Broadcasting into the Void: A Review of VOID 1680 AM

A review and live play of VOID 1680 AM’s surreal radio RPG format

This week, I’m doing something different. I’m briefly reviewing my new obsession, then diving into an actual play-through. Minus the mechanics this time. I know I usually include them, but not this time…

VOID 1680 AM is a clever and immersive solo tabletop RPG that lets you step into the shoes of a late-night AM radio DJ, crafting playlists and fielding calls from lonely voices in the dark. What stands out immediately is how elegantly it blends music curation with storytelling—using a deck of cards and a six-sided die to generate prompts for songs and callers, respectively.

The game’s structure is simple but effective: you build four "Song Blocks" (one per suit—Clubs, Diamonds, Spades, Hearts), each with three tracks tied to evocative prompts. Between blocks, you take calls from listeners, whose personalities and dilemmas are randomly generated but feel surprisingly personal. The prompts are just open-ended enough to let your imagination fill in the gaps, whether you’re picking songs that "make you feel invincible" or fielding calls about star-crossed romance or sudden betrayals.

I tweaked the rules slightly by taking live callers between Song Blocks instead of during them, which made the flow feel more like a real radio show—songs play uninterrupted, then you react to the calls afterward. It’s a small change, but it keeps the momentum going and makes the DJ role feel more natural.

What’s great about VOID 1680 AM is how it turns a solo game into something weirdly communal. Even though you’re alone, the callers and the music create this illusion of connection, like you’re broadcasting into the void and sometimes—just sometimes—the void talks back. The fact that you can even submit your playlists to be aired on a real low-watt AM station (run by the designer) is a fantastic touch.

If you love music, improvisation, or melancholic late-night vibes, this game is a gem. All you need is a deck of cards, a die, and your music library—no prep, no fuss, just you, the mic, and the static.

Below is my first play-through, re-written slightly and edited for bugs… but most of it was just off the top of my head as I played.

Physical Copies can be had via various links on itch and are certainly worth the cost.

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"(Static hiss... then silence as the mic opens, amplifying the low hum of old equipment)

"Is anyone... anyone out there listening?... (Small sigh, breath catches slightly) ...Probably not. Doesn't matter anyway, I guess. The void is a fine audience most nights. But if you are, uh... welcome. Welcome to 1680 AM. My name is..." (Mic cuts abruptly with a pop. A sharp inhale) (Whispering, voice tight) 'Shit! Name! I need a name... What the actual fuck am I gonna call myself? DJ Anonymous? Mister Static? Captain Obscurity? Ugh...'

(Sound of the worn fabric of the chair scraping violently on gritty floorboards as he stands up too fast. The chair wobbles precariously, hitting a leg of the console with a dull thud before spinning halfway around with a protesting squeak. Pacing footsteps – two steps one way, three steps back.)

(Still whispering) 'Okay, okay, think... music... lyrics... inspiration, come on...' (Sound of flipping through vinyl records in wooden crates, the soft thump of cardboard covers, plastic sleeves whispering against each other. The air smells faintly of dust, old paper, and maybe stale smoke.) 'Something cool... something... real? Not too pretentious... god, definitely not pretentious...'

(He stops pacing, holds up a record sleeve in the dim light filtering through a dusty window. A slow, hesitant smile spreads across his face, visible only to the cobwebs in the corner.)

(Footsteps hurry back, the chair scrapes again as he sits, adjusting himself awkwardly. Mic buzzes back to life) Ahem. "Right. Take two. Welcome back... or just welcome... to 1680 AM. This is... uh..." (He glances at the record sleeve again) "...call me 'Broken and Smokin'.' Yeah. Let's go with that for now." (Pause, the hum of the equipment seems louder) "Coming at you live... well, mostly live... from a little music shack somewhere between nowhere and the edge of town. What am I doing way out here? Good question. Mostly... smoking weed, and... and listening. To the music. Trying to fill the silence. And maybe... talking too much into said silence."

