The Exhilarating Enchantments of Bad Hardcore

A disastrous evening with the U.K.'s Gallows and a feeble Brooklyn crowd they came to despise

He does not, for the record, love his neighbor.
Cary Conover
He does not, for the record, love his neighbor.

The show at this point is a total disaster, but fascinating in a train-wreck sort of way. Someone suggests Frank go back to London. "Go back to London?" he repeats, wearily. "I wish I could. I've been in your country for six fucking weeks, and I'm going fucking crazy. I can't wait to go back." He sounds tremendously pained, but somehow this is what partially wins us over; the pit enlivens for the last few tunes, especially the one about being trapped in the belly of a shark, which doesn't sound all that metaphorical. At the very end of the set, a guy and a girl—it's unclear if they know each other—start pushing each other around in the pit, which leads to playful fisticuffs, which leads to actual fisticuffs, until they have to be separated; as we file out, she's crying on the steps in the lobby in front of the merch. This is appropriately symbolic, I think.

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