Hedfones (Trance Syndicate)
by Nik Rainey
Next arrived some nomads from the playing fields of Austin. Furry Things were a subtribe that were known to shed their coats frequently. They removed themselves early from the Land of the Lo-Fi, peregrinated to the shores of Shoegaze (where they reveled in messy noise-pop rapture in their most recent incarnation), then arrived at this spot, shorn of fuzz and mostly mute, bringing with them languid grooves which set the controls for the heart of Sun Ra, insectile beats from the smoke-filled principality of Dub, and jars of glowing neon water drawn from when the New Wave flooded the Sea of Tranquility. At times, one of the old men would chuckle and mutter, “That ‘Diskoteque’ is quite the bitter PiL, no?” and such phrases as the rest of us thought of distant train wrecks and keyboard notes turning over in zero gravity. They finished, stood shyly up, and departed. Where they will next be found, I could not guess.