"...So, kicking things off, here's the track that just, uh, christened me... Silver Jews with 'Random Rules'. And oh... uh... by the way. If anyone is actually tuning in through the static... the line is open. Theoretically. I'm taking calls. Let me know that you’re out there... or, you know, what's rattling around in your head tonight. Always curious." (Mutters, fumbling with buttons, a faint click) 'Number... right... uh... 685... 5... 5... 19, 83... Smoken' and Broken... no... Broken and Smokin'... dammit... screw it. They'll figure it out. Or not.'

(Music fades out)

"Welcome back... briefly. And... uh... thanks, I guess, for the phone call? To whoever called and then... immediately hung up after one ring. Stage fright? Butt dial? Hope everything's okay over there. Or maybe you just wanted to confirm the line worked before committing. Fair enough. Appreciate you, mystery caller."

"As I was saying, before my train of thought completely derailed... I'm here... actually 'cause I've got a lot to say and... apparently, I've also got a lot I've already said. Heh. Whoops. Ummm..."

"I guess I just have a lot on my mind. And yeah, I know, I’m awkward. So, uh, please excuse the strangeness. Standard operating procedure around here. The older I get, the... less I seem to fit the standard molds. Or maybe... maybe the molds are getting weirder? Ya'll are getting weirder out there, right? It's not just me?" (Nervous chuckle) "I mean... I’m not really sure, actually. Never really tried to map it out loud before. It's always been more of a... uh... a feeling. You know? Like... like the air pressure dropping before a hailstorm, but it's inside your own chest. Something buzzing under the surface, telling you things aren't quite aligned. I feel stuff. I’m sensitive in a 'visceral' sort of way.”

(Muttering into the mic's proximity effect) '...when you physically feel an emotion... or... yeah, just pick some event in your life that stands out to you.'

"Silver Jews... yeah. David Berman. What a songwriter. Amazing song, definitely one of my personal favorites... and... well, now you know where I ripped off the name from. Smokin' and Broken. Err... BROKEN AND SMOKING... (Sighs) ...I dunno, maybe 'Smokin' and Broken' did sound better... rolls off the tongue easier..."

"Ummm... Anyway. It Reminds me of ahhh... well, someone. Someone who sort of resembled the person talked about in the song... she was... well, she was very much like that, you know... complex. Contradictory. She... wasn’t married, but she definitely 'had a tan line on her ring finger,' if you catch my drift. Felt like she... she had a whole other life packed away somewhere, maybe two... Sometimes she smelled like cloves and desert rain after a storm..." (Shakes head slightly, trying to clear it) "I don't know. Maybe she was running from something, maybe running towards something else entirely... but... I... I'm not really sure I ever knew the real her. If anyone did."

"I mean, she had a past that... yeah, was never really talked about. Locked vault. It was always one of those '...someday I’ll tell you, if you stick around long enough,' sort of promises, you know? Like she'd already decided how long 'long enough' was, and maybe... maybe factored in that whatever that was between us... wasn't built to be permanent from the start."

"...but you know how you get stuck on shit like that? Replaying conversations, looking for clues you missed? I’m sure someone out there knows what I mean... Or maybe I'm just projecting again."

“Excuse me while I work out the direction I’m going here… I mean, I’m finding my with the ghosts behind the mic. Standing on this air right now as I don’t have a foundation here. I’ve no plan, just flipped the switch on the mic and here I am…”

"It's on my 'Funeral' playlist... (Quickly, defensively) Which sounds super morbid, I know! It's not like that. I'm... I'm good. Really. Life is... okay. Mostly. It's just... songs that feel... significant? Foundational? Like, if someone did end up going through my stuff someday... (trails off) ...maybe this collection would explain things better than I ever could? Give 'em a map to the weirdness? 'Cause I'm so quiet usually... This... (gestures vaguely at the mic, the motion unheard) ...this talking-into-the-ether thing is... not my default setting."

