Clutch is a band neither of us like, but it was free for both of us. She, my edge/hardcore vixen roommate, the webmaster for the site you now partake of, and I, the more indie-inclined of the two, patron of the hardcore scene by proxy. This show can be summed up in any of the monosyllabic following: gay. as. shit. Well, I said I'd write an article for her site, and this would be my first concert review. Look out.
             Allow me to set the scene: a sparse crowd gathers in a semi-circle before the stage, staring closed-mouthed at the opening band. I feel their torment. It's as if they're hoping, through sheer boredom, to precipitate the "real band's" appearance. I count one set of devil's horns ˜they come courtesy of a middle-aged man in dockers. There'‚s the couple toward the back, desperately attempting to do it through their clothes (which, from the looks of it, were pinched from the wardrobe of Eddie Vedder, circa 1994). Currently they are entwined in an embrace that can only be termed "lewd" against the chain-link that separates the over 21 crowd from the kids. The crowd is diverse in that you'll find a 15 year old sporting a slipknot hoodie standing next to a presumably anglo saxon with butt-length dreds and drum circle aesthetic. Mostly though, I'd say this was a ball-chain wallet crowd. You know right where I'm going with that...all the way to Hot Topic.
             So here we are. Clutch has made their way to the stage, reminding me how glad I am to be a freeloader tonight. My roommate's made her way to a superfluous pit, joining the legions of wannabe aggressors-"mosh this shit" must be taken literally at a show where the music can only be described as such. Don't take my word for it. Ask the guy in the Cannibal Corpse t-shirt, long wavy hair free from the restriction of the daily ponytail for the occasion.
             The big moment. House lights up. It's Clutch! And they're fat! Not to mention old. A groan resonates in my brain&til
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