“Hey, don’t you be going off anywhere else you. Blacklisters are on upstairs” the friendly record vendor tells you.
So you go back through the venue, and up the stairs to a still crowded room. If there’s anyone in there still not quite awake, still acclimatising to this day full of musical light and shade, then these guys will fix em pretty sharp.
It’s a brutal, vicious sound that you feel may leave permanent scars upon your cerebral cortex. A brave photographer is down by the front of the stage, clearly with little care for his hearing or personal safety. You see the bright silver hair upon his head pop up and down sporadically as he clamours to find the best angle.
You feel slightly violated. Part of you enjoyed it though. It’s time to get out of The Hop and see this beautiful and odd city called Wakefield. The question is, what do you need now; a nice sit down, or to take it up a level?