DESCRIPTION:
Resistor - Arrival
From the album Underground


Photography: Sixten Abbot
Art: Ed Unitsky
Music: Resistor
Story of Underground: Steve Unruh

Song 1 - Arrival

http://www.steveunruh.com/resistor.html
Resistorpost@gmail.com
Listen to the whole album at https://resistor222.bandcamp.com

Underground is a progressive rock theme album based on the original story of "Underground".

Chapter 1 - Arrival:
Vintage limousines appear over the horizon amid a cloud of dust and distorted by the desert plain’s heat haze. In the jostling back seat of car number two, Protagonist wakes and slowly pulls himself to mental consciousness. Staring out the tinted window, the stark landscape reaches his eyes in sepia tones. He considers asking the driver when they’ll arrive, but as the blood starts to flow faster to his brain, he realizes that he doesn’t know who he is, let alone where he’s going.

Suddenly, the cars yank to an undignified halt. Drowsiness snaps to alert concern. He scans the landscape. Flat barren dirt; the muffled sound of occasional wind gusts; jagged rock peaks jutting above the plain. There is a large dust cloud forming at the base of the nearest rock peak. Panic creeps in, squeezing his ribs.

Suspecting that he’s locked in, he springs for the release handle and is surprised that the door actually opens. He jumps out, due partly to flight instinct and partly to test what the limo driver might do. In the open air, the smell of diesel and the rumble of heavy machinery emanate from the large dust cloud. Before he has a chance to react, the limos peel out and drive away, their acceleration causing the door of his empty passenger seat to slam shut.

He stands motionless. Minutes pass. The limos disappear over the horizon. The diesel machinery utters a few final clanks and stops. It’s uncomfortably quiet now. The sun heats his oily skin. To escape the exposure, he walks toward the only evident activity, the now-settling dust cloud. There he finds a twelve-foot-deep trench which has been dug by the source of dust and exhaust fumes: a now silent bulldozer retrofitted with large remote-controlled servos. At the trench bottom, on the side of the jagged rock peak, is a large metal door. He knocks. Clanking chains can be heard inside, and the door creaks and lifts open, dirt and rocks tumbling from its textured surface. He steps inside. Immediately after crossing the threshold, a ratchet releases and the heavy door slams shut.

Blood pulses violently through his neck veins, forcing an overwhelming focus on his singular biology. After the recent stimuli of machinery, wind, sun and diesel, he feels starved of external sensory input. Time seems suspended. He is alone in the dark, resolutely face-to-face with mortality.