First spotted around Bloomington in Indiana, Frankie and the Witch Fingers have crash-landed onto the earth’s indie rock scene with rayguns and road rage, wreaking sonic havoc across our helpless planet. These reckless savants from another dimension appear to have studied our ways, dissecting and stitching together musical conventions from around the world to form ferocious onslaughts of sonic adrenaline. As we entered our tenth year since the outbreak, tensions were high and nerves strung tight, bracing for the announcement of a seventh raid codenamed Data Doom.
The raid came on September 1st. At two minutes past three (Eastern Daylight Time), satellite and radio radio communications scrambled and jammed to a halt, hijacked by an unknown force. From every connected speaker and sound system across the globe came the thunderous rumble of a buzzing guitar, shortly followed by an explosion of drums and trumpet wails. Gattling gun staccato riffs fired through the airwaves, carried by a whirlwind of afrobeat drum grooves. Overlord commander Dylan Sizemore and his trusted generals made their way into every household and every street, returning with a vengeance and determined to give our meek eardrums a good thrashing.
In the streets, men and women started twisting and shouting, spasming and grooving recklessly to the beat of the alien transmissions. Authorities flying across the great American plains later reported crop circles spelling out foul words and messages of surrender to the Witch Finger invaders. Zoo penguins were congregating, crowdsurfing out of their enclosure and freeing their fellow inmates before descending onto the neighbouring city centres. If anything was to be understood from these jangly psychedelic garage punk outbursts, it’s that we mortals were simply no match for these transmissions designed to boil our primal instincts to groove and rock out. Every odd beat of every riff came with a left hook ready to knock your senses back into submission, topping things off with break-neck speed leads to kick your mind to hyperdrive.
Whether sonic warfare or a worldwide bloc party of apocalyptic proportions, the Data Doom transmission raged on for a world-wrecking forty minutes with little to no respite. Many resisted but all eventually gave in to the thrill. All surrendered to and thus all survived the wrath of the Data Doom, earth’s latest and closest encounter of the fifth kind.
