I’d been waiting a long time for this night, Domestic Violence finally playing in a venue I could reach! The new album ‘Naked Hedgehog’ might be all filler, few killers, but the killers really kill! And they played them with the style and aggro I always envisioned they would in my hot and spicy dreams.
But there was ultimately a dissatisfaction to the gig. While they were playing ‘Real Shit Time Together’ my girlfriend was throwing up in the crowd. I patted her on the back in between shaking my head. As the bouncers sent her away, she looked at me and I shrugged at her, jumping into the mosh pit.
Domestic Violence? A washed up group of wannabe punks who were never big enough to be washed up in the first place. But Jittery James is kinda hot, he has that post breakdown kinda look that makes me really want to pet him while I fuck him. So I’m trying to get backstage.
The music all blurred into the same nonsensical ramblings one would expect from an ‘edgy’ post punk band, and it was just background to why I was really here.
‘You know, I know him. He might OD if he doesn’t see me after the show.’
‘He’s just come out of rehab. You know him soo well. Hit it.’
And then a shoe hit me.
I still got it, I think. As I was mumbling someone threw up, it’s been a while that the band’s music has received a reaction. The crowds seem to be the kind who would jump around to anything, the next big thing or an old relic, who cares. They’re here because of our novelty name. No one really gives a shit, I’m not even singing. I’m crying, and they can’t even see it.
So I decide to take off all my clothes. Throw my shoes, they can have them. I hope they hurt someone. Shit, I want to be violent, I can do better than this. I completely strip off and jump into the stage.
Someone will remember tonight, I know I won’t.