Our story begins in a rancorous, blues infested bar of the deep south, where the young man Bowie meets young man Waits. One introduces himself in a cloud of Stardust. The other, with a shot of bourbon -- it is, after all, in the Heart of Saturday night.
They spin a duet or two. Just one or two might lead to three or more, until no one remembers the details of the night, so obscured as they are in plunking and pounding. And in the end these two musical magicians infuse their powers (with the help of alien technologies, no doubt) into a child of love.
The abandoned love child is picked up by a travelling circus, headed by They Might Be Giants. As they travel far and wide the child begins to grow and learns the ways of vagabonding and entertainment. But it is soon discovered that the love child is not, in fact, a giant, but 100 Monkeys.
Though there are no hard feelings the group is on their own once again -- and head strait into the throes of the 21st century 'indie rock' scene. They slip and slide from banana peel to banana peel until at long last landing in their rightful place: my mp3 player.
In summary, if Bowie and Waits had a bourbon soaked love child that was then raised by They Might Be Giants, it might look like this:
Or at least that is how I imagine it happening.
