Oh my giddy aunt. Klaus Kinski were insane. A band seemingly composed of gurning mentalists, they knocked out crude, pounding anarchy. My mate was knocked flying by a guitarist leaping into the crowd. The lead singer jogged around in a distressing tight and frayed pair of shorts. At one point he clambered up the lighting rig and looked as though he was going to drop down on us. Sheer brilliance but an unplanned mosh basically depleted my energy cells and I crawled into a taxi and headed for the duvet.

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