There is, in the matter of my anatomical form, something that needs frank admission. On the physical front I have changed, in a rather extreme way. I have taken on the form of a trumpet. Apologies. I have taken on the form of a quantity of pooled liquid, situated inside a trumpet. I am fairly sure. Inside the pipe work. In other words, my body is now a small quantity of water within some brass tubing, water constituted from a mixture of breath condensation and spittle. Yes, that is it. I seem to have occupied this form from the moment enough liquid had accumulated inside my brass tube to sustain my existence, which was about twenty-three seconds ago. Though it is clear that a mistake of substantial proportions has occurred, I do not, in my current life-state, have much recourse for appeal. One minute I was admitting to a Building Control Officer that I had failed to inform him of the fitting of a 13-amp plug on a built-in electric oven I had installed (which I did not realise had to be notified under Part P of the regulations), the next minute I was here. I do not even play the oboe. Or rather, the trumpet. At least I do not recall doing so, unless my mental faculties have been affected by my metamorphosis. This is possible, on the face of it. I have certainly been speculating, in the few seconds that have elapsed since being installed here, about the reason for my perplexing situation. I fancy I will not have the time to truly get to the bottom of it. Evidently, or as far as I understand, my existence as this small pool of unpleasantly odoured liquid will be fairly brief, because at any moment the trombonist will open what he calls the ‘spit valve’ (appropriately named) and blow me away into an airborne spray – I meant trumpeter there, of course – at which point my ‘identity’ will dissipate to such an extent that I will cease to exist as a unified persona. I am confidently assuming that this personality dissipation will occur. It would be difficult to imagine a spray of water drops, molecules even, cohering in any way, particularly after they hit the quite possibly porous ground and soak into its surface. Apparently, notifiable works being done by a qualified ‘non Part P registered’ electrician or DIY’er are subject to application to Building Control before starting the work (unless it is part of a larger job like an extension in which case it is included in the main application). Even wiring a plug these days is quite a minefield. It is definitely a trumpet. Hold on, I can feel some movement, the tubing is shifting into a horizontal position. The trumpeter’s mouth is pressing on the, what is it, the cup?
There. A lovely little tune.
This is definitely a trumpet. He plays it rather slowly and haltingly. Hauntingly, I would say. Each time the tuba player plays a little I feel my brass body tingle with the sound waves…
No, this is incorrect. What I am feeling is my liquid body expanding with a touch more spittle, but mostly with breath moisture. My tiny watery mass also vibrates quite shockingly as the air is blown past me, but you would expect that. I am not the air, the breath, I am the condensation that results from it. I am now fairly certain of this. Fingers a bit stiff there, I can hear the bugler sigh.
It is a dying art. Speaking of which, the spit valve is being tampered with. My nigh, as they say, is end.
Ah. Here we are. The expurgatory blow is on its way, how dramatic, the clarinet’s tubing is now flooded with light as if the…
I don't hear a lot of this kind of music, gives me ,loose Sonic Youth vibes. Everything about it is cool, like too cool for school cool. I want to skip class and spray paint an alley with these people. Kyle Zarnoch
Just imagine if these outtakes made it into EATEOT, the project would've been over seven hours! I love how "I Might Be Vanishing" is a stark contrast from other tracks, being only nine seconds. AG319 Alt Acc
Industrial textures and vocals with a hint of gothic melodrama come together on tAngerinecAt''s latest trip to the dark side. Bandcamp New & Notable May 3, 2022
