It was that time of year again. The phone room was off the hook. Listeners were calling in to subscribe or pledge donations during community radio station RTRFM’s annual fundraiser, Radiothon. There was no time to slack off and crack open a celebratory cold one. Not while Whipcracker was around.

“You! Answer that phone.”

It didn’t take long for the volunteer to earn her nickname. After emigrating to Perth from the UK, she found herself laid up in her apartment following an injury, and she tuned into a local radio station. Thirty years later, she is still volunteering at the station she once stumbled upon and fell in love with.

Whipcracker is far from an anomaly at RTRFM. In its 49th year, the Perth radio station relies on over 400 volunteers, from those who casually help around the station to presenters who give their time week after week.

RTRFM began as 6UWA in 1977, a classical music station broadcasting from the University of Western Australia. It eventually evolved into an alternative music station, becoming 6UVS with Murdoch University’s involvement. When the station was shut down in 1990, its volunteers protested. After six months of ‘dead air’, it returned as RTRFM.

“The place wouldn’t be around without folks like them who stood up. And I like to think that the ethos of RTRFM, as a station born out of protest, started really in that moment,” says general manager Simon Miraudo.

RTRFM is nestled above a restaurant in the bustle of Beaufort Street in Mount Lawley. Beyond an unassuming glass door and up a steep, narrow staircase, Miraudo’s face is one of the first to greet visitors. He started volunteering at RTRFM in 2010, fresh out of university. He had a weekly movie review segment, which he still does, even though he is now also the general manager. One of the first things he did when he took on the top job was turn the enclosed office traditionally reserved for the general manager into a communal space for all staff and volunteers.

In his black t-shirt and beanie, he leans forward with his hands clasped together. He confesses that moments earlier, he had been watching the new subscriber count, eagerly watching it tick over 999.

It was mid-August and Radiothon was well underway. A corner of the station was brightly decorated in keeping with this year’s theme, ‘RTRFM, It’s Good for You‘. On an adjacent wall, a scale marked in $20,000 increments tracked the fundraising progress. A visual reminder of how far they’d come and how much further they had to go.

“I’m the person who ultimately sees all the bills and pays all the bills, and I set the budget, so I’m acutely aware of how much it costs to run a community radio station like RTR,” Miraudo says.

He recalls how one year, a massive storm had burst a hole in the roof just before Radiothon kicked off: “We had this leak and it became this kind of funny metaphor over the course of the six weeks of fundraising that we could literally point to the hole in the roof and say, this is what we pay for.

“We do run on a smell of an oily rag – it’s not an exaggeration – and when things break, they break a little bit harder and a little bit longer here at RTRFM. But they’re put together with spit and love and glue.”

Radiothon brings with it nervous excitement and anticipation. The occasion requires all hands on deck. The target this year is to raise $350,000 to go towards covering the station’s basic operating costs. Aside from the funding it receives from government grants and paid sponsorships, Miraudo says the station’s future is largely in the hands of the community. If Radiothon no longer resonates and “doesn’t land” with listeners, the station could be left facing a shortfall.

“There’s no finding [the money] between the couch cushions.”

The small 10-person team of permanent staff all started as volunteers, and triple-barrelled job titles are not uncommon. Operations, events and sales manager Chris Wheeldon can name a long list of artists who passed through the station early on in their careers, including Tame Impala, Stella Donnelly, Spacey Jane, Eskimo Joe and Jebediah.

“When you’re starting, if you don’t have any way to be heard and you can’t get onto Triple J or onto commercial stations, then somewhere like here is super important. And that’s the same for community radio around Australia,” Wheeldon says.

The program grid covers lots of niches, from jazz and world music to reggae and doom metal, catering to diverse musical tastes not usually heard on mainstream stations.

When Tame Impala were still The Dee Dee Dums, they walked up the stairs at RTRFM, as teenagers, CD in hand with a few of their tunes burned onto it, and asked the breakfast presenter at the time to play their music.

The presenter did. Listeners’ interest piqued. Their songs were played again. And again.

Within six months, in mid-2008, the band had signed with a major label and were touring around Australia.

Wheeldon remembers seeing Tame Impala play at In The Pines music festival in 2009. He was volunteering at the time. Though it’s been some time since, the memory of the palpable hype surrounding the band as they played an afternoon slot has not dimmed.

When Wheeldon books a band, there’s an inkling that they may go on to something bigger, but often it comes down to luck.

“Every now and again you have that little diamond of a Stella or a Tame… and it’s just great to be part of it,” he says.

Beyond music, Wheeldon sees RTRFM as part of the infrastructure nurturing Perth’s wider cultural and arts scene. Institutions and organisations such as the Perth Institute of Contemporary Arts, West Australian Symphony Orchestra, West Australian Opera, and Fringe Festival are all platforms that promote creative work. Without places that push boundaries, play different things and engage in different worlds, Wheeldon imagines Perth could be “this little barren backwater town”, or an “incredibly boring hodgepodge of cookie-cutter culture”.

A 2026 report estimates that Australia’s community radio stations contribute $153 million in added value to the music industry each year.  Community radio stations give local music twice the airtime it receives on commercial networks and serve as training grounds for the future media workforce.

Wheeldon estimates he has seen close to 1500 young volunteers come through the station’s doors in his time there. Some go on to land jobs in media at places like the ABC or become newsreaders on television .

“We’re not changing the world, but being part of something bigger than yourself helps so many people,” Wheeldon says.

This year’s Radiothon theme, ‘RTRFM, It’s Good for You’, brings the impact of community radio on the individual into focus. Producer and presenter of RTRFM’s daily breakfast show Pamela Boland, finds it both surprising and affirming to hear how people are positively affected by her show. She says there isn’t a “playing God situation” by any means, but that compliments range from making mornings a little better to making some feel a little less alone.

“It’s crazy when someone says that because, I just feel like I’m doing my job.” Boland says.

She once received a message from a young boy thanking her for filling his mornings with music from his community. He told her he wouldn’t be who he was without RTRFM. One of the giveaways offered during Radiothon gives subscribers the chance to co-host a drive-time show (something Boland points out is somewhat funny given that anyone can complete the presenters course and jump behind the microphone). That boy won the prize. He came into the station for a couple of hours and played the songs he liked.

He now wants to be a broadcaster.

“I’m constantly surprised by people’s desire for a real human, tangible thing. Something that they know is real,” Boland says.

At the two-week mark of the six-week fundraising campaign, Radiothon moved beyond the 24-hour churn of the 92.1 airwaves and invited its listeners to join in with the festivities being held at The Rechabite and The Bird in Northbridge.

On the rooftop of The Rechabite, volunteer presenters Yikes, Nafta and Rok Riley played dance music against a backdrop of red brick and concrete bathed in purple light. A myriad of disco balls oversaw the dance floor from above. The space was brimming with a crowd that looked different from the usual 20-something-year-olds who populate the venue on any other Saturday night. There was no uniform dress code, nor a particular type to fit. Mid song, the music cut out, leaving a brief gap of quiet. But before the speakers reconnected, and a singular voice called out:

“Yeaaaaah RTR!”