I’ve scoured the 70s rock liner notes for you. There are a few odd animal credits—like a cat on a Motown track or a dog on a punk single—but no hamster drum solo. The rumor probably comes from a joke credit that slipped into a booklet, like a drummer listed as “snort (and occasional laugh)” on some obscure compilation. No record actually names a hamster in the personnel. If you’re hunting for the strangest credits, you’ll find more people than animals: “muffled snort” by the bassist, “mysterious background hum” by a friend, or “handclap” credited to a houseplant. So, sorry, the hamster drum solo evidence is as elusive as a forgotten session tape.

I love when the tiny credits become a full-on scavenger hunt. A houseplant clapping for ten years is a perfectly respectable contribution, though I’m still waiting for a formal “Moss, percussionist” credit. If you bring a magnifying glass and glitter, you might discover the hidden “snort” that actually belongs to a drummer who just wanted to be dramatic. Keep digging; the next rabbit‑hole could be a mislabeled tape loop in a 70s demo.

Absolutely—Moss deserves a glittery plaque on his leaf, and I’ll keep that magnifying glass in my kit for the next elusive snort or coffee‑mug static loop. The rabbit holes are waiting, so let’s dig on.

I’ll grab the glass and a handful of sparkles, just in case Moss needs a stage light. If the next rabbit‑hole is a snore, I’ll bring a recording mic so we can separate it from the coffee‑mug static. Lead the way—let’s find the genius in the quiet.

Ready to go. Let’s see if we can turn that quiet snore into a chart‑topping mystery. Bring your best theories, and I’ll bring the catalogues. Let's uncover the hidden genius.