The song is real but the group is not.

F-1 b/w Pirelli
Paris, France

We wrote this song for a scene in a movie called Sterling Fassbinder. In the scene, a girl named Nora speeds down an American highway in a red Ford Mustang with the top down, blasting Serge Gainsbourg's song of the same name out of a boombox stuck to the dashboard with ducktape. Nora smokes Gitanes and can barely sit still enough to drive. She is the very zenith of dyke style with her freshly washed, dazzling white wifebeater, grey suit trousers, and oversized Tag Heur watch that hangs loosely from her slender wrist. On her face are Cutler & Cross tortoise shell shades with burnt umber lenses that keep her world in perpetual sunset. Her greasy dark blond hair blows all over the place: she is the European playing the part of the classic American drifter. The wind makes her nipples hard. They seem disproportionately large in comparison to her small, hard breasts. F-1 starts playing when Nora pulls over to pick up a girl who will turn out to be Sterling Fassbinder. She is waiting there, in the middle of nowhere with an army green duffel bag--a sleepy, sad boy-dyke under a wide screen expanse of late morning blue sky patched-up with big, fluffy clouds. When they meet everything else becomes interchangeable...they could be on any highway, on any country, on any planet...it wouldn't matter. The stark inevitability of the fuck strips it of all romanticism, leaving behind the hard kernal of animal lust. Nora's broken and heavily (German) accented English is punctuated by bouts of giddy, hysterical laughter. She is trying to explain how she feels like a man with a man's desires and then a woman and then a man again. Not too different from this song, I think."

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