Giddy Ferret Paw isn’t the real birth name of this funky eccentric; Sidney Swarbrick is. But we’ll honour using it anyway. As we can all see from these photographs, Giddy is an interesting character who, by the grace of fifty pagan gods, somehow ended up working for Give Me Head Productions. He was the only employee responsible for creating a cyberpunk soundtrack.

We have located notes from Giddy’s interview along with some other documents which sketch out his short time in the most dysfunctional office in ’80s America.

Giddy Up

By early June of ’88, CEO Lawrence Cassidy and Charlie Ryba had held close to two hundred interviews; many lasting no longer than two minutes. Unbeknownst to them, the overwhelming majority of applicants were random local heads joining the queue out of curiosity: video rental store workers, circus acts, the recent unemployed, a yuppy tech guy looking for a completely different office, the occasional prostitute…  that sort of thing.

Before holding any interviews, they had placed several ads in publications all across the country and had stuck posters up in random places, presuming that this would be enough to get industry people knocking on the door. Unfortunately it wasn’t (except for Duncan Marshall) and so any applicants who had only a smattering of experience were employed in a heartbeat.

This approach led to Ryba and Cassidy employing the likes of self-styled nomad Giddy Ferret Paw.

After a full day of signposting junkies to El Sapo and handing small change over to homeless folks just to get them out of the room, Cassidy was ready to throw in the towel.

“Where the fuck are all the expert TV people, Ryba?”

“I’m beginning to wonder.”

“There’s only one explanation,” Cassidy said before snorting a line off his desk. “Our adverts sounded too good to be true.”

“You could be right.”

“It’s a good thing that I believe in divine providence.”

“Since when?”

“Since I started this adventure. I believe that I was put on this earth to be a failure for most of my life only to redeem myself with this exact project while making lots of money. That doesn’t just happen to anyone. The signs are everywhere.”

“Right.”

This is probably the first time Ryba saw a red flag. He saw it and he dismissed it because at that point in time it was more appealing to keep the faith that everything was going to turn out roses rather than confront the cold truth that this venture was going to be a complete waste of his time and money.

“Let’s get out of here,” Cassidy said. But just as he stood up, the door began to open. “Closed, mother fucker!”

Standing before them was some scrawny wandering free spirit caked in Native American jewellery bought from a toy shop. He was carrying a wooden wind instrument.

‘I’m looking for the audition room.”

‘Then you have arrived,” Cassidy said. He then turned to Ryba and winked. “Divine providence, my friend.”

* * * *

Cassidy and Ryba were sitting across from Giddy, wondering who the hell this fella was. After a short pause Ryba went first.

“What’s the name?”

“The name’s Giddy Ferret Paw.”

“We mean your real name.”

“My real name is Giddy Ferret Paw.”

“Fuck off!” Cassidy snorted. “Well let’s get down to it shall we? What brought you through the door?”

“I’ve been on the road for six months, partaking in a spiritual exercise of self-discovery.”

“So in other words,” Cassidy said. “You’ve been bumming around smoking weed just like half of California.”

“Yes, I mean no. Actually I mean yes in the material sense. But no in the spiritual sense. It’s much more complicated and interesting than that.”

“Go on,”

“You can think of me as a modern day troubadour.”

“Listen up, Giddy. We’re all modern day troubadours. What can you do that I can’t?”

“I can communicate with the spirits of most root vegetables and several types of grain.”

“We’re not growing a fucking harvest, Giggly Jiggly,” Cassidy said. “We’re making history.”

“Listen,” Ryba said. “We’re making a television series. Do you know what a television is?”

“Unfortunately I do.”

“Well that’s a start. We’re actually making a cyberpunk series set in the future and you look like you might not have heard of the future. I’m not trying to judge you. I actually admire you for your hunter gatherer ways. I just don’t know if we have a role suitable for someone like you.”

“Cut the shit,” Cassidy said. “This is fucking boring. Listen up, Gimme Gimme. You have one more sentence to tell us why you’re here.”

“That’s simple,” he said. “Divine providence.”

“Now you’re talking.”

It should be noted that Giddy would answer most questions exactly the same. But reality didn’t matter. Cassidy could suddenly sense a deeper connection between them.

“I’m here because of divine providence. I’ve been on the road for six months now. Admittedly I’m yet to leave the north of California, but every step is  towards Shangri-La. This office room isn’t where I want to be; it’s where I need to be.”

