Death From Inception.

I had an odd nights sleep last night, not odd in the usual insomnia sense, but odd as in the reoccurring dream I had. Before I go into said dream, it’s important that I give you some context; it was announced on Tuesday that Dancey Noisy Punky Funky Rocky Duo Death From Above 1979, would be playing a one off gig at London’s HMV Forum, after declaring their love for one another and reformation just a couple of weeks earlier. This was spellbinding news, not only because the sensation of being hit by an electrical storm could once again be experienced through the medium of music, but because this phenomenon was happening right on my doorstep in good old ‘Landan’ town.

Okay so back to last evening; after setting my alarm for a good half an hour before tickets went on sale, I retreated to bed with the pleasant anticipation of the following mornings rush for gig tickets.

I lost count of how many times I woke up in a cold sweat from the nightmare “Ticketless” scenario which haunted me that night. In one dream I woke up late and was directed to the dooming sight of “Sold Out” flashing across my laptop screen; in another fantasy my Laptop failed to work – leaving me to resort to my phone, which is about as internet friendly as Sarah Palin on a sick cocktail of Steroids and Cocaine. At one point in the evening I became so detached from my own reality that I was certain that every godly entity, the U.S. government, and Prince Philip himself, were plotting against me and my tenacious search for Death From Above Tickets. It was like a really shit version of Inception, where instead of overwhelming action sequences being accompanied by a delicious sound track from Hans Zimmer, there was just me bludgeoning a Ticket Vendor with my MacBook Pro, with excessively distorted bass playing from somewhere.

Alas I finally woke in the real world, and bought my tickets rather easily. Am I exctied for the 5th of May now? Of course I am. Was it worth a near psychological breakdown? Only time will tell, but as you can see from the above video, DFA would probably sound as terrible as listening to Margaret Thatcher’s collection of speeches being performed by Katie Price, if it wasn’t for the copious amounts of distortion they use. I’m not going though for the sound quality: Because I now have the chance to see one of the bands I’ve been obsessed with for ages, a duo which will make me dance until my body is drained of all contained bodily fluids, and music which will satisfy my RDA of Awe-inspiring nostalgia.

That is unless, I’m still stuck inside that dream within a dream, and I’m so consumed with happiness that I’ve accepted this fantasy as reality, leaving my anatomy to rot in a reeking, docile mess. Where’s a spinning top when you need it?