Poor Harri was shaking like a leaf. Jack could remember a time when he'd been that guy. When he'd first started out in radio, Jack had been that way, too. He had been thrown onto the air to cover for one of the DJs who was nursing a hangover and was tossing cookies in a trash can when the commercial break finished. Jack's voice had been high and squeaky, and the folks at the station laughed at him after, but he'd done it. God, that seemed so long ago. That was in high school, and he was an old man now.
Barry's show in studio 2 was winding down as Jack led the band into studio 1, where he'd stowed the small cooler for beer and a small orange couch underneath the wide window of soundproof glass. A smooth black countertop with the soundboard and computer was set up on the opposite wall, and slate gray soundproofing foam covered all the walls. There were plenty of outlets near the open end of the studio, with spaces to hook up the equipment.
"I'm sure there's enough beer," he said, kicking the blue cooler and hearing the ice and water sloshing around. "I'll tell you what. You guys should kick around some They Might Be Giants covers. That'd be fucking great." There were some mics already set up, and the couch was within reach of the soundboard so the band could relax a bit during the chat parts, if they so chose.