In the dimly lit corners of the indie universe, surrounded by shadowy melodies and fractured harmonies, an eclectic ensemble announces its resurrection. Emerging from an ominous two-year hiatus, Pauls Jets throw open the gate, extending an exclusive invitation into their familiar sonic realms. Beware: The Suitcase-Jets; dandyish voyagers trapped at the end of history, creating oblivious sound, like robot-lovers in the midst of nature. The background: some apocalyspe. "Der Himmel blau / nach Feuer riecht / Und ich hab Angst vor dem Morgen ohne dich."