One fated day Lemmy Kilmister & Giorgio Moroder had a love child born out of wedlock and they did name him Supermax.
It was betold he would dance with the devil.
Supermax indulged us all in his fantasies of ungodly slow funk, overly prog analogue synths, and heavy riffs topped off with a 70s rock vocal.
Supermax was due to leave the earth on the 666th day of the 666th month on the 666th year, but due to Southern Rail changes in the service timetable is now one of the 666 passengers trapped somewhere between Crawley and East Croydon for all eternity.
The train seems to have split itself into some sort of hierarchically structure based on a post-apocalyptic graphic novel.
While passengers in the last four carriages are made to watch films with Chris Helms while eating Soylent Green, passengers who have made their way to the middle carriages are ruled by an Emperor.
Their Emperor – known as the The Emperor Machine – broadcasts transmissions to the outside world and will only ever be allowed to depart in Bognor once capitalism has been overthrown across the globe. Function feels like an analogue disco Sharevari via Arthur Russell, and that no easy feat.
A cult of people have grown up around listening to this Emperor Machine’s broadcasts – what do the Emperors transmissions tell us? What are the strange antiquated machines that produce such sounds?
Until Southern Rail sorts its services out and capitalism is overthrow we may never know.