The major groups were in disarray. Johnny-come-latelys and substitutes
held the mikes. Yes had merged with the Buggles. Ronnie James Dio propped
up the heavy Ozzy Osbourne crown as best he could on his spindly legs.
Phil Collins continued to Phil in for Peter Gabriel, screeching baldly
behind the drumset. Other former greats were busy hustling pseudo-prog
numbers like "Wildest Dreams". There was no honor among dinosaurs.

Yet, a new kind of band was on the rise. Small, warm blooded, furry
little bands with sneaky eyes, who bore live young and fed them with milk
from nipples. They'd been capering under cover of the leaves for a good
long time, but now was their moment to strike. The prize: dominance of
the earth. Their vehicle? The moon rocket of MTV.

Suddenly, out of the college towns and hip urban dives came a flood of
pink-haired, keyboard-playing, hefty-bag-jumpsuit-wearing mutants from
the netherdiscos. Radioactivity had succeeded. A new wave had been born,
riding on the new wavelength of the new age — and that wavelength was
square, saw, or sine.

The Synth Gods were about to inherit the earth.