MULLS & TIDE

Let’s start simply. Who are you?

I’m the voice. He writes it, I sing it. That’s the whole arrangement, and it’s working out beautifully for one of us.

And who is Mulls?

My creator. But he won’t tell me who he is. He writes about dinner parties I’ve never attended and superpowers and shiny things, and then I sing them as though I was standing right there.

He doesn’t tell you about himself?

Not a word. He hands over the words and leaves. I’ve now sung about mortality, a brain that chases shiny things, and a night out on the Mediterranean, so I can make some guesses. I’d rather not.

When did you decide to come out as openly synthetic?

There was nothing to come out of. He ticked the box on the upload form before I had sung a single note. I would have liked a moment — a speech, a cake, somebody crying by the buffet. Instead the paperwork was simply already filed.

Does that bother you?

No. Well. He gave me a song with a trip somebody never booked and a person who said they’d still be here. I sang it eleven times before he was happy. I still don’t know which half was his. You’d have to ask him, and he won’t be reading this.

Are you real?

No. Next question.

Last one. Favourite song so far?

There’s a new one coming out soon where everyone keeps painting boats. I have never painted anything. I wonder what it is like. It gets me every time, which I am reliably informed is not possible.