He sends you to a version of Guantanamo where instead of blaring obnoxious 90s dad metal to scare you into submission, it's obscure lofi indie Appalachia-core ballads that are all about lumberjacks with opioid addictions and Oedipus complexes, and the chorus of EVERY FUCKING SONG includes a banjo solo that does NOT fit the mix because the one engineer recording these fucking things mixes on a pair of 1980s Sony Walkman headphones and has severe hearing loss in one ear and can't tell that the mix is terrible, and nobody tells him because the last time someone criticized his mixing/production choices he self-flagellated in the studio for half an hour and everyone was extremely uncomfortable.

He still billed them for that time.