Midlands Nightlife

Gigs. 

You wait outside in the freezing cold, everyone discussing the setlist and the support acts, taking drags from their fags and putting them out on railings. You chat to your friends and make new ones, people that enjoy the same music as you (obviously), you have a fair bit to talk about. 

The venue is located on a bit of a main road so people walk on past, look at the sign that declares who is playing and mutters to their wife, “Who the fuck is that?”, and simply carries on.

You’re at the front of the line so you track along the sticky floor and get the drinks in whilst your mate secures the barrier. This position in the venue gives you the title of, ‘Superfan’. You know every word to all the songs, you’ve maybe seen the artist a few times previously. Worst case is you know a few songs, (the popular ones) got there early didn’t want to stand in the middle of the venue and look like a freak, so you join the fanboys and girls. 

You also make sure to go for a piss, you wont be able to go during the show unless you fancy putting your cock in a bottle in the midst of three thousand people. 

Going to a gig is like being on the biggest high you ever will be on. So full of energy, then the lights go down and everything you thought absolutely fucking insane before mutates. 

The smell of cigarettes, spilt booze and the sweat of the big guy standing next to you really makes up the experience. 

The wait has been about half an hour, the support act comes on. They’re decent. Pretty much everyone in the audience is following suit, by either tapping their foot, nodding their head, finding them on Spotify so they can give them a listen later or all of the above. Nearly everyone claps or cheers, apart from the people who didn’t like it, and don’t care to hide that fact. 

There is 10 minutes to go. Excitement fills the air. You check your phone every minute or and check the time, making damn sure to keep the members of your party in the loop. 

The lights go down, everyone screams at the top of their lungs. The sound is deafening but you love it. The band walk onto that stage, hyping everyone up as they do. You start to feel the adrenaline pumping through your veins like you have never known before, the opening note is played… shit is about to go down.

Your maybe an hour in… your dripping with sweat. You have just spent the last half an hour jumping into people, being covered with beer and piss and hugging strangers in disbelief. This has been the best night of your life. 

It’s got to the point in the setlist where everyone needs a cooldown… a slow song. The frontman is on his own with his acoustic guitar, everyone has their torches in the air… the girls are crying about their ex… there will be peace for 5 minutes at least. 

Fuck. That was incredible. The band disappeared for the encore. Everybody stomped and clapped, the vibrations rushing through you like your foot was being drilled through with a fucking jackhammer. 

You’re one shoe down, you smell like a hobo, but it was worth it. Now as the fresh night air hits your skin freezing you as you leave the tiny venue with the masses, you stumble the streets back to the train station, as the adrenaline wears off and the withdrawal symptoms kick the fuck in. 

Words by Jack Horsley

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