"I just figure... People think I’m strange. I know that. Or maybe 'intense'. Heard that one too. Well... I guess people who actually know me just think I’m different. And I am. Can't argue that. Feel like a damn alien sometimes... trying to mimic human behaviour from observation... or at least that’s how it feels..."

"There's contrast there... see? Contrast between who, or what I am vs... the background hum of... everything else. Or... rather, I think it’s... Well, there’s contrast. Like a clear line of distortion when you tune this old radio... like white noise, or the specific hiss you get between stations out here in the sticks. That kinda persistent static. It's there, you know? A gap between... me and... maybe 'normal.' And it's weird because I don't want to be exactly like other people... nothing wrong with you folks, seriously, everyone's fine as they are... I hope... I think anyway. And I'm fine the way I am too. Mostly. But that gap. That static... it's loud sometimes."

"The contrast. Right. I should probably get to the point, huh?” (Small, self-deprecating laugh) “Yeah...."

"I'll, I'll... I... Okay, here's an audio experience for you... maybe... you. You'll see what I mean about... sound. And maybe contrast."

"Umm... I highly suggest headph-... (Stops) ...oh, right. Nevermind. This is AM radio, folks. Probably sounds like crap anyway. Sorry. Just... listen close, I guess. Here's the song."

(Music fades in - Sylvan Esso 'Sound')

(Mutters during start of the song, barely audible) '...685... 555... 19, 83... Broken and Smokin'...'

(Music fades out. Phone line clicks open immediately)

"1680 AM, you're on the..." (Gets cut off)

Caller (Harsh voice, distorted): "Yeah, is this that 'Broken and Chokin'' idiot?"

(Visibly flinches, taken aback) "Uh... It's... Broken and Smokin', actually. Can I help..."

Caller: "Help? Yeah, you can help by shutting the fuck up and getting your depressing shit music off the air! Nobody wants to hear this garbage! Get a real job!" (CLICK)

(Silence hangs heavy for several long seconds. Just the low hum and faint crackle of the equipment. He swallows hard, audibly. "Huh...Right. Uh..." (His voice is thin, strained) "My second caller of the evening, folks. Just... uh... sharing some constructive feedback there." (He attempts a chuckle, but it comes out as more of a choked gasp) "Said... uh... told me to go 'fuck' myself and get my 'shit music' off the airwaves. So... yeah. Thanks... thanks for the call. Usually I’d tell you a few choice words as well… but I’m trying to make better choices… sooooo….”

”Truly. Appreciate you taking the time." (Taking a breath) "Hope... hope your evening gets significantly better real soon. It's... it's passionate callers like you that... that really inspire me... inspire me to try and be a better person. You know? So I don't... quite... end up like yourself."

"Okay. Right." (Takes another deep breath, lets it out slowly) "Where was I? Oh yeah... music." (Clears throat forcefully, trying to reset) "That last track... before the... uh... our number one fan called in… that was Sylvan Esso's, 'Sound'. An auditory experience... Yeah, I was going to suggest headphones again, but... probably pointless, right? I imagine the signal reaching you, if it reaches you at all, sounds like it's been filtered through gravel and old socks anyway... This is AM after all... Can't expect miracles." (Sighs heavily, the sound full of static)

”…love it when language is abused. Twisted to fit meanings that there’s not always words or ways to explain the intent, the real meaning only feels right when you exploit the traditional idea. “

"Listen, ya'll... I know I'm not good at this. This... talking out loud thing. At. All."

"I'm nervous, yeah? Awkward... My brain just... it jams up sometimes. I feel like I have to respond right away, especially on air, but the words get stuck... like trying to push thick mud through a sieve, or fighting your way through wet paper. Feels like it takes me a solid minute just to get the gears turning... and by then the moment's passed. Or I say something stupid. Well, now I'm just rambling... But seriously, I’m not even sure what I’m doing… I like it though. And no I just wanna keep going to piss off our biggest fan…"

"But music..." (His tone shifts slightly, finding a familiar anchor) "...yeah. Music and sound... it means a lot to me. There is... something about the patterns, the math of it almost, and can be found in music itself, expressed... that when you put it together with, like... the perfect lyrics... words that hit just right... it's... it's magic. It's real-world alchemy, turning noise into feeling."

