And Harmonica Jhonen blew air around his tongue, which had been altered by straight razor so he could play better. And so well he played, that instead of sound, colours drifted from his mouth organ, sometimes smooth like a rainbow in the sky, and sometimes jagged and rutting, like a train at full speed.
But even with so much talent for drawing pictures with his controlled breath, Jhonen could not sell his music, sounds that could not be heard. With the advent of a visual recording device still years away, Jhonen could only play to small clubs and small crowds of avid admirers, familiar faces and kind barmen. Only to die unrecognised, slightly remembered, at the tender age of thirty-three, an alcoholic tempered by free drink.