lose your eyes and imagine: it’s a muggy, oppressively hot Tuesday night in the middle of the summer. A friend calls to invite you to a club you’ve never heard of to see some band from England. You aren’t one to say no so you don’t. The club is on a side street in a pseudo-industrial area and looks like it shouldn’t legally be allowed to hold more than 40 people. You get inside and join 150 people cramped and sweating in a grimy, basement club. Somehow you find your shins pressed up against a barely raised stage packed with equipment. You’re curious, excited and admittedly a little terrified. You’re trying not to imagine what would happen if there was a fire… After what feels like hours a palpable hush falls over the crowd and two people step on stage. Both are clad in impossibly tight dark jeans and black leather boots and jackets-within seconds the room takes on a serpentine rhythm and you breathe and sway and jump until well past exhaustion and well past an acceptable hour for a Tuesday night.