Excerpt: Sinfonia (working title)

"This isn't what we wanted. Csilla, have you seen your own show? Do you watch the audience at all? Nate practically hypnotizes them. I play the loudest things I can find at the most painful pitches I can manage. Half of them leave with their ears bleeding. We aren't some dancy pop show or, or, or some silly acoustic guitar heartbreaky vomit-inducing wanker bullshit." His face twisted as he said it and he spit on the floor. "We hurt our audience. Of course there's a certain subset of people who enjoy this, but it shouldn't be enough for this audience award. Unless the award is 'band that gave me PTSD,' or 'band that made me permanently lose my hearing'. We don't want to entertain them, we want to traumatize them! We're there to make them hear and feel all the unpleasant things they've ever heard and felt all at once! We don't want to break their weepy baby little hearts, we want to give them proper heart attacks, we want to put them in the hospital. Only madmen and masochists come to our shows. This is unfathomable! For god's sake, Csil, you played a dehydrated demon penis like a clarinet at our last show, nobody needs to see that!"