, surprising sense of the word. Because of this, I would argue, that the actual three-second clip of Bigfoot “talking” is the heart of the story. And so everything before the talking tape should act as a kind of “setting the stage,” a building of the enigma we are about to be presented with. To this end, I would think that LaMonica telling us that the voice sounds a lot like Yogi Bear shouldn’t happen until after we’ve heard it. It steps on the surprise…. a surprise that I would say is wonderfully funny, and you want to cold-cock the listener with something like that. Afterwards, you can come back in and say, “Jeez, doesn’t that sound like Yogi Bear?” and play the tape again, because, holy Sasquatch, it sounds exactly like Yogi Bear. All the same, this is a really fun radio story. Just hearing that voice alone is worth the price of admission.

Maypole brings alive, through music, rich sound, critical commentary and dramatic readings, a time that is usually only made known to us through history textbooks. Maypole takes you to the land where Thomas Morton lived and, through production, makes it feel immediate and timely. It does this while carefully respecting the atmosphere of the time, through its music and thoughtful narration. There are little images and facts contained through out that bring to life the world of the pioneers. For instance, did you know that dandyish pioneers like Thomas Morton wore slashed sleeves so that you could see the high quality of their undergarments beneath? Who would have thought that the pioneers had a pre-envisioned the ubiquity of the peeping silk thong? New research is presented, old texts are re-examined and a story is told that conveys the excitement and change of the period, and for that I felt thankful while listening. It’s a gift when something so educational can be made entertaining, too. It has a bit of the tone of an educational film, but if you’re looking for splash, there’s always Finding Nemo at the local Cineplex.

I can see this playing any time when people can sit and concentrate. I don’t know if it’s drive time. It might be more suited to the evenings and weekends. It requires your attention, but being schooled usually does.

In many ways “Dia’s Diary” is a typical coming-out story, the kind often heard on public radio. What sets it apart, though, is the straight-ahead, unadorned style of the story telling and the sincerity of the voice. What’s nice, too, is that there’s a surprise turn at the end of the story, and good radio is all about surprises.

In listening to Dia talk about the inspiration for revealing her homosexuality to her mother—which happens to come from an episode about gay youths on Phil Donahue-- you realize the built-in importance of having these kinds of forums. I’m sure Dia’s story will inspire others, and that’s a good thing… especially when you think back to other eras, not so long ago, in American life when the drive towards such admissions inspired the kind of self-hatred that pushed William Burroughs to cut off the end of his own finger.

The scoring music is a little unwieldy at times but all in all, it keeps things upbeat and Dia’s voice and story transcend.