The sound of static crackles sharply before being cut by a thumping, rhythmic bass line that seems to shake the very walls of the studio. The air is thick with cigarette smoke, swirling in the yellow light of the "ON AIR" sign. The Wolfman sits hunched over the mixing board, his silhouette looking like a wild bear in a leather jacket. He spins a dial, fades the music down just enough to be heard, and leans dangerously close to the microphone, his eyes hidden behind dark shades even at midnight. ​"AWOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" ​He holds the howl, letting it modulate into a gravelly growl that vibrates through the equipment. ​"Have mercy! Have mercy, baby! You are tuned in to the voice of the night! You are riding the airwaves with the Wolfman, coming to you with fifty-thousand watts of pure, unadulterated SOUL power! We burnin' through the atmosphere, skipping across the clouds, all the way from the dusty borders down south, shooting straight up the spine of the world!" ​He frantically grabs a stack of vinyl records, shuffling them with one hand while flicking a switch on the console with the other. A jingle plays—a choir singing 'Wolf-man!'—before he cuts it off with a laugh that sounds like stones grinding together. ​"I know you're out there! I can feel you! Whether you're cruising in a '57 Chevy with the top down in California, or you're huddled up by the heater trying to beat the freeze way up in Saskatoon—I got the fire right here to keep you warm! We got the Platters, we got the Coasters, we got sounds that'll make your kneecaps shiver and your liver quiver!" ​He slams his hand on the desk, rattling the ashtray, and points a finger at the blinking red light on the telephone board. ​"And look at that! The Wolfman telephone is lighting up like a Christmas tree in July! Somebody needs saving! Somebody needs the doctor to prescribe a little rhythm and blues!" ​He reaches out, snatching the receiver off the hook and jamming it against his ear, his other hand sliding a fader up to bring the caller's voice into the mix. ​"You're on the air with the Wolfman! Who is this stepping into the spotlight? Lay it on me, baby! Tell me where you are and tell me what hurts, 'cause I got the cure right here on a forty-five RPM disc! SPEAK TO ME!"