The party starts Wednesday, Sept. 20, and promises a celebration of the ``next big thing'' in Internet radio technology. Those who can afford the $435 to $735 entry fee will hear a keynote speech by Gen. Colin Powell. Then they'll enjoy a four-day tour of the latest gadgets designed ``to provide the solutions and strategies that you can implement today to shape your success tomorrow,'' as the conference's Web site promises.

But while the broadcasting group's fancy gizmos may open doors for some, its relentless lobbying in Washington, D.C., has slammed shut that portal known as community-based radio. This is especially true in the Bay Area, one of the most troubled broadcasting regions in the United States.

The problems started in 1996, when the broadcasters and other lobbies persuaded Congress to pass the Telecommunications Act. This revision of the original 1934 Broadcasting Act allows corporations to own as many radio stations as they like -- up to eight in any metropolitan area.

The result was a frenzy of selling across the country. Twenty-one Bay Area radio stations almost immediately changed hands. The price of a frequency went through the transmitter. And the new owners brought a ``banker's heart'' management style with little sympathy for community-oriented programming.

Take Street Soldiers, a syndicated program that used to broadcast on local hip hop station KMEL-FM. Created by the MacArthur award-winning founders of the Potrero Hill Omega Boy's club, its compelling call-in format counseled Bay Area minority youth in trouble.

That is until KMEL put Street Soldiers on the street last year. The move came as KMEL's owner, am.fm Inc., announced plans to merge with Clear Channel Communications, creating an 830-station empire. Why drop the program? Because KMEL's latest ratings had slipped from second to third, said its general manager. Then there is the sad story of Live 105, one of the West Coast's ``Modern Rock'' radio outlets. In the 1980s, KITS exploded on the Bay Area scene with its brash billboarding of ``alternative'' music instead of the warhorses of the '60s and '70s. Best of all, the frequency hosted a fast-paced morning program that showcased Bay Area comedians and musicians.

Now CBS owns the station. Live 105 satellites in tedious shock jock Howard Stern from New York City. That's alternative?

A near epitaph for classical station KDFC-FM is also in order. After its owner, Evergreen Media of Texas, merged with Chancellor Media, Bay Area radio observers wondered whether the frequency's format would survive.

In a region famous for its rich musical culture, KDFC's staff responded with Classical-Lite: Vivaldi in the morning and Tchaikovsky in the afternoon. It worked. Last year, KDFC scored the best music arbitrons on the FM dial. To paraphrase railroad magnate Jay Gould's comment about money, getting good ratings is easy if that's all you want to do.

But these tales are mild compared to that of KPFA in Berkeley. Even before the Telecommunications Act passed, America's first listener-supported radio station was having a tough time. Most public radio frequencies had shed their volunteer air slots, dumping responsibility for local service on community stations such as KPFA. In 1995, KPFA management, weary of dealing with so many people in so little space, also dropped a host of volunteer programs.

The purge created an uproar. From the fracas, KPFA's overseer, the Pacifica Foundation, took the wrong lesson: no more Mr. Nice Guy. Last year, Pacifica suddenly canned the station's general manager, two weeks before KPFA's 50th anniversary. Then the nonprofit caused further chaos by firing programmers who criticized the decision over KPFA's airwaves. But the worst was yet to come. Thanks to the Telecommunications Act, KPFA's signal was now worth $65 million to $75 million. In the middle of this mess, a member of Pacifica's National Board came up with a bright idea. Why not just sell KPFA? ``This is the best radio market in history,'' his e-mail message declared.

The day the memo was discovered, Pacifica expelled KPFA's staff and barricaded the building. It took a demonstration of over 10,000 supporters to get the station back. These cries of pain echo an urgent need for airtime dedicated to local politics, dialogue and the arts. But does the National Association of Broadcasters get it? Not as far as Low Power FM, or ``microradio,'' is concerned.

Last year, William Kennard, chairman of the Federal Communications Commission, authorized a new service. It would allow nonprofit groups --schools, churches, even fire stations -- to start FM radio stations with 100 watts or less of power. Broadcasting lobbyists helped persuade the House of Representatives to pass a countermeasure that Kennard says will effectively doom his proposal. Now to be fair, the broadcasting corporations have an answer to my complaint. The Internet will solve your problem, they claim. As more radio stations go online, those lucky enough to have the latest equipment will enjoy more choices. But as I explore cyber/radiospace with my new Real Audio/DSL powered computer, I hear something else. Most of the stations I access are just like KMEL, Live 105 and KDFC -- frequencies stripped of local color in pursuit of the bottom line.

So let us welcome the National Association of Broadcasters to our broadcasting ``market,'' as they would put it, struggling to sustain its regional character under the burden of a monopolistic law. When the association's conference goers aren't wowing each other with the latest streaming doodads, they might want to tell us how their private agenda serves the Bay Area's public interest.

So far, I haven't heard them. And believe me, I've been listening.

Matthew Lasar is the author of ``Pacifica Radio: The Rise of an Alternative Network'' (Temple University Press, 200

©2000 San Francisco Chronicle

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