“This is the shit,” Cassidy said while Ryba looked on in quiet disbelief. “Do you believe in UFOs?”

“I don’t just believe in them, I sometimes use them to hitchhike a ride to the stars.”

‘You’re rocking my world! All you need to do now is tell us what the fuck you can do.”

“I can play 465 different instruments; nearly all of which you won’t have heard of.”

“Soundtrack,” Cassidy said while turning to Ryba, clicking his fingers. “Do we have a soundtrack department?”

“No, but–“

“Reckon you can make a soundtrack for a televised cyberpunk series with state-of-the-art gaming mechanics?”

“With all the cosmic love of Jupiter, I can do anything I put my spirit to.”

“Then, Gumbo Feral Tail Windpipe Womble, welcome home, my friend.”

While Cassidy began boasting about the quality of cartel big bud he could source, Ryba’s doubt was beginning to whisper despair into his ear. For now at least he chose to hold it all down.

Giddy Down

When the deal was done, Giddy had written some terms into the contract. All he wanted was his own soundproof office (which was to be completely removed from everyone else), a yoga mat and a daily supply of organic weed to be pushed through a letterbox which he later made in his office door. Only Cassidy and Ryba could visit but they had to do an elaborate secret knock which would take four minutes to complete.

If any of these conditions were not met then cosmic static will destroy his talents and he will consider sending in celestial beings from Jupiter to exact revenge. Or some shit.

We know from other documents we’ve read that the rest of the Give Me Head team didn’t know who he was, nor did they know if he was even part of the project.

The following was written across a perfectly preserved– albeit anonymously–post-it note:

just sin smelly gnome fella again munching raw turnip, this time he tried to hide behind the counter after seeing me, dude is mega strange

And this was found on a sheet of A4 in a cupboard drawer. The author is none other than Marty:

That gnome dood who Noddy was on about does indeed huff of cabbage. I asked Ryba and he denied all knowledge. I might get drunk tonight and investigate by complete accident. You in? From your best dood Martz hiding on first floor.

We don’t know if they ever did investigate. But if we find out that they did then you’ll be first to know.

Since Giddy took up his office, it appears that he really did just go into hiding. Cassidy and Ryba stuck to their side of the bargain; feeding his makeshift letterbox with organic weed daily.

During their visits, they would occasionally hear a racket on the other side: clapping and hissing and farting. It sounded like some strange alien music and bugger all like a synth-heavy cyberpunk soundtrack of the future. But because neither of them knew anything about instruments, they presumed it was all part of the creative process.

As we can see above, other employees at Give Me Head Productions HQ began to spot this curious fella occasionally loitering. At first they presumed Giddy was either some genius tech guru or a squatter. That’s pretty much how fine the line was between the two in 1988.

But at some point Giddy disappeared. We believe that, owed to the increasingly chaotic environment, Cassidy and Ryba forgot all about him as each day on the ground spiralled further and further out of control. When those weed deliveries stopped, Giddy simply did a runner and nobody saw him again.

EDIT: 26/12/2024

Somebody has reached out to us regarding Giddy Ferret Paw and we’re hugely grateful. After his short time working for Give Me Head, Giddy continued his worldly pilgrimage but, after a further ten years, he only got as far as some free love commune in the Sonoran Desert where he lived until his passing in 2018.

During his retirement from life, Giddy picked up the paintbrush and began creating artworks. His chosen subject matter was those Jupiter Joeys. Apparently Giddy and a great many commune pals would talk for hours about how they’d meet up with those same Joeys during their numerous DMT raves.

Giddy never stopped playing music and was buried with his favourite wind instrument known as the K’pow Tom. The ashes of his spirit animal was also buried with him. No idea how that works.

Rest easy, Giddy.

RF Productions

EDIT: 12/11/2025:

We contacted a friend, Roland, who works with AI all day every day (and by that we mean he’s on minimum wage, sending auto-generated apology emails to angry customers of a well-known budget supermarket).

We sent the clip to Roland and asked if there was any way of recreating the exact sound Giddy was making in the clip. The next day he sent us this video with audio. He explained that the AI software identified the instrument as an Eastern Haroowaaah, but couldn’t recreate it as there were only thirteen of them ever made. However, it managed to capture the notes Giddy made except using a conventional flute.

We would like to thank Roland for his important contribution as well as the budget supermarket for allowing us to use their AI sofrware although they have absolutely no idea that it took place.

And don’t worry: one day we will recreate the exact sound of the Eastern Haroowaaah.

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