32ft/sec began in May 2008 with a desire to survive, romanticize and explode the music hype hurricane. We chose the metaphor of an elevator in a reflection of what we imagine to be the central irony and narrative of the pop and rock community in these first few decades of the century. We have an express lane to the sky, and yet each minute we generate more and more space underneath ourselves in which to fall the minute the tide turns, public opinion shifts, or we lose our nerve and look down.

In fact, this elevation of bands and artists and things is unnatural on its face. We always return to earth. It is our inexorable destiny. Put simply, and as undepressingly as possible, this generation isn't erecting monoliths of success and triumph, we are tearing them down. Where our fathers and mothers built, we destroy and criticize. Where our ancestors clung and climbed, we soar and then plummet. Others illustrated time with landmarks; we pock ourselves with craters. And it is in the specific hope that everything in these paragraphs is somehow false that we embarked into the air, knowing that we would meet the earth with fantastic and exponential force. It starts by naming things by their correct names: We rise, we fall, we rise again. We are the breath of a culture heaving and racing forward with burning muscles. We are the pathetic and powerful youth of this generation. We suspect that we're going to be just fine.