I’ve been fucking bored of heavy metal these days. I couldn’t even remember what I liked about it. Nothing could pull me out of this depression. Not Manowar’s first Glasgow date in 200 years, not a Priest-Maiden live one-two punch to my ear scrotum, not Joe Elliot performing Animal right at me personally. Shut up, he did. No, the thing that finally restored my faith in the mystical properties of denim & leather was a bald man in his late forties thrusting his beer gut enthusiastically into a half-filled cellar of sweat & beards.

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