In the old days, Exeter was regularly amputated from the outside world by hazardous conditions in the unforgiving mountains that surrounded it. The one arduous ridge-top track that snaked over the Stegosaurus-backed peaks linking Exeter with civilisation was routinely either buried in fathoms of snow or coursed ragged with brown meltwater rapids.

As the twentieth century neared its obituary, two lost souls found catharsis way up near the highest and most precipitous summits. Between nightsweats and the savage accusations of evil that they levelled at each other, they called this catharsis Marathon Tuxedo.

How they ended up in the mountains is somewhat of a mystery. Some say they were stranded, others claim they stranded themselves, but in their log cabin, constantly thwarted by the alternating cold and rainy seasons, they just about survived on a diet of Datura stramonium, psilocybin mushrooms, Salvia divinorum, hallucogenically powerful skunk and nutmeg. Foraging for other sustenance was impossible as they were invariably quickly forced back into their hovel by bears, tigers, wolves, hyenas and the plain ferocity of the elements. The only diversion and hope was to make this music. They completed one album way back in 2000 - the humble cassette being the medium of necessity. Work on a second album followed shortly but before they could complete it they were presented with an unusual gap in the weather and they made the break for home.

In the following years there was occasional talk of finishing the album and much pressure from the spooks of the international music community, but they both found that listening to the material brought back too many painful memories and terrifying flashbacks, so only now, as the following decade has also been thoroughly obituarised, have our heroes finally plucked up courage to finish their masterpiece.

The mountains have gone now – in the name of progress, I ask you! – and so too has Marathon Tuxedo, but their legacy remains and is undiminished in its enigmatic power.