As the old saying goes, empires must fall! And so we bid one last salute to another world crumbled to pieces under the feet of time. But this time, it was a world we held dearly and close to our hearts and recordplayers. So we wrote sweet swansongs on battered accoustic guitars with two rusty strings, hummed in harmony in kitchens at the end of long winter nights and whistled softly into the wind out of half open train windows. On our way to the sea. All this to hail the golden ages of indie music. To pay the respect that is due, to all our forefathers who tried as we tried. Guided By Voices, The Lemonheads, The Pastels, Teenage Fanclub and countless others. And we pressed it on the black gold, known to mankind as the vinyl. So join in and sing with us and maybe the clocks come to a shrieking halt. At least for one last night. For one last hurrah. For our Pompeji!