Monday, 18 February 2008

Justice, misogny and paranoia

Not the abstract concept of 'justice'. Not tampering with that! Although these guys have probably monopolised this word now, so all you think of is Justice.

I went to see Justice at my once local Mecca, Empire in Middlesbrough, on Friday 8th.

Those French bastards have been everywhere for what seems like forever. By the time their album Cross was released I had pretty much gotten over them. So by the time they were due to play Middlesbrough came round it was a deliberate task to summon up excitement. I managed it though. I found that I have a massively, deep, dirty love for Phantom and, respectively, Phantom, Pt. 2. I'd go to sleep humming it, wake up singing it, listen to it on all journeys out of the house, play it very loudly when on my own in the house. There really was no escaping the way it had completely consumed me. And with a gorgeous new dress, I was sufficiently prepared for the night.

Yet, the night came and it all went horribly wrong for me, not Justice, or accompanying DJ's (well, actually, it did a bit for them too and anyone with ears). No, no, no, it went wrong for me. Me and my stupid head. Mental health problems can lay dormant. Quietly biding their time. You can feel on edge due to the unavoidable release of adrenaline that accompanies the wonderous rush of going for a highly anticipated night out. But if you have a problem with the over-release of adrenaline then it can ruin it all. Reading too much into conversation and concluding your own marginalisation due to misogny of others. The paranoid belief that everyone is judging you to be disgusting. The overwhelming mood swings that either lead to deluded senses of self or a cowering, shivering state throwing up in the beaten up toilets.

As a 'sociologist', or whatever term equally doesn't fit due to my uselessness, I find problems that are supposed to be the domain of psychology fairly alien, annoying and difficult. Over the years however I've learned to largely manage my difficulties myself. And I've also concluded that it is something that an objective eye should not be afraid to critique... Just ask my numerous doctors. Enjoying French-bastard-electro-sex bands are one such way of coping.

Justice for the whole part were as good, if not better, then expected. To be seen as the perfect pinacle of last years French electro revolution then you really do have to be pretty good. Especially if your pretensious, haphazard mixes aren't really doing it for anyone. They were superb. Absolute top quality that led me to even proclaim that Empire should shut it's doors forever (as they'll find it hard to top, especially given their current state) and had me flinging my arms around excitedly for the entire night when the mood took me to euphoria, not to mention the fact I realised that no matter how I threw myself around my breasts were not going to fall out of my dress.

Heavy, dirty riffs echoed throughout and the sexual tension dripped down the ornate walls.

All in all then, Justice were amazing, bound to wind my twisted mind into a further state of delirium. It's just a shame I was already wound so tightly before they even appeared on stage.

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