XI: Alone at the Microphone

‘Welcomebacktotheshowitsabeautifulmorninghereonradiogoogooitsalwaysafinemorningwithnewmusiconthewayimdelightedtobejoinedbytheohsomysteriousandenigmaticbandwithnonamewelcomeguyswereveryexcitedtohaveyouhere.’

The band muttered something about being glad to be there, wherever there was. They were in a dark, sound-proofed room with fogged glass along one wall. They sat around a single microphone hanging from the ceiling, cradling their instruments. There wasn’t room in the booth for a drum set so Theo had been issued with a tambourine.

Across from them their host, Des Boorman, was flaunting a skill they all found deeply unsettling - although his voice sounded like he was smiling, in the flesh he absolutely wasn’t.

‘Youvebeenasensationthetalkofthetown,’ he said. ‘Ourlistenersthefinefolksofradiogoogooaredyingtoknowmoreaboutyoutelluswheredoesthissoundofyourscomefromisitsomethingyouveworkedonoroesitcomenaturally.’

Boorman’s face settled into a stony mask when he finished speaking, save for his eyes which glinted in the shadows.

After a long silence, Alan Hazard steeled himself and leaned toward the microphone.

‘Yes,’ he said.

On the other side of the glass Elaine Gould tightened her fists and bit her lip.

‘Agaalkjahkeuayea,’ Bas said.

Fascinatingstuff,’ Boorman said. ‘Isthatimportanttoyouasaband?’

Another pause.

‘Yes,’ Hazard said.

‘Brilliantbrilliantandsoboldtostickyournecksoutlikethatrayhowdoyoufeelaboutthereceptionsofar?’

Ray O. Sunshine was discovering that although singing into a microphone was just fine, speaking into one filled him with an unspeakable terror. He opened and clothed his mouth without making a sound, staring unblinking at the far wall.

Boorman’s eyes narrowed.

‘Youwithusray?’

‘He prefers to do his talking through the music,’ Waltz said.

‘Loveitloveitloveitletslistentoasongthenwhathaveyougotforus?’

‘This is called “The Lot of Crying 94”.’