![]() ![]() ![]() The guy fixes his cap and draws his fringe sideways with all four fingers, with the gentleness you might apply if, it so happened, you were stroking a mouse. Crickets can be heard, somewhere a mother weeps. Lionel's singing " Times." in the pregnant silence. For the first time since we started talking he's lost for words. I feel like Fred Astaire and smile into my glass. It's usually the type of thing I only think of saying about four hours after the fact. I ask him why, if he hates Britain so much, has he moved to the British capital? I'm feeling kind of pleased with myself. fuck the Queen, centuries of military oppression, occupied states, Wolfe Tone - all that stuff. Before long, the guy confirms that he is, indeed, a die hard nationalist. I tell him that in Belfast it's shitty form to bring up politics with a stranger, and besides, I moved from NI to get away from all that stuff: red faced unionists and seething nationalists, ex-gangsters turned pious religious zealots, Pole-murdering East Belfastians, recreational rioters. What he means is, he doesn’t politically acknowledge the state as decreed by British law. He tells me there is no such thing as Northern Ireland. He laughs hollowly and, now that we're getting on, I ask him whereabouts in Northern Ireland he's from. I suggest that he not ask any of the surrounding woman for 'some sniff', lest it be misconstrued as some kind of kinky sexual request. After explaining to him that I don't take heroin, he politely informs me that 'sniff' is street slang for 'Mandy', or MDMA. Before I can answer he's showing me an iPhone video of the rock band he's in, and asking me if I know where he can get some 'sniff'. They are wearing band T-shirts, one of which bears the insignia of stadium ravers KLF, and another a wife beater with punned-on Black Flag bars.Ī Northern Irish hipster asks me if I'm in a band. Wan bar staff use their phones while pulling your pint. I overhear conversations about Tumblr traffic and others about vintage tea, and men dressed as Huckleberry Finn play the alpha male in the hope of impressing permanently unimpressed door men. A blonde guy, modelled presumably on 80s Val Kilmer, discusses his neck tattoo with a girl in rimmed glasses and granny-chic pants. Soundtracked by the standard medley of 'music for urbanite creatives' (ESG, gangsta rap, Tom Tom Club and the ironic deployment of Lionel Ritchie) grunge-y Courtney Love neophytes talk over the corpses of fey indie boys, who sleep across the mottled leather sofas. Injuries have been reported in mosh pits, and a few deaths have occurred in a “Wall of Death”, an offshoot that developed when slamdancing was adopted at metal shows from its origin at punk shows.The scene in the Shacklewell Arms is fairly typical of any gentrified boozer in the Hackney precinct, come Sunday night. While moshing is seen as a form of positive feedback or expression of enjoyment, it has also drawn criticism over dangerous excesses occurring in offshoots. Variations on the traditional mosh include “pogoing”, "circle pits" and the more extreme wall of death, and are typically done in an area in the center of the crowd, generally closer to the stage. Moshing usually happens in a “pit” and is intended to be energetic and full of body contact. Variations of moshing exist, and can be done alone as well as in groups. It is primarily done to live music, although it can be done to recorded music. It is most associated with “aggressive” music genres, such as hardcore punk and numerous styles of metal. Moshing Moshing, also known early on as “slamdancing”, is a style of dance whose participants push or slam into each other.
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