
You don’t want that crap notion of awe struck fandom, mainly because it’s bollocks and if you have got that then you’ve allowed yourself to become fucking stupid. No, in the case of this band, you want people to feel your fucking anger just like you do, to feel the same way about all these lazy fucking posers hanging kryptonite around the neck of music. Yet this lot did, as they barked at us throughout the sets, waving fists, getting twatted on a school night, thanking us with furious handshakes. There was a consistent atmosphere of relief lurking at every gig, and we couldn’t believe it. When you stumble out of a small club after 25 dates, that have all been rammed to rafters with gleaming punters, for a post gig ciggie, you are enamoured with the experience of spreading the word of your band in this sweat and tears way. None of this six gigs a year business, no. And because of that you won’t take any prisoners either. If you haven’t got it you need to admit this and ‘start dishing fucking refunds out’. Major labels can’t even get an ounce of that fucking feeling with the robots they sign, those cunts that buy out the charts week on week.



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