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Hidden away from prying eyes, they grew in isolation in the warm, dark comfort of a garage in Sydney’s inner-west. Like a fungus they thrived in the moisture with little form and no sunlight.

Slowly they multiplied. Seasons passed ...

Strange dissonant sounds could be heard from under the garage door – too near to be called ghostly, too rhythmic to be called noise. Clouds of mysterious transient guitar-infused screams began to trouble the neighbourhood, while passers-by dropped their heads to the ground.

It was born; the five members of Transat emerged from their enclave with a new creation: ‘Futile Mechanics’.

Now, in the darkest hours of the morning, Transat can be found lazing in deckchairs under the moonlight, listening with vainglory to the sounds of their song.

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