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How did Gary Numan and the Tubaway Army muster such epic alienation? Aloof, robotic, and wielding a host of cutting, metallic betamax synths and one beat snare drums, they faced the vulgar 1980s lanscape with an icy, irresistable disaffection. Numan himself was an eyelined anti-panderer, freaking out gluttenous culture consumers with his skinny tie precision and mechanical stare. This week members, embrace your inner steeliness and, toward those who want you to emote like a teenage girl in the presence of Brad Pitt, tell 'em to forget the fluff:
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