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“Time collapsed into a delicate dark pencil brushed against our eyebrows, the emergent rumble of crowds gathering above our heads. We slid into our costumes. Pirate, outlaw, futuristic rebels. Red, purple, gold. Chains hanging from our belts, tight black trousers. We were moved upstairs, closer to the stage. Finally, we heard the cannon's roar: Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome... Tanzar recording artists... THE MASTER PLANETS!" The world shot forward. We stepped into the spotlight.” — Donald Gallinger
Time collapsed into a delicate dark pencil brushed against our
eyebrows, the emergent rumble of crowds gathering above our heads. We
slid into our costumes. Pirate, outlaw, futuristic rebels. Red,
purple, gold. Chains hanging from our belts, tight black trousers. We
were moved upstairs, closer to the stage. Finally, we heard the
cannon's roar: Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome... Tanzar
recording artists... THE MASTER PLANETS!" The world shot forward. We
stepped into the spotlight.