CCArchive Posted August 16, 2014 Report Share Posted August 16, 2014 You're down in the moshpit, getting turned into potato chips against the crush barrier, sticking it to the man in a righteous rock frenzy (to the point where you may even forget you're in the corporate-sponsored cock-sucking hell of the 02 Arena). Yet you are surrounded by automatons, still as Easter Island statues, i-Phones a go-go as they record the gig so they can, what, have their own little rock 'n roll moment at home, sat in front of their computers, Sennheisers banging out some tinitus inducing sibilant warble, instead of the Marshall-Amped Krakatoa-level joy being peddled in the here and now. You've paid Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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