That night I hung out down the back of the venue because the molten mosh pit at the foot the stage was simply terrifying.
Their own webpage describes them as a cross between Diamanda Galás and The Birthday Party. I tell a friend they are like Bikini Kill mixed with Joy Division. We’re both correct.
"What the hell kind of friends do you have? I’m paying twenty thousand dollars a year to send you to that private Catholic prep school, and I will not allow trash to come into my house whether literally or via social media."
I’m exhausted and out of breath. I don’t even know where I am anymore. Have I missed my stop? I wouldn’t know.
Urgency is dictating that we move more quickly now, so we forge on past rave tents full of writhing, scantily dressed youngsters, many with glazed eyes.
Stereo Stories published its 500th story this morning.
I don’t feel the need to bump a Smiths track when it comes up on shuffle, for no-one can tear asunder what Morrissey and Marr put together all those years ago.
You can blame it all on Nils Cusack, if you wish. The first Stereo Story. 2013. The first gig. 2014. And then another 20 shows. Yep, it’s all Nils’ fault.
While his voice is shot through with the after effects of treatment for neck and lung cancer, his vocals lend a rich, warm, knockabout tone to his new songs.
One song title stands out. One title has me impatient for the CD to get to Track 7.