“Love me some lyrics… words that make you stop and think, or just… feel understood for a second.”

"I mean. I listen to a lot of different genres... I mean... yeah, like across a wide array of... (Sighs) ...well, there I go repeating the same crap again... Well... hphhhh... Let's just take a look at... um... something completely different maybe?" (He chuckles weakly)

"Music moves me, and certain songs I just cannot get enough of... you know? Maybe you don't, 'cause... I read that study once. Maybe three or four years ago... Talked about how after a certain age, maybe 30 or something like that... people just kinda... stop. Stop listening to new music. Find their lane and stay in it forever."

"...can you... can you even imagine that? No more discovery? No more new sounds, just the same old tune on repeat for the next ten to... what, fifty years of your life...? Fuc-..." (Catches himself) "...I mean... screw that! Seriously. I'm trying not to be too vulgar here... I don't know who's listening, could be kids, could be... whoever... so, excuse my language. But it’s gonna slip. I am, however, trying to keep it relatively tame... but... old habits, you know.

Anyway, that's just... not me. I love discovering new music, and I do so constantly. Can't imagine suddenly not wanting to ever engage with a new song again... Like I said, ya’ll are weird. (laughing)"

(Sound of vinyl cueing up again, a softer, gentler track perhaps)

"...oh... Umm... Speaking of not stopping... here's something beautiful. Something relatively new that floored me when I first heard it. Bess Atwell, with 'Co-Op'..." (Sighs, a genuine release of tension this time).

"Heh, if I were in a room full of people right now, playing this next one, I might get some looks... but umm... you know. Perks of the shack. There’s no one here to give me that 'what the hell’ look.

"And... yeah... again... if you're out there, and feeling... I don't know... less angry than the last caller... the number here is 6 8 5... 5... 5... 1983. Call now... or whenever. Talk music. Talk life. Whatever." (His voice is quieter, more subdued now) "This is Broken and Smokin'... playing Bess Atwell.

(Lips in close to the mic) “This is Co-op."

“I've been obsessed with this song for a long time now... Something about the journey, the experience that’s being sang about. It feels… familiar. Familiar in the sense that I can identify with it… But not because I’ve been there… more like… I would like to have that experience… I think because I would appreciate it more… I think that’s a good way to word it… Not sure that makes sense…"

“I just think that life is best when experienced, even if things don’t work out the way we indent, we can say our time wasn’t wasted…”

"So... yeah... that contrast thing I was talking about? It's like... umm... I feel like maybe everyone else got, standard puzzle pieces… And mine are... just sort of a different shape entirely. Don't quite... slot in, you know?"

"Heh, I like it like that though… I didn’t always…"

(Sound of the phone line connecting with a distinct click)

"Oh my... wow. The line is... actually hot. Uh... a caller.”

“You're on 1680 AM..." (Takes a shaky breath, sound of fabric rustling near the mic) "Hello? I mean... ah, fuck... Sorry 'bout that. Habit. This is... uh..." (Clears throat) "...Broken and Smokin'. What's... what's up? What's on your mind tonight?" (wincing slightly, audibly, at the fumbling intro)

Caller: (Through a burst of heavy static and crackling) "H...llo? ...an... 'ear me? ... ait..."

"Whoa... hello? Uh, yeah, you're breaking up pretty bad there... sounds like you're calling from inside a washing machine full of sand. Can you... maybe try again? Or... wiggle the phone cord? If.. that’s still a thing for you…"

Caller: (Static lessens slightly, replaced by muffled clattering sounds in the background) "...kay... 'ow 'bout... now? The damn... ste... hold on..." (Sound of something heavy shifting, then the static clears significantly)

Caller: "Is that... is that better?"

