#11 excerpted from “THE GET QUICK FILES: CHOOSE YOUR OWN CONJECTURE” as remembered by Mark Question 

THE TRANSMISSIONS ERA
2010 - 2015


The years 2010 to 2015 didn’t just blur together in the traditional manner that a bundle of time often does — they blurred like waves of distortion. They wobbled. They vibrated. They arrived late and left early with your wife. No one felt quite right. Not in the world. Not in their bodies. And The Get Quick?

Well, they leaned in.

This was the Transmissions Era, and it felt like the band was no longer creating music but intercepting it — pulling half-songs out of scrambled satellite frequencies, broken dreams, and old Soviet film canisters.

It began, of course, with a lost album: Sleight Return.

Never officially released, it was whispered about on forums and fanzines, said to contain reversed chorales and tracks that could only be heard in the presence of power lines or certain magnetic fields. Some claimed it was recorded entirely in an abandoned Cold War listening post in Greenland. Others say the whole thing was just a hoax. Or worse — fan fiction.

Regardless, something changed. The official records — Black Static Holiday (2011) and Televanta (2013) — were like glitch-opera postcards from a decaying world. The guitars were chiseled and fierce, the beats were rubbery, broken, wounded. Lyrically, Erjk Vanderwolf seemed to be drawing from several slipstreams at once.

Some live shows featured him singing entirely through rotary telephone handsets, his eyes covered with mirrored discs. At one infamous gig in Leipzig, he performed while submerged in a glass tank of

thermal plasma, humming lyrics that only became audible after filtering the audio through military-grade submarine sonar software.

Colonel Boran, now part-time “Neuromantic Theorist,” performed wearing robes stitched with ancient phonograph needles. Dr Watson claimed to be decrypting “warbles in the tape” from early TGQ sessions and beamed strange oscillations into live audiences using custom-built “pale antennae.”

And then came the so-called “Joyline Broadcasts.”


It started as a series of disappearing and reappearing podcasts. A modern pirate radio. Perhaps a call back (pun intended) to their 1980s 1-800 dial-a-song gimmick. But soon it became disturbingly unclear what they were (or were supposed to be) — just eerie bursts of semi-coherent phrases, distorted TGQ tracks slowed to a vaporwave crawl, layered with numbers station chatter and sweeping drones made from mic’d up ice-skates. Fans started capturing them, trading them, attempting to decode them. One looped phrase — “The map folds in on the broadcast” — was later reportedly found etched into the base of the Utah monolith when it was eventually discovered in November of 2020.

By 2015, the bands touring schedule was nonexistent. Their concerts seemed to be a matter of spontaneous materialization — random one-off shows in impossible locations: a mine shaft in Ecuador, an unlisted airport hangar in Iceland, a crypt under Bologna Cathedral. In each frame of itineration their set lists entirely changed, shifting like a deck of diaphanous memories. Songs were performed backwards, lyrics sung sideways.

The mythology was mutating.


The Interference Twins were now digital. The Gossamer Shock was a malware entity. The Crooked Envoy? Rumored to be a VR simulation developed by DARPA using input exclusively from TGQ lyrics.

And always at the center of it, that rising suspicion:

This band is a phalanx. This is an invasion.


Fans saw the groups method as a ritual transmission. A godhead construct designed to wake the sleepers beneath the telescreen.

So what did The Get Quick do between 2010 and 2015?

They broke format.


They moved towards pure transmission.


And somewhere — in this echo chamber cellblock of the modern world — if you’re listening closely, or rather remotely — they’re still out there, a lone lighthouse in a storm of static —

Stay tuned...