MRALDS

They poured largers one after another into plastic pint glasses, teased into a static induced frenzy, foaming to produce 4 inch heads, hopelessly guilty, it made the staff feel bad. Your totally that guy who makes a fuss about stuff like this, yep. Buy me some vegan cake, no you owe me 56 pounds. OK. Just buy me some vegan cake, no. people are sitting and standing around, red light floods from beneath the temporary aluminium stage. Lots of beards. The first band arrive wearing normal clothes and shamanic masks cobbled together out of rubber gloves and cardboard, quite minimal masks. The lead guitarist slowly fucks the air with his guitar, demon clad face lolling back and licking the sky, over and over. This lasts quite a long time, rolls of static and drone, guitar and echoes settle and fizz like sediment in water. It is difficult to sit like this. upright on the hard floor. Another guy from japan enters the stage, slim with a large volume of wavy black her down to his chest, he proceeds to make some noises, loud noises, static and noise, jerking around and twisting a disk attached to some kind of home made techno junk disk keyboard. It wasn’t so good. But three guys from America were. Making sounds like millions of tiny sinking galleons in a pool filled with cheap lemonade wired up with magnetism and electricity, objects and layers flowed through the now predominantly horizontal spectators. some people zoned out, others nodded to there own perception of a rhythm, slow tunnel vision. i wish it had been in a pine forrest, resin and needles. soaked in emerald green moss. dew drops popping from the noise.