Supernova Starship Boldly Goes Where No Band Has Gone Before

It’s a tragic tale: Three young lads - Art, Jo and Dave - from the distant planet of Cynot 3 were joyriding through their solar system one day in Dave’s dad’s starship when, all of a sudden, the Cynotian star went supernova, wiping out everything in the system, including Cynot 3.

The supernova hurled the boys (in suspended animation) and their borrowed starship through space for 3 trillion light years.

The trio’s journey into the unknown finally came to an end in 1991, when they crashed just west of Las Vegas (“that’s where UFOs go,” Art said in his biography).

Unfamiliar with the ways of this strange new land, the orphaned boys, Cynot 3’s only survivors, learned to play oddly shaped instruments of wood and metal - guitar, bass and drums - and started a band called Supernova, a reminder of the devastating event that snuffed out their humanoid Cynotian species.

(Supernova lands at Ichabod’s North on Thursday.)

After spending a couple of years secretly practicing in a Costa Mesa, Calif., basement, the band is out to conquer the world.

And Supernova is doing it in a rather unconventional fashion.

The band’s holding the planet hostage by both depleting the Earth’s finite supply of aluminum/ tinfoil and brainwashing rock ‘n’ roll fans with its punchy, quirky, fun-loving rock sounds.

“People don’t really understand yet but when they’re all out of tinfoil, we’ll have them right where we want them,” said Art last week from his starship while it hovered above Nashville, Tenn.

Supernova accumulates its prized booty, a vital necessity to the Cynotian species, at live shows. Its debut album on Amphetamine Reptile/Atlantic “Ages 3 And Up” has backward masked and subliminal lyrics that urge people to relinquish their tinfoil and bring it to concerts.

For example, the album’s “Vitamins,” which is now blasting off on alternative radio across the country, states: “You better take your vitamins/they’re good for you/they’re good for you.” If you play this backwards, it says: “Give us your tinfoil earthling/or meet your doom.”

One of the conditions of playing Ichabod’s is that the promoter supply the band with ample foil (and money, of course). True fact.

The Flies and Cringe open. Music starts at 9:30 p.m. Cover’s $4.