Inside the head of the QCumber grows a rare and malicious organism which gradually absorbs his central nervous system. In its final stage of development, just before freeing itself and taking off into outer space, it sprouts some delicate tones which may be interpreted as music. This site is an attempt to scientifically document this aberration of nature by the use of text, images and sound. We call this invention multimedia. Far out. (Smell coming shortly.)
The story of the QCumber is a mysterious one, packed with lies and misinterpretations. For instance, contrary to popular belief he is not addicted to that white stuff in Oreo cookies, but rather gets his kicks from violently spinning his chair round and round with his eyes shut. Furthermore, he did not do that stuff with "you know who", because it was actually "you know who" who, in a desperate need of attention, told the press about what they had supposedly been doing up there, in a public place and all. All of which was nothing but a blatant lie. (It wasn't a public place to start with). Well, you got the picture by now.
There is more to the QCumber than meets the ears (and / or nose). Listening to his work, you have to admit that the term "music" is not quite enough to describe it. You may argue that it is not about music at all, and the QCumber could not agree more. To quote the artist himself, "it is all about trying to find the inner vegetable in you". Some say that he is out on his limb this time, others simply shrug their shoulders and acknowledge the fact that his head is being eaten by an alien life form.
From time to time the QCumber hooks up with a friend of his and they sit for hours in a windowless nook staring at phosphors, liquid crystals and light-emitting diodes. During these sessions it happens that the membranes of their abused hi-fi system starts to produce air-pressures pulsating at subsonic frequencies. Sometimes they do this in a form of danceable rhythm. Inevitably the QCumber and his friend will jump to their feet, start to dance exuberantly around their machines, screaming at the top of their lungs: "WE ARE SO DAMN ... TINY!". From time to time, they also do this in front of a crowd.
On earth, the QCumber is better known as Magnus Lidström, the physical manifestation and disguise he uses to pass unnoticed as an ordinary guy. (This usually fails.) Magnus likes to write software, sometimes even for money. He does this through a company he calls NuEdge Development. He may not yet be fully aware of it, but this is only a cover up for a much greater scheme that has been devised for him, involving communication with extraterrestrials of astonishing intelligence and technology. Magnus is currently printing all his source code on paper, folding it up and tearing it apart, tapering it together and splicing it all on a wall to look for some kind of pattern or message emerging. So far it looks mostly like gibberish, which is cool because they talk gibberish in outer space.