"Loooooooooooooo-
Loooooooooooooooooo!
LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOST"There's a leopard – but you don't embrace it. It's a leopard of oppression, and you've heard its scream. You stare it in the eyes, and death growl, lightly at first.
"Shake... shake in the morning,
Or is it... is it the night? Tonight?
The working man, crossing the ashen, the ashen lowlands,
The sparkle in his eye, it's gone... it's gone"You're rocking quite hard by now, rain pouring from the ceiling and pure folk rhythm pouring from Harun's hands and cricket bat and, indeed, mind – visible like purple little waves crossing the room to you and Quebecca, juddering your knees but still staring at the damn leopard, still outside the studio door, paws on the door handle.
"IT'S GONE... BURNED...
BURNED IN THE HIGHLANDSSSSSSS!
BURNNNNNNNNNNNNED
BURNNNNED IN THE LOWLANDS!"You're trying to get out the core of the message, but the damned leopard is giving you some kind of political constipation. You try to imagine yourself as chalk cliffs wearing a kilt.
"TEAAAAAAAAAAAAA
TEA FOR MY BABY
LEFTTTTTT
I DUN LEFT MY BABY..."It seems to help but you wonder at the leopard – you wonder if you didn't take some bad paracetamol or something.
"Baby... how could you do this?
Lover... the tea of oppression?
The tea of the south...
But I won't cry for you, baby... You're gone to me... gone to tea..."You watch the purple waves cross into your temple again and again and again. You've never heard of bad paracetamol attracting leopards or any other big cats before.
"It's not alright, baby,
It's not okay.
I ain't growing a moustache for you, baby,
I won't wear your black beret."So it can't be bad paracetamol. It must be good paracetamol. All you can do is advance on the leopard and sing – probably the only thing you can count on.
"You took my universe away from me honey,
Left me running from depression.
I thought we formed a holy circle,
But you were just a standing stone of oppression."You pause.
"GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"You leap forward – Quebecca screams, suddenly exposed – and with some virtuoso rabid cricket bat as a backing you shoulder charge the door, busting it off its hinges and smacking it right into the face of Bagpipes Debbie, knocking her over and stumbling through, crashing to the ground next to and partially on top of her, and on top of her bagpipes.
She's got a hearty looking bruise round her eye – surely not from the door - but she's smiling and carries on bagpiping without hardly a breath, without even getting up, she bagpipes away lying there on the floor with you partially on top of her, a fierce animal-like wailing, crescendoing, crescendoing, and then exploding in a high pitched scream, and joined by Quebs, who's wandered over to the door and screamed, and who looks down at both of you, and screams, and then is silent.
Harun is silent too, musically, at least, and comes over.
”Shit, dude, that was some dope death growling, man. Whoa.”“Ladies and gentlemen... that was Maeshowe Ethics Commission with
Lost Bagpipes, and a very impressive performance it was too. Now, Nigel – before you go, when can the people see you live next?”
Current band members: Nigel, Competent Death Growlist, Adequate VocalistQuebecca, Competent Silenceist Bagpipes Debbie, Adequate Bagpiper and Adequate KazooistHarun, Competent Cricket Bat Player, Dabbling Tambourinest and Dabbling Rugby PlayerCurrent key influences: the death growl, silence, Scotland, Peruvian Cricket Music, Oppression
Current clothes: kilts
Current portfolio:Free Speech – bagpipes, tambourine, death growl, and silence
A Babby’s Tomb – kazoo, cricket bat, death growl, and silence
Standing Stones of Rebellion – cricket bat, death growl, silence, and one smack of rogue tambourine
Current fans: that small boy in the park? The G and N store staff.
Author
Topic: You are Nigel and the Maeshowe Ethics Committee! (Read 10919 times)