"Ground control to Major Richard-San. Come in, Major Richard-San. Over."

"Major Richard-San here, over."

"We lost contact with you, Richard-San. You weren't launched into orbit for your own purposes, you were sent to observe and report on what you've seen. What happened?"

"I've been drifting through the Stratosphere with Duster, ground control. Earth-bound sounds pale in comparison to the bent time and skewed spatial relationships of this album. I have come to to see the beauty in ugliness and the clarity in distortion. Over."

"You've lost me Richard-San. Put it in terms the people down here can understand, over."

"Well, ground control, Duster sound like a filthy Galaxie 500 with a less overt melodicism. And while the tempos are extremely slow (perfect for dancing in zero gravity) and the guitar sound is dirty and distorted, to my ears it's all as pretty as a gaseous sunrise on Venus. You can just barely hear the dreamy vocals, like they're floating at you from across the void, and a few instrumentals of crackling guitar feedback sound like My Bloody Valentine transmitting from a satellite heart. It's fine lo-fi psychedelia, sir."

"That's a Roger, Richard-San. You've really made the grade and the newspapers want to know who's shirts you wear. Over."

"Pinpoint oxfords are nice, 17 neck 35 inseam. Okay, this is Major Richard-San to ground control, I'm stepping through the door...whoa! It's freezing out there! Screw that, I think I'll tune in to Duster instead. Over and out."

-Mark Richard-San