[ MP ] Newbop by Caravan Palace .

The SkyTrain was a nearly flawless system, but even it was not immaculate. And so one early morning as Electronic Dance Music DJ Theodore Naus was riding into New Philadelphia, the first serious SkyTrain accident in over fifty years occurred. Authorities later determined that a faulty superconductive quantum levitator was to blame, but at the time, all that concerned Theodore was that suddenly, he was plummeting thirty thousand feet down to Earth. 
 
 The fall itself wasn ’ t as much the source of Theodore ’ s fear – he knew that the emergency parachutes would soon deploy – rather, he was scared of what he would find down there. As a young boy, he had heard all sorts of stories about Earth, about the wild animals that would eat him whole in a second and about the few men that stayed behind and lived without laws and morals while the rest of humanity migrated to the skies. 
 
 As the parachute opened and the SkyTrain ’ s descent slowed to a calm float and then softly touched down, Theodore looked out the window and saw that there were no apparent signs of intelligent life. He was surrounded by dilapidated brick houses, with cracks in their walls so large that it looked like the buildings were only held together by the vines of ivy that covered them, their growth unchecked by gardeners. He looked up, hoping to see the shining structures of New Philadelphia high above him in the heavens, but clouds covered the sky completely. Even the Sun wasn ’ t to be seen. 
 
 Exiting the train and tiptoeing through the shards of glass that filled the street, Theodore walked towards one of the better looking buildings – the windows were boarded up and there was a hole in the roof out of which a skinny birch tree was growing, but on the whole, the house looked stable. As he approached, he realized that he could hear the faint sound of a piano coming from inside. He cautiously opened the door, and a family of foxes scampered out between his feet. Inside, he saw a mess of stools scattered about the floor in front of a bar table littered with half-empty bottles of whiskey. Above the table was a stage, upon which he could see a jazz pianist playing. To the side of him stood an empty drum set. 
 
 Excited, Theodore ran up to the pianist. He had heard about this ancient relic: the Bot Joplin. A product of the ragtime revival of 2150, the Bot Joplin was an automated piano player programmed to perform the hottest songs of 1899. Sitting there in trousers, a Hamburg hat, and a three-piece suit, the Bot was banging out the Maple Leaf Rag for the millionth time in a row. Theodore walked right up to a drum set and started playing a dance rhythm over the rag. The Bot looked at him, and a peculiar surge of electricity passed through its circuits, causing its metallic lips to form a smile. Somehow, this weird mix of ancient and contemporary worked. And the Bot asked, “ What is this that strange new music we ’ re playing? ” 
 
 And Theodore replied, “ Why, let's call this the Newbop. ”
