Black ink drawing of a skull built from electric guitars, violins, a microphone, headphones and tangled cables, shown as a standalone design with no body placement.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Skull made of guitars and a microphone

Black and grey · Flash

A detailed pen drawing of a skull whose features are formed from musical instruments, including electric guitars for the eyes, a guitar neck for the nose, and a row of guitars across the teeth. Headphones, a microphone on a stand and loose cables surround the skull, and wood grain texture covers the cranium. The work is rendered in fine black linework and hatching on a white background, with the instruments framed symmetrically around the central skull.

Skull Guitar Microphone Cable Music

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Maureen, the Marine View still smells of wet coats and Brasso, and Mrs Ibbotson has given the top room to the band because nobody else would have it. Thirteen guitars came up the stairs on Tuesday, one case at a time, and she counted every one with her lips pressed flat. The drummer keeps his cymbals in the bath. I am writing this on the landing because the cables have taken over the bed.

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Dev hasn't slept properly since the promoter pulled the headline slot. He sits on the windowsill with the sash up and talks to the bay as if it owes him money. Last night he restrung his battered sunburst twice, then sat cross-legged in front of the amp with the mic stand between his knees and sang the same verse until the milk float rattled past below. Nobody complained. Mrs Ibbotson left a tray of tea outside the door and didn't knock.

On Thursday the tide came over the slipway and the power dipped, and every amp in the house gave one long hum together, like a whole orchestra clearing its throat. Dev stopped mid-chord. Then he laughed, properly, for the first time since August, and pulled the lead from the wall so the room went quiet apart from the gulls. He said a band was only a set of bones that happened to have amplifiers.

We are playing the pier on Saturday after all, to whoever wanders in off the front. Bring your good coat. Mrs Ibbotson says the bill is paid, so the cables are ours until Sunday. Your loving sister, Ruth. P.S. Tell Dad the violin is in the cupboard under the stairs and not at the bottom of the sea, as he feared.