This is the rock and roll future of yesteryear that never was—and nobody wanted.
It is an intergalactic age of cowboys, outlaws and bandits playing on an interstellar stage. It is a time of hyper-capitalism and a cut-throat gig economy. Unreliable trash-heaps carry scrappy underdogs to their next gig, and corporation freighters lumber across the horizon laden with an empire’s bounty.
These are the music-fuelled, moon-age daydreams of a rebel space age.
These are your ORBITAL BLUES.