more off est une pièce radiophonique toujours en cours de création.
Dans le sens détourné de la science-fiction, des événements du présent et des indices du monde réel, des lieux, des situations et des personnes du passé influencent le scénario de la pièce radiophonique. de la pièce radiophonique. Ainsi, le studio de son, installé sans équipement technique, (table de mixage en placage de bois de bout avec un bouton sans fin, des marques  » off  » et  » more off « ) est déjà un lieu réel déjà un lieu réel avant qu’il ne joue un rôle dans la pièce radiophonique, et le groupe de jazz psychédélique appelé Kröter, a déjà sorti 3 albums, alors que les événements qui ont conduit à leur formation se déroulent seulement dans les années 60.

Paroles, musique, accessoires Kröter : Christoph Rothmeier
Voix : Henry Sargeant

(Excerpt interview, tape recording, 13.11.1984 Gunter German Grunters about Madame’s actual musical creation, based on his seamless, swamp-like memory. approx. 360 min.)

[…
Radio host (M):
« Mr. German Grunters, you possess the gift or the curse not to forget anything of what you have experienced. Is that right ? « 
Gunter German Grunters (GGG):
« Wrong and right, you know that no one believes me for a long time, I am very alone with my memory, the single memory quasi »
M: « You allude with your word creation « single memory » to the concept of the one-room apartment of the memory, is that correct ? »
GGG: « Wrong or right so that believes who wants. Now there is however in my private reality a transposed version of the experienced, in which it is possible for me events from the past to order and from the past and to locate them. »
M: « She had already described this place to me before the broadcast, it is a kind of a doll’s house, a half-timbered manor as they were in the 18th century, at the time of the (sound disturbance ) in the Alsace originated. Right ? »
GGG:  » No that’s wrong, I didn’t say that. »
M: » But you had … that was just 5 min ago. »
GGG: « Well, your memory has clearly played a trick on you.
M: » I could swear… »
GGG:  » But not prove… »
M: » Oh … Please continue… »
GGG:  » The place, if you are interested in the description of the place, this place of my Memory, so it strongly resembles the architecture of a swamp. »
M: » actually (…. at once ) a swamp architecture, and this originated like (very quietly:… in the last 5 min) ? . »
GGG:  » the frogs. »
M:  » aja … amphibians, …several ? »
GGG:  » a bag of frogs, my jute bag of tree frogs ».
M:  » They emptied their portable terrarium into the memory and a swamp was created. Right ? »
GGG:  » Wrong. First of all, I outsourced what I experienced, my brain could only store all the information from my 16ten years of age store all information, before that I use tree frogs. »
M: » You use tree frogs as a storage medium ! »
GGG:  » I suck them ».
M: » How do amphibians taste…. »
GGG:  » a little more differentiated than other storage media. In any case, they do not lose their individual taste, which makes them distinguishable among themselves and even without labeling to a reliable storage medium.
M: » Storage medium. »
GGG:  » The saliva is, of course, part of the archiving process as a lubricant of the experience and that works both ways. In nostalgic moments, of course, I also sucked the past past and relive it. For example, my first kiss.
M: » You had a tree frog in your mouth during your first kiss. »
GGG:  » In very emotional moments, a frog was not enough. At the time of my first love, I salivated up to 4 tree frogs a day. The simultaneous affair with Madame forced me to change me to redesign the whole memory system and to create the swamp. Just in time in time before the first frogs extinguished themselves.
M: » Thanks to the memory-decoded tree frogs, you were able to access a complete swamp of your of the experience. Do they like music ? »
…]

( Excerpt Narrative, Lacandonian Rainforest Festival 1964 )
[…
« How do they even play the guitar they are a toad. »
 » With the heart. »
 » Ah …yes of course …. well, and so how does your heart move your fingers over the sides and the frets ? »
 » Actually quite normal, but in the context of the Marichiaband I play in I am forced to use a certain technique, it has less to do with picking frets, it’s more like massaging the frets.
it’s more like massaging the sides. I massage the sides in the frequency of my heart.
The impulse of my body thus amplifies the sound of the guitar. Transmitted through my fingers to the sides, and my chest to the body of the guitar. I create a pulsating envelope
of rhythmically changing air density, which dampens the trebles and mids of the brass
and pushes corridors into the air for my guitar playing. »
« I now imagine little guitar notes riding on a big wave, making their way through a sea of clanging trumpets. »
« Why this belittlement and why surf ? »
 » hmmm … yes why just, of course … sorry « 
The light of the day becomes softer and the contours of the shadows softer. A long corridor does between leaves and bushes and slowly turns into a cathedral vault that passes over their heads as they wander deeper into the Lacandon jungle of Yaxshilan.
of Yaxshilan. Through the branches come the calls of howler monkeys, songbirds and strangely electric crashing of butterflies. The green of the forest changes by a breath into damp shiny dark blue, while the light of the evening emits a lightly veined purple. His engagement with Madame, explains the Toad, there is not really a contract and moreover, the notes sent to him seem to have been mixed up.
She must have confused the written and the blank block. Only on one
strangely numbered pages, there is a strange constellation of notes in the center, more of a
constellation of notes, more resembling a heap, an ant gathering or a depla
or a deplacement of the notes caused by shaking to a sediment in a depression of order. It could have been a contemporary « hoevre » of art-music intersection, but frankly it was neither
overlap, but frankly it was neither clear in design nor did it send a subversive « play me » signal, just a heap of notes.
me » signal, just a heap of notes just, surely an oversight.
But what did he, the toad, know about it, it was just a feeling that kept him in this loop of indecision.
indecision, score or just paper, depending on the perspective.
Grunter had been in joyful excitement since the Toad revealed his commitment to Madame.
However, he concealed his love affair with Madame, not only that, but he also hid the contents of his burlap bag from the Toad. …]
[… From the toad only a light ripple on the fog cover is to be seen and thus offers Grunter offers, the toad can take place, on his head, he will be particularly attentive what
branches protruding into the path.
While Grunter follows the path enchanted by fog and moonlight, the clearly perceptible
heartbeat of the toad pleasantly orders his thoughts. Similar to countless small
black sticks that bump into each other in the shallow waves at the edge of a lake, swirl around and thus constantly renegotiate the space given to them. The initially cool damp belly on his head meanwhile adapted to both of your body temperatures. The
toad’s lower jaw rests on the base of Grunter’s forehead, and its forelegs with tassel fingers hold on to his temples.
hold on to his temples. She’s docking, Grunter notes. The pulsing toad’s heart
approaches his scalp, sinks very slowly through the top of his skull with the rhythm of his footsteps, and lingers quietly throbbing in the space between his temples. These in turn are gently
a circular massage, caused by the interaction of the small holding toad hands and the toad hands and the up and down Grunter’s steps. All movements swing in. Weightlessly the jungle swings past you.
…