"Yeah! Yes, crystal... well, AM-radio-clear. Much better. Gotcha now. Loud and... audible." (A small, nervous chuckle escapes)

Caller: “Where do we go from here?”

“…from where? I mean… or do you mean general, like with the state of the world?”

Caller: "yeah… I mean… look at us… where do we go from here?”

“Gotcha… Yeah man, I umm… I’d have to say… (deep breath) I’d say that… what’s going on right now is more a matter of shedding our skins. And that… the state of the world is simply reacting to that. You know… I mean… we’ve hit a peak as a society, a crossroads and change isn’t always an easy thing. Especially change on such a grand scale…”

”…it’s hard to see, isn’t it? It’s hard to see, often more so hard to admit that the wind has shifted and what was the direction we’ve been moving in is no longer fit for us. … I ummm.. I mean, ‘we’, or… rather ‘We’ve’ come full circle… the snake eating it’s own tail. To continue in this manner is not sustainable. And we’re not really willing and in many cases not able to change… That’s why change is inevitably outside of our control.

”The only thing we can do is continue to live our lives to best of our ability. Continue to work with one another, and try to avoid… the umm… the… shit.”

Caller: “…the shit huh?”

"Right. Uh... 'the shit'. Good question." (He takes a slow breath) "I guess... it's the... the getting caught up in the noise? The blaming. The fear-mongering. The... the digging your heels in when the ground is obviously moving. Fighting the current instead of... figuring out how to navigate it. Trying to keep the old skin on when it's clearly way too tight and splitting at the seams. All that... that energy spent resisting the inevitable change... it just makes things worse, yeah? Makes us meaner. More scared. That's... that's ‘the shit’, I think. The stuff that stops us from just being... basically decent to each other while the storm passes."

Caller: (Quiet for a moment) "Navigate the storm... Being decent... Feels kinda... small, doesn't it? When you look at the size of the problems? Like bringing a bucket to a house fire."

"Maybe." (Another pause) "Or maybe... the fire's too big to put out from the outside, you know? Maybe all you can do is make sure your own little corner isn't actively adding fuel. The bucket... maybe it doesn't stop the main blaze, but maybe it keeps your own feet from getting burned, or helps the person next to you keep their feet from getting burned. Maybe focusing on the big, out-of-control fire just... paralyzes us. Maybe the small actions, the 'being decent,' the 'not adding fuel,'... maybe that's the only part we do have some control over. Keeping our own small space... less shitty."

Caller: (Sighs audibly) "Look, I'm not gonna lie, part of me still thinks that sounds... I dunno... kinda passive, maybe? Like giving up on fixing the big stuff. But..." (He hesitates) "...the way you put it... focusing on what you can control... I get that. It's... definitely something to chew on. A different way to frame it than just... despair, I guess." (Pause) "So... yeah. Thanks again, man. For the... perspective."

"Uh... well, thanks… Seriously. That was... yeah. Unexpected in a different way… hang in there with... well, everything, man. Take care of yourself out there, alright? And... uh..."

(Sound of the line clicking dead)

(Silence for a couple of beats, just the low hum of the equipment) "...Annnnd they're gone." (He lets out a long, shaky exhale close to the mic) "Wow. Okay. A caller. Hope I didn’t fuck that up… Shit… Sorry! heh, gotta stop cussing so much…" (Another pause) "Heavy.

“Okay... uh... right… need something... and I think I’ve got that something…"

”Here is DEATH with, ‘Where do we go from here?”

(Mutters after starting the song) ”685… 555… 1389… Call in… let me hear you…”

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And… that’s it for this week. I rather enjoyed that… I love music, and I’ve no one that really shares my random tastes is music, so… it was nice to share some of that. I hope you enjoyed this review of my new obsession, VOID 1680 AM, by Ken Lowery - See you all next week and have an amazing week as well. Please take care of yourselves and one another. We got this…