Rock Radio - By Lisa Wainland Page 0,3

commercial after commercial. Jonny’s only job was to talk during the assigned breaks, something he didn’t need to be there for. This was the miracle voice tracking that enabled his many affairs. Jonny could pre-record the breaks and insert them at the appropriate time. The computer would run the song into his break into the commercial flawlessly.

Jonny walked behind the console and checked the computer screen. He made it back just in time, another break was coming up in a few minutes. He had recorded all the breaks for his show just in case Heather really detained him, but since he was back to finish his shift, he’d rather do the break live. It was more exciting than watching the computer scroll for the rest of the afternoon.

Creep, by Radiohead, was playing. He potted up the volume and smirked at the irony. Some might call this his theme song. He lowered himself onto a stool. The tortured words blasted through the speakers.

The lyrics touched a nerve. “What am I doing here?” he thought to himself. Jonny remembered the old days. When he started as an overnight jock on an upstart radio station in Macon, Georgia, he was such a novice. No one there paid him any mind. He was just the kid who worked the graveyard shift, two to six am.

Working when the only people listening were drunk or drugged out was a drag, but no one cared if you messed up. It was good training ground. Back then you had to have skills.

It was 1992...Jonathan Roeker sat at the console. It was almost time for a break and he was fired up. His right hand hovered over the button on the board to turn on the mic, waiting for the song to end. He stood up and got ready to speak, trying to calm his nerves as the song faded out.

He hit the red button watching it light up below his fingers and quickly raised the fader.

“Hey Georgia, it’s Jonny Rock,” he said, letting his new moniker slide off his tongue. “I’ve got great music heading your way.” He glanced at the VU meters on the board that showed the sound level. The needles were pinging. His voice was overmodulated. Crap! He quickly slid the fader down a touch. “And don’t forget to listen every morning to Bill and Dan in the morning. Lots more music on the way.” He hit another button to fire the commercial which was recorded on a glorified eight track tape called a cart. A typed label listed the name of the client and the last four words of the spot so he knew when to hit the button to fire the next commercial. Sometimes the guys in the production department forgot to add that important piece of information. Then he had to guess the end of the commercial. He was always off. Never failed. And dead air was something the Program Director didn’t like. Not at all.

The last commercial ended and he hit the button for the next song to play. He had three minutes and thirty-two seconds until the next song.

The lights in the studio flashed signaling the phone.

“Hey...Jonny Rock here, what’s goin’ on?”

“Well hey, Jonny Rock, let me tell you.” Jonny immediately recognized the slow southern drawl of his boss, Clark Ford. He’d forgotten, in addition to the drunks and druggies, sometimes Clark listened too. “You don’t need to tell everyone you’ve got great music on the way at the beginning and end of every break.”

“Okay,” Jonny said, embarrassed.

“And saying every morning and Bill and Dan in the morning is a bit redundant, dontcha think?”

Jonny thought ‘dontcha think’ wasn’t all that great language either, but he was contrite. “Got it. Won’t let it happen again.”

“Good. Keep an eye on those levels too. Don’t wanna blow out some guys stereo. Later.”

Clark hung up, not waiting for a response.

Jonny sighed at the memory. Things were so different. Now all Jonny had to do was talk. He no longer had to worry about running a tight board. The computer did it all, giving him time to read the newspaper, do sit-ups on the floor behind the console or have another affair.

The song was coming to an end and Jonny got ready to go live. He put on his headphones, stood up and took his familiar stance, spreading his feet so they lined up with his shoulders. He rocked back and forth on his heels, getting into the music. The rock pulsated in his ears,