A Rattle And A Roll

On NSARS 2-1

The crimson dust of planet NSARS 2-1 hung thick on a cold Sunday afternoon, vibrating under the onslaught of sheer sonic power. Three figures, encased in orange retro-futuristic space suits with unsettlingly skeletal alien faces visible through their visors hammered out the final chords of the first movement. The massive rust-eaten speaker stacks behind them looked ready to crumble and the very ground seemed to protest.

In the foreground coiled among the jagged black volcanic rocks cowered the inhabitants of NSARS 2-1. They were the famous metal rattlesnakes. These aren't creatures of flesh but serpentine automatons - sleek articulated tubes of chromed silver. Their segmented bodies shifting almost organically. During the first movement they were coiled tight their optical sensors glowing red and their metallic rattles buzzing like a thousand angry cicadas. That would be an involuntary reaction to the colossal bass and frantic guitar work of the three grim aliens. The serpents were fierce and had evolved to withstand the planetary environment but the decibels were such a hefty disturbance they were rattling their internal processors. One snake that had dared to sneak around the bassist’s foot had even momentarily short-circuited a sensory input from the vibration.

As the band transitioned, the visual on the holographic displays shifted. The raw energy subsided, giving way to the mellower, yet still distinctive, groove of the second movement. The bass line became less frantic, the drums slipped into a relaxed syncopated beat, and the guitar work’s melodic almost melancholic lightness suddenly became more perceptible. 

The change was instantaneous. The metal rattlesnakes systems now registering the post-disorder clarity of the new sound began to uncoil. Their red lights in their eyes dimmed to a gentle contemplative blue. The severe buzzing ceased. They didn't slither away instead they extended their necks and rested their heads flat on the rocks as if truly listening.

The light, lilting music soothed their circuits. The snake that had shorted out earlier now felt its input normalize, the gentle rhythm a welcome reset. They were survivors of the sonic boom and now they were appreciative auditors of the lighter more nuanced music. It was a bizarre yet peaceful scene. An alien band on a desolate Mars-like landscape playing for an audience of serenely listening highly durable chrome serpents.

For the metal rattlesnakes the second movement was the soundtrack of survival. It was a gentle reward after a necessary albeit deafening, brush with disorder.