Mike Oldfield Tubular Apr 2026

And the whole thing starts to fold in on itself, layer by layer, until only the first guitar remains, walking its barefoot circle. The bell's echo fades last.

The pattern changes. A mandolin races in, then stops. A timpani roll, like thunder from a clear sky. The guitars begin to double-time, not frantic, but eager – the way a child runs downhill. You can hear the fingers on the frets, the squeak of the strings. It's human. mike oldfield tubular

Now the piano , hesitant, strikes a chord that sounds like dawn breaking over a moor. The glockenspiel sprinkles frost. And from somewhere in the left channel, a bassoon lumbers in, half-asleep, adding a touch of the ridiculous – as if to say, this is serious, but not that serious. And the whole thing starts to fold in