THE-MOMENTARY-LAPSE-OF-REASON-INDEX
INDEX
7
The worst fully-fledged panic attack was probably - ironically
enough - at The Big Chill, in that weird late-night comedy tent
when the burlesque dancers mistaking your drug-induced
veneer of bemused incandescence for courage and willing
pulled you out of the crowd and bade you dance with them,
both seductively and comedically, but this was not within
your skillset.
Then suddenly you were aware of 150 people staring and
laughing and something then just snapped in you and froze
- just like that time in the school play when you were 8 and
instead of delivering your only line, you just literally turned to
stone and had to be carried into the garden for birds to shit
on. The rest is just a blank.
THE-THIS-CAN’T-REALLY-BE-THEM-INDEX
INDEX
5.7
There are few disappointments so great as your favourite band
letting you down live on stage. It can be so painful that frankly,
you’d rather they’d all gone down in a plane. Especially if it’s
the first time you’ve seen them live and they’re genuinely so
inept that you can’t tell if they’re joking or not. You think,
maybe they’re ironically self-shredding for some reason? No,
no. They’re just shit. They’re Blink 182 at Reading in 2014, a
performance described by one erstwhile fan as like an hourlong stroke. They’re Guns n Roses any time after 1992, with
Axl prancing like a tantrum-tossing tit-toddler. They’re the
Black-Eyed Peas.