I lean back against the speaker stack at the side of the stage, microphone forgotten for a moment. Knock back a mouthful of flat beer. I can feel the speaker buzzing and skipping against my spine. The roar is deafening, so loud you almost stop hearing it. Centre stage, Sarah grapples with her guitar as if she"s battling a writhing snake. The noise from it breathes, phasing from abrasive discord to glorious harmony. Her eyes are shut; she"s lost in sound. Green smiles his enthusiastic smile at me from behind a blur of arms and drumsticks. Emblazoned across the side of each of the booming black cabinets are the words Screaming Machinery, crudely stencilled in scuffed, white paint above the Geiger curves of the SM logo. And as Sarah and Green riff and I look on I think to myself just how b***
