For the rest of us, there’s life Anson Cameron Spectrum columnist, The Age The cave looked down on an amphitheatre of orange stone, its pillars and protrusions decorated with ceremonial figures the colour of dried blood. As I turned the huge shell in my hands it occurred to me that it was a musical instrument, as sonically profound and elemental to an ancient liturgy as a church organ, sitting there in the wall. And I suppose the figures dancing on the stone were dancing to notes once blown from this exotic instrument by some excited musician, some hopeful composer smiling as he brought the thing to his lips, some Amadeus delighted to watch the folk lose themselves in his notes, happily leading them on to abandon.